There’s nothing you can know that isn’t known.
Nothing you can see that isn’t shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.

When Severus Snape arrived at Spinner’s End, he welcomed its stillness, the layers of dust, the fraying curtains, and the faded carpet in the sitting room. He glanced at the yellowed wall, and his eyes landed on the familiar radio.

He was glad to be finally away from Hogwarts and a certain old, eccentric, meddling wizard who wore half-moon spectacles over his twinkling eyes and had a nasty habit of offering sweets to students and staff members at apparent random.

Then again, he thought, looks could be deceiving. The esteemed Hogwarts headmaster might be an old coot who was getting on years, but Severus knew better than to underestimate one of the greatest wizards known to the wizarding world.

Nonetheless, tonight’s conversation with the headmaster had left him unsettled to where he found himself wishing he could poke a liquorice wand up the headmaster’s crooked nose. Then again, maybe not. Knowing Albus, he’d enjoy the wand up there and make a comment such as, “Now it makes perfect sense why this sweet is long and thin!”

Severus rolled his eyes as his mind wandered back to the conversation he’d had earlier. In fact, he could not believe it was already a decade since that year, the year he’d failed to protect her . . .

At the end of summer, at the start of the new term, Severus would see him. The thought of it left him feeling rattled. He wondered if he had any of her traits, along with her green eyes.

Stifling another sigh, he threw himself on a chair. Next to him was the Muggle radio, the same radio he used to listen as a child. He stared at the thick layer of dust and spelled it away. Then he slowly reached out to flick it on.

First the radio spewed out static noises and indecipherable words. Severus fiddled with the knobs until he could hear something akin to music pour out of the speakers.

It was a song he hadn’t thought of for years; a song he had never quite liked because of its silly melody and lyrics. His fingers twitched, wanting to turn the radio off, but the dreadful song seeped into his mind.

“In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea. And he told us of his life, in the land of sub–”

The sound of water, the sea crashing against an unknown shore, a captain’s voice, and a brass band filled his sitting room.

Then, in his mind, another voice began to sing.

Severus stilled his hand.

“In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea. And he told us of his life, in the land of sub–”

“Lily!” Severus yelled, holding his hands against his ears for protection. “Stop!”

She ignored Severus and continued to sing, her voice loud and off-key. “–marines. So we sailed on to the sun, till we found the sea of green. And we lived beneath the waves, in our yellow submarine!”

Severus groaned and kept his hands on his ears, eyeing the back door of Lily’s house, hoping Mrs Evans would come out and tell Lily to stop her horrible singing.

Nobody came, so Severus was condemned to suffer until the song had ended. When she had — finally! — finished, Severus brought his hands down. She turned to Severus and said, “Come on! Sing with me!”

Severus recoiled in horror. “No! I am not going to sing!”

“Aw,” Lily said, her green eyes opened wide. “Why not? We’ll sing your favourite.”

“My favourite?” Severus stared at her, wondering if she had lost her mind. “I don’t have a favourite Beatles song.”

“Yes, you do.” Lily grinned and tossed her long red hair. “I heard you sing it before when I snuck up on you once. And stop glaring! You’re going to have a pinched forehead like Petunia if you constantly frown like that. Now come on. Sing! You say yes, I say no . . . ”

Severus gave a resigned sigh, and in a very monotone voice, completely the opposite from Lily’s belting vocals, he sang, “You say stop, and I say go, go, go.” That was what he did for the next hour. Lily would urge him to sing with her, and he’d sing, all flat and on one note, but that didn’t deter Lily. She just continued to sing happily and — unfortunately for Severus — horribly.

He didn’t mind, though. Not as much as he pretended to anyway.

He’d rather put up with Lily’s awful singing than listening to the daily arguments of his parents. Compared to their screaming and arguing, he found Lily’s voice beautiful . . . when she wasn’t singing.

Later, when he finally couldn’t postpone going home, he wondered if he should see if there were any potions that would improve someone’s singing quality. Better yet, he thought, maybe he could find some magical earplugs that were invisible when worn and that would block out someone’s off-key singing, but allowed the wearer to still hear everything else.

This idea had come to him last year when Lily suddenly had become interested with this band, but Severus had never acted on it because he didn’t mind Lily having fun with these awful songs. Mostly. He just hoped that she would improve one day.

“Hello, Severus.” Mrs Evans smiled. “Lily’s in the back. Do you want a jam tart before you go?”

He looked at the mouth-watering treats, something he’d never find in his own home. His pride made him decline them. “No, thank you. I’m still full from lunch.” He hurried away before she could insist and ignored his empty stomach’s protest.

Outside, he scanned the yard for Lily. She sat cross-legged under her favourite tree, where the afternoon sunlight peeked through the leaves above, creating a shadowy pattern. In her lap was a book, and she was smiling. Severus frowned slightly, realising that the smile on her face was different from her usual ones.

She smiled shyly when meeting someone for the first time. She had a polite, courteous smile that she always smiled (in fact it was hard to catch her not smiling). When she knew someone better, her smile was a bit more mischievous. When she had an idea, her smile grew knowing, secretive. And when she was with Severus, her whole face lit up.

The smile she had now was wide, and her eyes looked dreamy. That expression unnerved him; it was an expression he’d seen before, but he couldn’t remember where.

When he got closer, he saw it wasn’t a book but a magazine. He stopped in front of her, looked down, and stared at the gigantic pin-up poster of John Lennon. Lily was humming something, a very familiar tune that always made his stomach clench in disgust. Of all the Beatles songs, he found himself hating “Can’t Buy Me Love” most, and hearing her humming it made his ears hurt. As he tried his best to block out that tune, he glanced at Lily’s face once more, and that was when he realised where he’d seen that expression before. He’d seen it on Petunia when she’d been in love with that neighbourhood boy down the street.

Now Lily wore that same look. Did that mean she was in love with John Lennon?

Severus made a face at that thought. He hoped she hadn’t turned into a girl, like Petunia!

Lily looked up, finally noticing him, and asked, “What’s wrong with your face? Are you sick?”

“No, but what’s that?” He pointed at the magazine.

“A magazine.” Lily smirked at her answer as Severus resisted rolling his eyes. “Daddy got this for me. This has a lot of stuff about the Beatles. A lot of articles and posters. See? Look at this poster of John Lennon when he was younger! See that mop-top? I think that suits him waaaaay better than what he looks like now.”

He studied the two pictures, studied how different the Beatles had looked in the early 1960s compared to now. He could see that they had looked a lot cleaner when they had been younger, and then as they had grown older, they had turned into these messy people. He could not figure out who was who except for John Lennon, because of his glasses. “Do all grown-ups become this messy when they get older?”

“Maybe?” Lily shrugged as she went back to staring at the huge John Lennon poster. “He still looks good, though. I wish I could meet him one day. I wish I could go to their concert. I’m trying to convince Daddy and Mummy to let me go when I turn eleven. I’ll be all grown up by then, so they have to let me go! Do you think they’ll ever come here and perform?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they come here or any nearby cities, I’m going to go. Let’s go together, okay?”

Severus grimaced and took a step back. “I don’t think so,” he said fiercely.

“Aw, why not? I don’t want to go by myself. If you come with me, you can be my bodyguard! You already like wearing black, so you can wear that and protect me.”

Severus tried to figure out just what black had to do with bodyguards, but before he could ask, she stood up, set the magazine aside, and started singing a new song.

“Oh, please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man. And please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand!” Lily danced as she grabbed Severus’ hand. “Sing with me! We have to practise for when they come!”

“What do you mean practise?!” Severus asked as she yanked him around the yard.

“At the concert! When they sing, we have to sing along with them. So we need to memorise the lyrics and all.” She laughed and skipped around the yard, still holding Severus’ hand, and continued to sing, “Now let me hold your hand! I want to hold your hand!”

Once again, thanks to Lily’s convincing attitude, Severus found himself singing along with her off-key performance. Thank goodness she didn’t mind his flat singing, he thought. He didn’t fancy the idea of receiving singing lessons on top of all these Beatles songs.

It was cold when Severus woke up on the last day of the year. He blearily rubbed his eyes, and he sat up with a large yawn. He winced as he heard something crashing downstairs, followed by his father’s deep shouting and his mother’s softer sobs.

Already numb from the coldness in his room, he pulled his threadbare blanket tighter around him and lay back down on his lumpy mattress, curling himself into a foetal position and pulling the blanket over his head to block out the noises from below. Despite all his efforts, though, he could still hear everything through the thin walls. He heard his father’s cruel voice as he continued to yell at his mother. He heard the all familiar threats of him leaving them, and his mother begging him not to.

Unable to withstand it any longer, he got off his bed, stopped by the loo to do his business, and went to change into a pair of frayed jeans and an old but clean shirt. He slipped his feet into a pair of socks that had holes and into ratty-looking trainers which had once been white. Finally, he pulled on his coat, quietly crept through the house, and went outside.

He walked down the road, enjoying the blissful silence and trying to ignore the frosty winds that swept all over him. He pulled his coat’s collar up around his neck and ears and stuffed his hands deep into his pocket. In one of the side alley streets, away from the prying eyes of his neighbours, he jumped up and down and ran around in circles until he could feel himself getting warm.

Still, it was too cold to linger around, so he decided to go visit Lily and see if she wanted to play. He ran all the way to Lily’s house, and when he arrived, he could see his breath coming out in pants. Swallowing hard, he forced his breathing to slow down before he rang the doorbell.

Mrs Evans opened the door. Severus noticed that she appeared sad instead of her usual cheery self. “Oh, hello, Severus. You look chilled to your bones. Come on in!”

Inside, he quickly turned down her offers of tea and crumpets. “Thank you, but maybe later. Is Lily around?”

Sighing loudly, her face turned sad again. “She’s out in the back. I just checked on her five minutes ago, and she’s not ready to come back in yet. She’s quite . . . upset. Thank goodness she’s bundled up, at least. Go see her, love. Perhaps you can knock some sense into her so she’ll brood inside the house instead.”

“All right. I’ll–” Severus was cut off when Mrs Evans wrapped a fluffy muffler around his neck.

“There. We mustn’t let you catch your death of cold.” She finished tying the muffler and stepped back with a smile. “Go and bring her in soon. Otherwise, I’ll dig out my rubber crowbar and yank you two inside the house.”

Severus thanked her quickly, and he went outside. Just like that one time when she’d been fascinated by the magazine, he found her under the tree. Unlike last time, she didn’t have a silly smile on her face; instead, there were tears in her eyes. Worried, he wondered what had upset her. Quietly, he took a seat next to her on the hard ground.

“Hullo,” she said, pulling her knees closer to her chest and wrapping her thin arms around her legs.

“Hi,” he responded softly. “What’s wrong?”

Lily kept quiet, but her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Did Petunia do something to you?” he asked, alarmed.

She shook her head. “No. Not Petunia. It’s . . . it’s . . . ” She lost her control, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her arms. Her shoulders heaved and shook.

Awkwardly, Severus put an arm around her shoulder, but barely touching her, afraid to upset her further. Then, without warnings, Lily turned and leaned into him, sobbing into his chest. His eyes now wide open, he slowly hugged her very stiffly.

They stayed like that for a few minutes as Lily’s sob subsided. Soon, she was only sniffling. He asked again, “What’s wrong?”

“Thebeebmamdumedinagoo.”

“The Bee Man made dinner goo?”

“No!” Lily pulled away from him and giggled before she remembered her pain and turned sombre again. “The Beatles are breaking up for good.”

He blinked. “For good?”

“Back in April, Paul McCartney had left the group. So I was waiting for Paul to realise how he was being silly and needed to come back to the group, but now . . . ” Her bottom lip began to quiver again. “I always thought they would stay together forever.”

Severus was slightly dismayed. He knew she really liked the band, but he didn’t think their break up would affect her this much. He couldn’t understand why she was so upset, but he didn’t want to see her so miserable.

“Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,” he began to sing the first song that came into his mind. “And I say it’s all right!”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. He continued to belt out the song, not caring that he sounded worse than she usually did. “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun . . . ”

“And I say it’s all right!” Lily finished in a shaky voice. They smiled at each other and continued to sing. It was one of their worst attempts at singing Beatles songs, and they most likely butchered the song to where Severus would have definitely preferred an earplug or three . . . but he didn’t care. Lily wasn’t crying, and that was more important than his ears.

Together they finished the rest of the song.

“Will you promise me something?”

They were back in Lily’s house, in the sitting room, eating and drinking Mrs Evans’ wonderful tea and crumpets. Severus was going to soak in all the warmth here before he had to return to his cold home and celebrate New Year’s Eve with his parents, hoping they wouldn’t fight for once, hoping they’d call a truce for tonight and perhaps even fight less in the New Year.

He looked into her serious green eyes, the same eyes he’d looked into for years. But now they appeared different. “What is it?”

“Promise me that we’ll always be friends, no matter what. Promise me that we’ll never break up like the Beatles.”

Severus slowly grinned. “I promise.” Lily was his true friend; he would always be loyal to her.

She smiled back, her green eyes becoming brighter. She grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together before saying, “Friends forever.”

He nodded and looked at their intertwined fingers and echoed her, “Friends forever.”

When the song ended, Severus finally turned the radio off. He leaned heavily against his chair and stared at the wall in front of him; an image of Lily, so beautiful with her long red hair and her endearing green eyes smiling at him, came to his mind.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw her holding up a baby up to her bosom.

He had broken his promise.

Yet, maybe, there was another chance.

Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.

As Albus’ voice drifted away, Severus smiled sadly. “Friends forever,” he whispered. Lily looked at him and mouthed a single word.

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are drifting through my open mind
Possessing and caressing me.

** The fanmix for this fic is here. **

There was a floor in the flat, somewhere, hiding under wrinkled clothes that covered up the stained carpet. The kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, cups, and silverware, all carrying some kind of food residue like rusted metal. Dust had piled up on top of the bare mantel; beneath it, the fireplace was cold and lonely. The windows of the flat were cracked open an inch and covered with drab-looking curtains that used to be white; their ends were frayed with threads hanging and fluttering from the light breeze. A tiny beam of light tried to peek through the drapery, but it was soaked up by the darkness of the place; the sitting room’s only light source was the telly, which blared with well-timed laughter and applause, and a lamp in the corner.

Off in that same corner were two orange-coloured armchairs that had seen better days. Between the chairs was a small table with a chess set on it. The chess set was the only thing in the room that looked immaculate. The board, its black and white squares made of black onyx and Mother of Pearl, were enhanced never to chip or scratch, even when the game became violent. Each piece was hand-carved with intricate details and spelled with a powerful charm that granted them strong and unique personalities. Just like the board, they were spelled never to become permanently damaged.

One of the chairs was occupied, and its occupant let out a weary sigh. The owner’s freckled hand reached out and slowly moved a piece to its destination.

“Checkmate,” Ron said softly as he set the black piece down in the square to deliver the game’s final move. He didn’t hear the cheerful laughter from the telly as he leaned back heavily against his chair, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly to his right, his eyes passing the telly and meeting the upright piano. It was covered in dust, like practically everything else in the flat, but it still had a stately feel to it. It was an Essex, a cheaper brand produced by Steinway and Sons; its dark-brown finishing was warm and inviting, and it had taken his breath away when he’d laid eyes on it months ago. He recalled how the off-white keys had felt cool to his touch. The black keys were a beautiful contrast to their cream-coloured counterparts, and his fingers had danced across them briefly, effectively shutting the shopkeeper’s overeager sales pitch, as the piano sang out its melody. He’d played a light, crystal-clear tune that’d been the opposite of his gloom, surprised to have chosen an old childhood lullaby his mum had sung when he was upset. He’d only played a few measures of the tune, but he’d known immediately he’d found the right piano.

Now it was abandoned.

He turned his attention back to his chess set, and with another sigh he re-organised the pieces to start a new game. After all, there really was nothing to do except to watch the telly while he munched on some crisps and drank Firewhisky until it was time to sleep.

Work was no longer fun. Back when Ron had first become an Auror, the rigorous training and field work had made him feel alive with enthusiasm. Whenever he and Harry had to investigate a new threat, whether it was a wanted criminal or a dispute between two drunken wizards, adrenaline had sparked every cell in his body, and the rush had encouraged him to work harder and better. That led to promotion after promotion, and it wasn’t long before his position as a unit leader confined him to his desk with mountains of paperwork, while the younger Aurors went out and did the job he’d enjoyed in the past.

Day after day, he sat at his desk, sometimes shuffling papers, sometimes writing briefs, but most of the time Ron stared at this mark on the wall that was shaped oddly like a pumpkin, while his subordinate in the next room blared music from the wireless. He would be subjected to all the screeching and howling that would permeate his own office — something he’d learned quickly to tune out since Silencing Charms weren’t allowed in their area. Once in a while, classical music played. Ron found himself looking forward to those days; he usually found the classical music soothing.

That day was different, though.

It only took three notes, and he found himself pounding on his subordinate’s door. “Turn that thing off, Horowitz!”

The door opened. Horowitz gave Ron a strange look. “You got something against classical?”

“No, I just don’t want to hear that piece right now.”

“You hate Rachmaninoff?”

Ron’s lips thinned. “Just turn that shite off.” He turned and went back to his office.

Leaning against his closed door, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was now silence, but Ron could still hear that piece in his head.

“Rachmaninoff’s ‘Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor’,” he muttered. Normally, he liked Rachmaninoff, but this was a favourite of his ex-wife, and he was reminded of the news article he’d read last week in the Prophet — an article proclaiming Hermione Granger-Weasley getting married to Quidditch star Viktor Krum.

He lowered his hand back to his side, and his fingers began to play that song on his thighs. “No!” he mentally shouted, not wanting to think of that song. He looked around, and he swore the room had grown smaller on him as his breathing quickened and his stomach flip-flopped until he was feeling queasy. He strode over to his desk, and he quickly scribbled a note on the Ministry Message Pad.

I’m going home early today. Not feeling well. Just need sleep.
— R

After he tapped the message with his wand and said Harry’s name, he made his escape.

“Bloody hell!” Ron threw the bishop against the wall and ignored its indignant squeals. He began to pace around his small flat. His skin became taut, his mouth turned dry, and his heart rate increased as his agitation grew stronger inside of him. He wanted to punch something so he could hear the satisfying crunching noise. He needed to release that dam inside of him, but something was blocking it, and he had no idea what that something was.

He’d tried sleeping earlier, but he couldn’t sleep. Whenever he stared at the dark ceiling, he could see Hermione and Viktor in a deep embrace as they snogged each other’s tonsils out. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them — a calloused hand hiking up a skirt, feeling the smooth skin there before it disappeared under the material — and it further angered him.

He ended up doing acrobatic moves on his spacious bed, even banged his arms and legs against the wall several times, before he gave up and resigned himself to a game of chess in the middle of the afternoon. He wanted to clear his mind and only think about chess, but his attempts were fruitless.

His mind was full of so many conflicting thoughts about his current life, and it didn’t help that the stupid song was still in his head. That blasted Rachmaninoff piano concerto was lingering in the back of his mind, and like a stubborn itch it refused to go away.

He stopped pacing and gripped the top of his armchair. He wanted to squeeze his frustration through the cushion. Just as he was at his wit’s end and was about to scream his lungs out, his doorbell rang.

He stalked over to the door, sure it was a salesman of some sort, and yanked it opened, ready to tell the salesman to piss off and never come near his flat again. His yell caught in his throat as he found himself staring at a smiling Teddy Lupin.

The next minute or so passed by slowly as Ron studied Teddy. The most obvious thing about Teddy was his hair. Ron was used to seeing Teddy’s hair in unusual colours (he was certain Teddy had tried out every single colour of the rainbow), but seeing Teddy’s shaggy brown hair and fringe littered with yellow and green polka dots was definitely something new. He also noticed that he didn’t have to bend his head to look at Teddy’s eyes, which were a mesmerising shade of blue. Ron took a step back and he glanced over Teddy’s build. Gone was the skinny teenager he remembered from a few years back. Teddy was now broad-shouldered and had some muscles in his upper body. He wasn’t heavy like Ron, but he no longer looked like one of those chips from Loch Arnold burger chain.

“Hello, Ron. May I come in?”

To Ron’s dismay and before he could say anything, Teddy slipped past him, causing a shiver to go down his back as he felt Teddy’s shoulder brush against his. Ignoring that strange sensation, he closed his door with the full intention to tell Teddy — politely — to bugger off, but Teddy began to dig around his bag for something and his mouth started to yap really fast.

“Apparently Harry got called away to Wales — he said something about flying computers with wings, along with some flying pigs and cows, and that it’s going to take him all night to resolve. Anyway, I finished my job for the day — you know I’m a freelance writer, right? — and I stopped by Harry’s office since I hadn’t seen him in ages. But he was in a terrible rush. He told me that you went home early because you didn’t feel well, so he asked me to give you this — if I can ever find the darn thing in this bag. I swear, I love this bag, but it’s like a black hole. Once something goes in there, it’s impossible to dig out . . . Ah-ha! Here it is!”

Teddy pulled out a foil-wrapped package that looked like it’d been beaten by several Bludgers. Ron took the smushed package and stared at it warily. “What is it?”

“Banana nut bread. Harry baked some. It’s his way of relieving stress lately, and he’s baked a whole boat load’s worth and has been giving them away. He gave me and Gran about three loaves, and he asked me to give you one.”

“Er, thanks.”

Teddy grinned. “Bitte.”

“Huh?”

“It means ‘you’re welcome’ in German, I think. I’ve been recently watching a lot of German films with English subtitles.”

“Oh, right.” Ron set the bread down on the table, and he finally remembered his manners. He gestured at the two orange armchairs. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

“Actually, might I take your offer later? I’ve still got to deliver the rest of these loaves to your parents and the rest of your family.”

“Huh?” Ron repeated, wondering if he was going senile at such an early age.

“I told you. Harry baked a lot of this stuff. He also asked me to deliver some to your parents, to Bill and Fleur, to George, to . . . well, you get the gist. Harry had the bread all piled up on his desk, but he had to go to Wales, so I’ve become his delivery boy for the day.”

“And all that fits in your bag? I’m . . . impressed.”

“Yeah, it’s a great bag, except when I want to find something. Anyway, will tomorrow work?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“What time?” Teddy’s eyes shone brightly as he flashed a smile, giving Ron a good view of his crooked teeth.

Ron momentarily lost his thoughts. The crookedness reminded him of Hermione and her family’s fondness for straight teeth, and he almost shuddered at a memory where, because of his father’s morbid curiosity, Hermione’s parents demonstrated how braces worked. He jerked himself back to reality and said, “Well, tomorrow’s a half-day for me, so I’ll get off work at one . . . ”

“Great, then I’ll stop by at about two. Enjoy the bread!” Teddy rushed out, and Ron stared at the now empty spot.

“Fantastic,” Ron muttered. “Did I just get conned into a visit from Teddy Lupin, of all people?” Not that there was anything wrong with Teddy, really. It was just that he’d never been really close with him. Harry and George had been the one who interacted with Teddy the most, so he only knew Teddy through Harry, George, and their family gatherings.

To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to this unexpectedly planned visit. It would certainly break his routine up a bit.

Sitting back on his chair, he picked up the fallen bishop and wondered what tomorrow would be like. Just as he was about to resume his lonesome chess match, he sniffed and scrunched his nose in disgust. He stood and looked around his flat and grimaced.

“So much for finishing up this game,” he muttered to himself.

At exactly two o’clock, with Ron’s flat now in a much cleaner state — at least it smelled better and wasn’t as dusty — his doorbell rang. Ron walked over to the door and let Teddy in. They exchanged the usual pleasantries before Ron gestured at him to take a seat and asked, “Tea?”

“Tea would be great, thanks.” Teddy walked over to the chairs and he stared at the chess set. “Oh, hello, there. You, Bishop, you were on the floor yesterday, right? Why were you on the floor? Did you upset the queen? Women and their tempers . . . you’ve got to watch out for them!”

Ron burst out laughing at the wayTeddy was talking to inanimate objects. It reminded him of how Rose had played with her toys. Normally Ron thought it was childish when adults acted like that, but it actually suited Teddy — albeit, in a strange and enticing way.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” Teddy said when Ron came over carrying a tray with a teapot, two teacups, sugar, and milk. Teddy set the chess set carefully on the floor, and Ron set the tray down.

As he prepared his cup, Ron shrugged and said, “I’m all right. I’m not that great with it.”

“I bet you are!” Teddy insisted as he poured some milk into his tea.

“I’m not,” Ron said, scowling.

“Prove it.”

The words sounded like a challenge, but Teddy didn’t look like he was issuing one at all; his eyes, now dark brown, reminded Ron of a puppy. Teddy’s smile, so gentle and imploring, made Ron’s insides twist in a way that made him want to play the piano, right then and now. “Prove it,” Teddy repeated. “I want to hear you play.”

Ron cleared his throat and averted his gaze from those puppy eyes. “Fine, but I haven’t played in a long time, so don’t you dare laugh if I make a lot of mistakes!”

Taking a seat at the piano, Ron opened up the cover to reveal the ivory and black keys. He glanced to his left, noticing Teddy’s relaxed posture as he stood off to the side, still smiling with unabashed eagerness. Ron cleared his throat and ignored the way his stomach churned and his hands got wet; he quickly wiped them on his trousers.

His mind raced as he tried to pick a piece to perform, but the only thing in his mind was that dreadful Rachmaninoff piano concerto. He closed eyes tightly, desperate to chase that song from his head; when he heard the faint sound of rain, he knew what to play. He opened his eyes and positioned his hands over the keys, and he played Chopin’s “Raindrop Prelude”.

It was sloppy, but that was expected since it’d been a while since he’d last practised. He made mistakes everywhere, his fingers stiff and clumsy, but he didn’t stop, only concentrating on reaching the end. The first part of the piece washed over him, its serenity echoed in the small flat, and the repetitious A-flat from his left hand gave him a strange sense of peace. He continued the song and reached the middle section, and his tranquil mood dissipated to something like melancholy as he shifted from major to minor key. He wanted to hurry his pace, wanted to leave that gloomy C-sharp minor section, but he kept it slow and steady. As soon as he modulated into the major key once more, he relaxed in his playing. He slowly came to an end, feeling lighter than he had been for days, and he found himself wishing he didn’t have to end the song. As he played the final notes, holding them longer than usual, he startled from the sudden sound of thunder.

He blinked up at Teddy, who was clapping enthusiastically with a beaming smile. “That was brilliant. Really, really brillaint! Chopin’s ‘Raindrop Song’, right? See, I knew you were good!”

Ron felt his face turning red. “I’m not! That was actually one of my worst attempts ever! There were so many mistakes!”

“Oh, blah-dee-dah! Don’t be so modest. That was actually pretty good, considering how you hadn’t played in a while.”

“Shut up,” Ron muttered.

“Shove over,” Teddy said.

“What?” Ron was about to stand and close the piano, but Teddy had scooted next to him and sat down. He could feel Teddy’s hip and thigh against his, and that closeness made him dizzy. “W-what are you doing?”

“I want to show you my piano skills. They’re really terrible, actually, but I wanted to play ‘Heart and Soul’ and ‘Chopsticks’ with you,” Teddy whispered into Ron’s ears, his warm breath affecting Ron’s breathing.

Ron felt strangely light-headed, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable, and he realised that having Teddy this close to him felt normal, almost natural — like they’d done this before, but they hadn’t. In fact, it was as if Teddy’s definition of personal space were different from most people’s, and Ron wanted to tell Teddy to move over a bit, but he didn’t. What he said instead was, “Which ‘Chopsticks’?”

Teddy looked at him blankly.

“I mean, there’s the version known as ‘The Celebrated Chop Waltz’ which is what the Americans call ‘Chopsticks’, and then there’s the one we call ‘Chopsticks’ which is really known as the ‘The Flea Waltz’,” Ron explained as he demonstrated the two pieces.

“Ah-ha! I know both. Let’s play them. I’ll be the left-side part.”

“The chords?”

“Yeah. Those three songs, plus ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ are all I know how to play. You can have fun with the variations on the right.”

Ron chortled. “Fine, fine.”

Teddy started playing the chords for “Heart and Soul”, his right arm bumping into Ron’s. Two grown men on a single piano bench really didn’t leave much space at all. Ron could feel warmth emanating from Teddy, and he could feel himself growing light-headed once more. Light-headed or not, though, with Teddy’s steady rhythm and beat, he was drawn into playing the songs Teddy wanted to play. Variation after variation, the melody flowed through his fingers, and Teddy kept up with Ron, never faltering. At one point, Ron glanced at Teddy’s face, and he saw the closed eyes, the happy smile. Teddy was deriving simple pleasure from playing the simple part of the songs while Ron played as complicated as he wanted to. They somehow meshed well together. When Ron played slowly, Teddy slowed down, and when Ron sped up, Teddy would match his tempo without a break in his playing.

Playing with Teddy was exhilarating. Sure, they were playing songs that Ron found easy and unchallenging, but this was the first time he felt like he found a partner who was perfectly in tune with his playing. In the past, whenever he played duets with anyone, he had never really fit with them, but with Teddy, it was almost a flawless match.

After they came to the end, Ron asked, “Have you had musical training?”

“I took violin lessons for years. What about you? How long have you played?”

Ron eyes grew large. “Really? That would explain your good sense of rhythm. My great-aunt Muriel wanted to teach one of us. I think she really wanted to teach Bill, but he and the rest of my siblings weren’t interested. Except for me. I had lessons with her from when I was four until I went to Hogwarts. To be honest, she was a real harpy, but she did teach me a lot.”

“I’m absolute pants with the piano, though. Gran tried to get me to be skilled with both the violin and the piano, but I preferred the violin more. In fact . . . ” Teddy’s face became thoughtful, and his hair colour changed from brown to turquoise. “Do you know that ‘Spring Sonata’ by Beethoven? I think it’s ‘Violin Sonata No. 5’? And ‘Salut d’Amour’ by Elgar?”

“I know ‘Salut d’Amour’, but I’ve never played the piano part.” Ron frowned as he tried to remember the Beethoven piece. “How’d the ‘Spring’ one go?”

Teddy started to hum the piece, and Ron nodded slowly and said, “Sounds familiar.”

“I’ve got the sheet music for them. I play them sometimes, but it’s rather boring playing without the accompaniment.” Teddy plunked out some notes on the piano, and he stared at the keys. “If I bring the music, would you play with me?”

Ron studied Teddy’s body language, and he realised that Teddy was nervous about asking this. That made him feel uncertain, too, and he said, “Well, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think I’m that good to accompany–”

“You are good!” Teddy interrupted, his brown eyes looking determined and his hair colour turning more vivid. “I’m just not sure I’ll be good compared to you. It’s been forever since I’ve played the violin, too.”

Awkwardly, Ron patted Teddy’s shoulder, feeling the tense muscles there, as well the heat. “I’ll be the judge of that. Just bring the sheet music and we’ll play together.” He was keen on the idea. It really had been far too long since he’d been this interested in music. Plus, he trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Teddy was a good violinist. “How does Saturday sound to you?”

Teddy grinned. “Just not early, okay? I cannot wake up before noon.”

Ron raised his eyebrow. “Will three o’clock work for you, Mr Late Sleeper?”

“Great!” Teddy stood up and stretched, making his shirt ride up and revealing his well-toned abs.

Ron’s mouth grew dry, and he briefly wondered why Teddy had this effect on him before saying, “Let’s finish our tea. I’ll warm them up with a spell.”

After a long conversation about the Cannons — Teddy was a fan, much to Ron’s delight — they talked about other things, mostly about Teddy’s job as a freelance writer and Ron’s earlier days in the field, and about what they had seen on the telly. When it was time to eat supper, Teddy treated them to a take-away of fish and chips. It was fun, Ron thought, to talk with Teddy. It’d been a while since he had felt comfortable enough with someone to talk about innocuous subjects, and Teddy was just a cheerful bloke to talk with. He realised that, after being alone for months, he actually missed human company. His other friends had tried to get him to hang out at pubs or wherever, but Ron had shoved them away, not wanting their pity or to be around fake cheeriness, something he couldn’t stand. Whereas, Teddy just simply came into his life and showed him simple companionship that was real. And a bit odd, if he was really honest with himself, but he didn’t mind Teddy’s quirky personality at all.

Aside from their conversations, Ron found himself looking forward to hearing Teddy on the violin. He was curious on what sort of a sound Teddy would produce. He just hoped Teddy wasn’t one of those musicians who sounded like crap despite their long years of training; after all, it wasn’t that length that mattered, but it was rather the individual’s dedication to better himself through practise.

On Saturday, Teddy arrived with his violin. Ron wasn’t an expert on the violin, but from what he could see, it looked rather expensive and also old. He watched Teddy take the violin out carefully from its case, and he admired its rich brown colour. He wondered if it was a Black heirloom or not, but before he could ask, Teddy said, “I’ve brought over Stravinsky.”

“Stravinsky?”

“Yeah, that’s what I named my violin. Gran gave it to me. She was appalled I’d call her heirloom after a composer she detests.” Teddy shrugged and placed the violin under his chin. “I don’t know why she has a thing against him. I think his works are brilliant.”

Ron nodded, though secretly agreeing with Andromeda’s opinions on Stravinsky. “Well, not everyone likes him, I guess.”

“A shame, really.” With the violin still under his chin, Teddy went through his bag and pulled out the sheet music after muttering to himself during his search. “Here. I couldn’t find the Beethoven one. It’s hiding somewhere in my room — Gran says my room is more like a rubbish bin — but I found the Elgar piece.”

“Thanks.” Ron placed the sheet music on his piano. “What about you? I could transfigure something into a stand for you.”

“Nah, I’ve memorised the piece. Can you play the tuning pitch? I don’t think we’re going to sound good if I’m not in tune with you.”

Ron obliged Teddy’s request and played the pitch, listening to Teddy tune and adjust his strings and begin his warm-up. Ron tuned out Teddy’s scale exercises, and he studied the sheet music in front of him, his fingers hovering over the keys as he played out the song without making a sound.

“Okay,” Teddy said. “I’m ready.”

With a nod, Ron began to play the accompaniment, his opening a solo. When Teddy came in, Ron nearly froze upon hearing Teddy’s first note. Teddy’s sound was clear and bright, and it washed over him, lifting his mood. They played and they were in perfect sync. Just like Orpheus and his lyre, Teddy’s violin demanded Ron’s attention and he wished time would stop; there was an invisible, unspoken connection between him and Teddy, and he didn’t want the song to come to an end, lest the connection disappear from him forever like Eurydice did.

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

The piece, unfortunately, came to an end, and Ron turned around and met Teddy’s intense gaze. The air felt heavy between them, yet it didn’t weigh Ron down at all. Instead, he slowly stood and in a raspy voice he said, “That was fantastic. I’m not going to believe anything you say about your playing from now on.”

“I really haven’t played in a while,” Teddy insisted, but he smiled.

Ron smiled back, and they continued to stare at each other — Ron in front of the bench and Teddy a few steps away, still holding onto the violin. He didn’t know what to say next. Somehow, there wasn’t really anything more he could say. The heaviness in the air wrapped around him once more, and he found himself moving closer to Teddy. He reached out his long fingers and he touched Teddy’s slender fingers, the ones holding onto the bow, and he grasped the bow and set it aside gently, and then he did the same with the violin until there was nothing obscuring Teddy’s body. Their eyes met once more, and Ron’s breath hitched slightly as Teddy moved closer and whispered into Ron’s ear. “Do you like Beethoven’s symphony?”

Ron suppressed a shiver and licked at his dry lips with his tongue. “Which one?”

“The seventh. It’s my favourite.”

“I prefer the fifth, but the seventh one isn’t so bad.”

“I’ve got two tickets to the Royal Albert Hall. London Philharmonic Orchestra is going to perform that. Would you like to go?”

“Uh . . . ” Ron’s brain felt hazy. It took him a few seconds to get his tongue working again. “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” Teddy yelled.

Ron jerked away, and he scowled, realising that the weird spell that had overcome him had been broken with Teddy’s excited shout. “Next time, yell into someone else’s ear!”

“Oh, sorry.” Grinning, Teddy stepped away and he grabbed his violin and bow and began to play a wild version of “Heart and Soul” on it. “I’m just excited because none of my friends like classical music, so I always attend those concerts by myself. It’s more fun to go with someone who likes that sort of stuff. You won’t mind if I bring a notepad, will you? I need it to jot down notes about the concert since I am a music critic for one of my freelance assignments.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay, then next Saturday at six? And wear a nice outfit.”

Ron grimaced. “Does that include a tie?” He hated those things because he felt like they always choked him.

“Nah, though I think you’d look nice in one.”

It was just an offhand comment, but something about it made him want to ask Teddy something. He didn’t. Instead, he let the comment slide and said, “We’ll see.”

“All right. Do you mind if I practise a bit more?”

“Go ahead. I’ll get us some tea.”

The telly was on, but Ron wasn’t paying attention to it at all. In fact, the telly might have been on mute since all he could hear was Teddy’s humming as he pondered on his next move in their chess game. The concert had ended a couple of hours ago, but they’d come back to Ron’s place to have some tea while they relaxed with a round of chess — Teddy as white and Ron as black.

Ron, his head ducked as if he were studying the board, was really looking at Teddy, who, with a wide smile and his purple hair, was happily humming Beethoven’s seventh symphony. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up; Ron really liked that look on Teddy. He noted Teddy’s rosy, dimpled cheeks, and he knew that Teddy had really enjoyed the performance. Until today, he had never really paid attention to Beethoven’s seventh symphony, never noticed how it was one of those symphonies that had so much passion. Of course, the second movement wasn’t as bouncy and exciting as the other movement, but it was beautiful regardless of its melancholy mood. The symphony fit Teddy’s personality, and that conclusion made Ron like the whole piece even more.

Teddy also proved to have really good hearing as he talked about the concert. “That was great. I always enjoy listening to London Philharmonic, but I think the second violins were a bit off tonight.”

“Were they? I didn’t hear anything off.”

“Oh, they were. Then there’s the brass section. They overpowered the strings in some parts. But all in all, this was a good, solid performance. I’ll have fun writing my article later tonight.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, remembering how when he’d glanced at Teddy’s notes earlier, they looked like illegible scrawls that he could never decipher. “It’s already almost ten. When is this ‘later’?”

“Oh, probably two in the morning. All my best writing comes out after midnight, strangely.” Teddy grinned and finally moved his piece.

“A night owl, huh?”

“A big one. My sleeping schedule drives Gran crazy. She can’t comprehend why I can’t sleep from ten at night to six in the morning like the ‘normal’ people.”

“Ah.”

“Though if I was in a relationship and shagged regularly, I reckon my sleeping schedule wouldn’t be so backwards.”

Ron nearly spat out his tea at that statement — which was said in a very frank manner — but started to cough instead. “I . . . I see.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I found anybody I’d want to be in a relationship with.” Their eyes met right when Teddy finished that sentence, and Ron found himself unable to look away. Teddy’s face was smiling, but his eyes were serious, and those eyes burned Ron, making his mouth grow dry. Just like that day when they’d played together, Ron felt like someone had cast a spell on him. He set his tea cup down and he let his hand reach out across the board to — to do what, he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was to stroke Teddy’s red cheeks, which appeared more flushed than earlier, or maybe it was to run his thumb over Teddy’s bottom lips and feel the chapped skin there.

Instead, he pulled off a piece of lint off of Teddy’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Teddy said in a husky voice that sent heat to Ron’s middle.

Ron didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His vocal chords had died on him, and he felt like his hands had become their own entity as they reached out to cup Teddy’s face . . .

“Oh, bugger!” Teddy shouted and jumped up. “I just remembered I have another article I have to write that’s due tomorrow at eight in the morning!” He grabbed his jacket and looked at Ron with an apologetic expression. “Sorry to dash off, but can we meet sometime next week for dinner? I know a very good Italian restaurant nearby. I’ll send you a message.”

Startled, Ron could only nod at Teddy’s request. Teddy grinned once more before he Apparated away with a crack.

It was only when he was in bed later did he realise that Teddy had yet somehow conned him into another meeting, another date of some sort. Like an unexpected whirlwind, Teddy had swooped into his life, breaking a monotonous routine he’d set himself up for months, and it was Teddy who showed him that he’d been truly lonely. Had it been anybody else, Ron surely would have resented that person from disrupting his solitude, but he didn’t mind Teddy at all. Really, he didn’t, but he was even more confused with his feelings than ever. Did he like Teddy? Was he gay? Since when? Sure, Teddy was attractive, and he did enjoy Teddy’s company, but did he like Teddy that way?

Confused, he fell asleep with all those questions in his mind.

When Ron opened his eyes, he found himself standing next to his bed. On his bed, sprawled out naked except for a sheet covering his lower body, was Teddy, who was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His chest heaved as he panted lightly. Ron gazed at Teddy’s swollen lips, growing warm as he watched Teddy’s tongue flicked out. Teddy’s hair was the same colour as his flushed skin, and they were matted against his forehead.

But it was Teddy’s eyes — full of lust and desire — that captured Ron’s attention. Ron found himself being drawn to them again, drowning in them, and when Teddy let out a low “Ron, more, please!”, he climbed on top of Teddy and kissed him hard, without any hesitance, desperately wanting to taste Teddy, to soothe that fire burning deep inside of him. His hands flew everywhere, touching, grasping, stroking — never stopping at all.

They both moaned when Ron grinded his hips against Teddy’s, the friction from their movement and the sheet between them sending waves of pleasure through their bodies, both shifting and groaning as they sought the release they desperately wanted. Ron slipped his hand in the sheet, grasped at Teddy’s hip, and he rubbed the area with his thumb, so close and near his goal . . .

Ron startled awake when he heard his alarm. Disorientated, he squinted his eyes and looked around his dim room. He sat up in his bed, and he felt stickiness in his pants.

“Merlin,” he groaned. He hadn’t had a sexual dream in ages, not since his divorce, and he was perplexed that Teddy would be the first one to grace his dreams after all these months.

Feeling quite frustrated, he did the only things he could do — wank away his fantasies and hope they would disappear soon, and, as Hermione would do, overanalyse this new predicament.

“Aren’t we supposed to meet at the restaurant in an hour?” Ron asked, staring at Teddy, who was holding a picnic basket in the middle of his sitting room, noting Teddy’s attire consisting of a t-shirt, shorts, a light jacket, and a pair of trainers. “And you told me it was a slightly fancy restaurant, so why are you dressed like . . . ” Not that he was better dressed than Teddy. He himself was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, as he was going to get ready and changed until Teddy appeared in his flat.

“The restaurant I was going to take us to is closed this week for renovations. I thought about some different alternatives, and I came up with the idea that we should have a picnic!”

Ron glanced at the window and then back at Teddy. “But it’s raining out today.”

“Ah, I meant an indoor picnic.” Teddy beamed and motioned at the sitting room. “May I?”

Nodding, Ron watched Teddy carefully set his chess board in safe place, shrink the table and the two chairs, pull out a bright orange blanket, spread it on the floor, and place the basket in the middle. “Have a seat.”

Ron started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. This was a kooky idea, but he actually had to admit it was very unique and different from anything he’d ever done so far. Admittedly, it was rather childish, but Teddy’s enthusiasm made everything seem so refreshingly new that Ron couldn’t help but go along with it.

Still laughing, he sat on the soft blanket, and Teddy joined him and emptied the basket of enough food to feed the entire Ministry. There were sandwiches filled with juicy meat, crunchy lettuce, and fresh tomatoes on toasted bread that were still warm. The strawberries and watermelon slices were sweet and cold and delicious. The biscuits were sweet, too, and they were mouth-meltingly perfect. Teddy had even brought a bottle of champagne. Ron was amazed by how thorough Teddy was with his planning. He wondered if Teddy had originally planned this in the first place and the Italian restaurant suggestion was just a bluff; thinking this made him smile into his sandwich. If this was Teddy’s intention all along — to have a picnic in the middle of a sitting room — then Ron wasn’t surprised by the way Teddy presented the idea. The bloke was a Slytherin, after all.

Still musing about how this was a very interesting idea, Ron chewed and swallowed before asking, “Did you make these sandwiches?”

Teddy nodded.

“You must be a great cook.”

“Actually, I’m horrible at cooking,” Teddy explained with a grin. “Sandwiches are the only things I can make without causing an explosion in the kitchen.”

“Really?” Ron eyed the biscuits because they were certainly home-made and not store-bought. “What about the biscuits?”

“Oh, those? Harry baked those and sent some over to me when I told him I was going on a picnic.”

“Did you tell him it was going to be an indoor picnic?”

“Of course. This was his idea.”

“Huh?” Ron felt something clench inside of him. Had Harry become psychic and somehow found out about all of his hidden, unexplainable, desires and fantasies about Teddy? But if Harry found out, then what kind of idea was this? Was this his way of saying to be with Teddy? Was this just another scheme to get him to go on a date with Teddy? But if this was yet another date . . . then did that mean Teddy liked him back?

With that many unanswered questions battling in his mind, he almost missed Teddy’s explanation. “When I was younger, Harry would do this with me, especially on a rainy day. To keep me from going stir-crazy, this was something we’d do as a lunch substitute.”

“Oh,” Ron exhaled loudly, relieved that Harry hadn’t indirectly set this up or anything. But now all those nightly wanks and fantasies of seeing Teddy naked on his bed bombarded him, and he felt heat pooling up deep inside of him. Stifling back a groan, he willed himself to calm down and to think about that one time he accidentally saw Aunt Muriel naked when he was about nine, truly one of his most traumatising childhood moments aside from that Spider Bear incident.

That did the trick, but then he made the mistake of looking down at Teddy’s bare feet and legs. One of his most recent dreams had featured Teddy — naked as always — on his back, with Ron ravishing Teddy’s chest. Teddy let out moan after moan, all of them sultry and growing louder whenever Ron had found a sensitive spot, and Teddy would arch his back and extend his strong legs as his toes curled from the pleasure. And those same legs would later be wrapped around Ron’s waist, locked tight at the ankles to make sure Ron didn’t go anywhere.

“Ron?” Teddy’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Ron welcomed that distraction as he thought about Aunt Muriel again.

“Yeah?”

“Since we’re done eating, let’s clean up and I’ll put your sitting room back in order.”

“All right.”

Ron stood up and they both cleaned and arranged the room back to order. It was when they were finally sitting in the orange chairs that Teddy said, “It’s kind of last minute, but I’ve been given two tickets to a concert in a couple of days. It’s going to be a piano concerto.” Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “Want to go with me?”

Despite his conflicting feelings towards Teddy, Ron ended up smiling. Teddy’s positive attitude was contagious and, strangely enough, addicting. “Sure, which piano concerto is it?”

“It’s a Rachmaninoff piece.”

“Oh?” Ron felt something akin to dread in his stomach.

“It’s the second one.”

No longer smiling, his eyebrows now scrunched together, Ron’s answer came out swiftly. “No.”

“No?” Teddy looked at him with a startled expression. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I hate that piece.”

Teddy began to frown. “Why do you hate it? It’s such a brilliant piece, truly one of the best piano concertos in the world, so I can’t understand why someone like you would–”

“Shut up.” He was growling, and he didn’t care. He really didn’t want to think of that song right now.

“If you could just explain to me why–”

“You’re too young to understand!”

“I’m not that young. How can you assume that without testing me first? I want to understand, and if you explain–”

“Why don’t you drop this?” Ron stood up and began to pace around the small room. “I hate that bloody song, and I hate it when people listen to it around me! Now you’re trying to get me to go to an actual live concert featuring that piece? And now you want to know why? I don’t have to explain it to you!”

“Ron, wait–”

“Stop it already! Leave!”

Teddy looked stricken, and that painful expression and the forlorn and downcast eyes made Ron feel guilty at the way he snapped at Teddy, but he was too upset, too disgusted with the way he was acting to apologise. Wearily, Ron whispered, “Leave.”

Without another word, Teddy left, and Ron could feel all the happiness being sucked out of his flat and out of him. He threw himself onto his chair and threw his arm over his eyes, and he clenched his fists hard until he could feel his nails digging into his palms. Feeling like shite, he muttered, “Bloody hell, I’m a fucking prick.”

Ron stared at the blank screen of his telly. Already a week had passed since his picnic with Teddy. His flat, which he’d been trying to keep clean, had returned to its smelly state, and it was rapidly becoming dusty, too. All week long, he’d been in a terrible mood as guilt, confusion, and frustration waged several wars inside of him. He was especially an ogre on the day of that damned Rachmaninoff concert. Everywhere he went, the song haunted him, and so did Teddy’s hurt expression. He shouldn’t have said that to Teddy; he should have apologised and just changed the subject that day. He should have stopped Teddy from leaving; he shouldn’t have taken his anger and frustration out on him.

He also hated himself for being confused on his sexual orientation. He was 39, almost 40, so if he was gay or bi or whatever — how much of an idiot was he to realise this fact now? He considered that maybe he was confused since it’d been a while since his last shag, but he knew, deep inside, that that wasn’t the case. He wanted Teddy. There was nobody else he was attracted to. Teddy was the only one he wanted, but he was too insecure, too unsure, and too afraid to do anything about this. In fact, he wasn’t sure just how he could mend their rift at all.

Angrily, he stood up, so wound-up that his skin felt taut. He needed to do something to let off his steam, and chess was not going to help this time. His eyes landed on his piano, and he stalked over to it and sat down, playing the first thing that came into his mind. It was a song he always played when he was upset, a piece that required so much strength and power that it always left him feeling exhausted, like he’d run a marathon.

Chopin’s Étude Op. 10, No. 4, otherwise known as “Torrent”, sounded out from his piano, his fingers furiously flew up and down the keys, his back tense as he played out the aggravation he’d had the entire week. He closed his eyes, and Teddy’s face — hurt and miserable looking — flashed by, and he played harder, his foot stepping on the pedal with enough force to nearly put it through his floor. He didn’t care about that. He only wanted to play this piece and hear the sixteenth notes thundering and echoing in his flat. He wanted to tire himself out and not think about Teddy and everything else that was aggravating him.

He eventually came to the end of the song, and he was panting from the sheer workout he’d just been through; his arms and back were sore, and his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. Unfortunately, though, he was still too tense and upset. He was about to slam his fists on the keys, not caring if he broke the piano or not, when he heard something behind him.

Standing, he spun and pointed his wand into his brother’s face.

“Oi! Point that elsewhere!” George protested, backing away as he held onto a pie in both hands.

“It’s you,” Ron said in a flat voice, bringing his wand down as he sat back on the bench, his legs weak after the sudden rush of adrenaline. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet your favourite brother?” George asked, making a face as he set the pie on the mantel.

Ron rolled his eyes and glanced at the pie. “What’s with the pie?”

“Harry baked this and he requested I bring you one. It’s Hogsmeade weekend, so he took off to go deliver the rest of his baked goods to my lovely niece and nephews.”

Upon hearing about Hogsmeade weekend, Ron felt another pang of guilt. Ever since the divorce, he hadn’t been keeping in touch with Rose or Hugo. He really should respond to Rose’s letter and send some new Muggle trading cards he’d promised to Hugo and make plans to meet up with them at Hogsmeade. Not wanting to think on all the parts of his life that had gone to shite, he put on a tight smile and said, “How’s your shop?”

George’s eyes grew intense and focused. “Surely that’s not what you really want to talk about, is it?”

“What?”

“Along with this pie, I’ve also come to knock some sense into you. Just what the hell did you do to Teddy? He’s been coming to the shop all week, so depressed that none of my prank items are making him laugh! And I need him to be in a good mood. His writing’s turned dismal and his articles reviewing my prank items have none of his eager and cheerful attitude!”

Ron’s mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it and demanded, “How — what — what makes you think I have anything to do with this?”

“I know, Ron.” George frowned and continued, “I know he likes you.”

“Of course he likes me — we’re friends,” Ron answered in an unconvincing tone.

“Ron. He fancies you! He told me about you guys playing the violin and the piano. He told me about that Beethoven concert. And he also told me about the picnic, which had gone all right until you kicked him out for no reason.”

Clenching his fist, Ron mumbled, “I had my reasons.”

“Oh? Do tell.” George crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at him pointedly. “He mentioned something about you hating a Rackmoney bloke. Said something about you not wanting to go to a concert he invited you to.”

“Rachmaninoff.”

“Don’t snap at me, baby brother. How about explaining to me what got your prick wound up like a pretzel?”

A long moment of silence passed. Ron opened his mouth to tell George to piss off, but before he could say anything, George continued, “Let me guess. It’s because that particular Rackmoney bloke’s song was a favourite of Hermione’s.”

“Shut up!” Ron growled, turning his head to look at the drab-looking curtains.

George sighed loudly, and he leaned against the mantel. “I want you to think about this. Are you really angry at Hermione for leaving you for Krum, or are you angry at her for something else entirely?”

“What other reason would–”

“I’ve always questioned your obsession with Krum in your fourth year. I also can’t help but wonder if you’d be this angry with Hermione if she had gone for a different bloke.”

George’s words punched him in his stomach, making him wrap his arms around himself as he tried to deny his brother’s words — words that were so true and so finite that he desperately told himself that he had his reasons back then and had his reasons for denying his real desires all these years. The dam he had deep inside broke as all the years of suppressed desire and guilt came tumbling out.

In a soft voice, George said, “Don’t do this, Ron. Don’t try to lie to yourself any more. No one’s going to begrudge you for your choices. You . . . you have the choice to do what you want.”

There was a catch in George’s voice that made Ron look up, and he saw sorrow in his brother’s eyes. Ron didn’t have to ask. He knew what George meant in his unsaid words.

George gave a wan smile as he fingered the ring on his finger, Fred’s ring. “Think about it, Ron. At the least, go apologise to Teddy.” He turned and Flooed himself out, and Ron was left alone.

It was a long time before Ron moved from his spot on the bench. When he did, he knew what he wanted to do.

Ron stared at the door, ignoring the whispers from the passer-bys, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this. He had to make amends with Teddy and get over his past.

He rang the bell, his finger shaky, and he waited.

The door opened, and he momentarily startled upon seeing a dull looking Teddy. Gone was his bright coloured hair, replaced with a drab-looking brown. His eyes were blank, and there were bags below them. Still, Teddy smiled — forced a smile — and said, “Hello.”

“Huck–” Ron cleared his throat. “Hi.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and he looked down at his feet.

Teddy stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” He walked in and looked around. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Gran? She went to visit Aunt Narcissa.” Teddy led them to the sitting room. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Ron hated this Teddy, this stiff, formal Teddy who was nothing like the passionate and slightly eccentric young man he’d grown fond of in the last few weeks. Shaking his head, he sat down at the couch, and he quickly launched onto his question. “Do you have a recording of that Rachmaninoff concerto? The first movement, at least?”

“Yes.” A curious expression crossed Teddy’s face.

“Look, I’ve got lots of crap that is associated with this particular piece, but I . . . I want us to listen to it together. I want to listen to it with you because I know it’s one of your favourites.”

Teddy cocked his head and looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve a stereo system in my room. We can listen to it there.”

Ron nodded, trying not to think about how intimate the idea was. “Sure.”

They went to Teddy’s room, and Ron knew immediately why Teddy couldn’t find that Beethoven violin and piano sonata. The room was filled with books and papers everywhere. There were books and papers on the nightstands, on the stereo system, on the desk, on the desk chair, and everywhere on the floor, including under the bed — the top of which was surprisingly the only clean spot in the whole room. That was where Ron sat after he carefully stepped around the books and papers.

Teddy fiddled around with the stereo system, and when he finished he joined Ron on the bed, sitting next to him, but not touching him at all.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Ron opened his eyes when he heard the first notes, the familiar bell-like sounds, followed by the orchestra playing the main melody, and he remembered the first time he’d heard and fallen in love with this piece. As the concerto played, he travelled back to the summer before his fourth year, before the Quidditch World Cup. This song had come on the wireless as he had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine. He stopped when he saw the moving picture of Viktor Krum, who was flying with a sullen expression; yet when Ron’s eyes gazed over his slender body, in his Quidditch uniform, Ron was captivated. He stared at the way Viktor would fly around the page, watched the grace that was visible in most Seekers, his movements matching the elegant, lyrical piece of the song, and when he did the Wronski Feint, the piano repeated the main melody in a march-style that made Ron’s chest burst with emotion.

That was the moment when he had fallen for Viktor Krum. He remembered how he’d been horrified by this revelation and how he’d felt like he was the odd one out in his family, so he frantically tried to suppress any thoughts about Viktor, but it was hopeless. He fell more in love with him at the World Cup match, at Hogwarts when the tournament was going on, during the Yule Ball when he saw that Viktor had taken Hermione to the ball . . .

Then when he’d finally got together with Hermione, he succeeded in his quest to suppress any sexual urges he had towards Viktor. With the Rachmaninoff piece — how ironic that Hermione had ended up liking that particular piece — he was able to associate that with Hermione instead of Viktor . . . until Hermione went to Viktor after the divorce.

But Ron no longer wanted to associate this song with them. He wanted to focus on the present, so he turned his head to look at Teddy, with the song still playing in the background. The song didn’t fit Teddy at all; it was kind of strange that Teddy even liked this song since he generally preferred music in a major key. He tried to figure this puzzle out, and then Teddy’s eyes met his. Ron lost all sense of time while he stared into those deep eyes.

Passion, he realised. Teddy was full of passion. Whatever he did, whether it was to play the violin with such force that each notes commanded his attention, to play those simple piano pieces that brought a smile to his face, to talk his ears off about the most inane things, to come up with ideas that turned his life around — it was what made him Teddy, and it was what the Rachmaninoff piece had — passion — despite the sombre tone.

Towards the end of the song, Teddy’s gentle hands reached out and cupped Ron’s cheeks, and Ron, feeling the tears in his eyes, feeling drained from weeks and months of uncertainty, guilt, and sadness, accepted the tender touch; he moved closer to rest his head on Teddy’s shoulder and pressed himself closer when Teddy’s arm wrapped around him.

Soon, the first movement finally came to an end. Ron tried to explain everything to Teddy. “Look, I . . . y-you see, back when I was about fourteen, I — er –” He swallowed hard and tried again. “I associated this song with someone . . . a guy . . . and I–”

Run shut up when he felt one of Teddy’s callused fingers on his lips. He looked up and he nearly sobbed from seeing the understanding expression on Teddy’s calm face. Teddy whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Ron. I know. I know.”

That simple declaration broke the last remaining barrier Ron had up to now, and he reached up and kissed Teddy, who kissed him back with so much force and heat that Ron lay back on the bed and pulled Teddy up on top of him.

He didn’t know how long they kissed. He didn’t care. He only knew that Teddy, pressing down on him, felt so good. When Teddy slipped his tongue inside his mouth, Ron felt heat explode everywhere inside of him. He could taste Teddy and smell him and feel his warmth. His hands touched everything and played their own solos as they explored and found spots that made Teddy moan in their kisses. His own moans echoed with Teddy’s, and he wanted Teddy to touch him until they both reached that edge they both needed and wanted.

When Teddy whispered, “You’re the only thing — one — I ever want anymore,” Ron kissed him again, and also whispered, “Me too.”

“I can’t believe you made me wear a tie.”

“It looks good on you.”

“It’s yellow with black polka dots. Are you trying to tell me something here? You do realise I was a Gryffindor, right?

“I know, but red and gold is boring.”

“And you’re wearing a blue and silver tie.”

Teddy laughed. “Your point?”

“Next time, stick with our individual house colours!” Ron gave him a mocking glare, but it quickly turned into a smile. “This is how you thank me, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll thank you in a much different way when we get home after this concert.”

Ron felt his cheeks getting warm, and he ducked his head as he looked around the lobby, which was filled with people waiting to go into the concert hall to hear Tchaikovsky’s “Violin Concerto in D Major”.

Teddy leaned over and whispered, “I’m really glad you invited me to this concert. I’m actually looking forward to enjoying a concert I don’t have to write a review for.”

Ron nodded. He purposely chose this performance because it was a violin concerto; it was a piece he’d heard recently on the wireless and it was one of those pieces that just fit Teddy. So when he heard about this performance, he bought the tickets and invited Teddy. Of course, he also had an ulterior motive to all of this. He lowered his voice and conspiratorially said, “Yes, you don’t have to write a review, but I expect you to perform the solo part tomorrow from memory for me.”

Teddy’s eyes opened wide before it narrowed and he said, “If you make me do that, I’ll spell a permanent cock ring on you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would,” Teddy said as he straightened himself up. “So what are you going to do? Do you still want me to play tomorrow?”

Ron sighed loudly and smiled. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to play it tomorrow. But I do want to hear you play it one day.”

“All right.” With a last impish grin, Teddy leaned and planted a soft kiss on Ron’s cheek. He looked at the opened doors. “But let’s worry about that later.” He laced their hands and they walked into the concert hall.

Together.

Ron tightened his hold and he said, “All right, Teddy. All right.”

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. — Carl Jung

Teddy remembered the first time he met Neville. That was his earliest and most vivid memory from childhood. He was playing at Harry’s place, and they were drawing and finger-painting in the sitting room. It was a messy activity, but Teddy loved it since he enjoyed the cool feel of the wet paint on his fingers and the colours he could combine to make what his grandmamma would call a “repursibe brown”. He didn’t think it was “repursibe” at all. He found it appealing since it matched his natural hair colour.

He’d been in the middle of trying to paint an orange cat — just like “Cookshrank” — when the Floo activated and out popped a man Teddy had never seen before.

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

“Neville!” Harry exclaimed, standing up to greet their visitor. “What brings you here, today?”

The man called Neville was taller and broader than Harry. He had a friendly face, a slightly crooked smile, and eyes that twinkled. Teddy wasn’t sure what colour Neville’s hair was; to his eyes, it was either yellow or brown. Teddy watched with wide eyes as Neville dusted himself off with his large hands. He could plainly see dirt under Neville’s fingernails, and that surprised him since he thought most grown-ups didn’t play with dirt.

When Neville talked, his voice sounded very deep, one that made Teddy feel like he was eating delicious chocolates. “I stopped by — I know I’m overdue for our regular visit.” The warm brown eyes turned to look at him, and Teddy stared back without a sound. “Is this Teddy?”

Harry nodded. “He’s with me today because Andromeda had to do stuff. Teddy? This is Neville Longbottom, one of my good friends from school.”

Teddy still didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say.

A gentle smile came over Neville’s face, and Teddy watched him crouch down until their eyes were level. “Hey, there. I see you’re painting. Can you tell me about your picture?”

“It’s Cookshrank. It’s Herminny’s cat,” Teddy answered in a soft voice.

“Wow! It’s very good. Very colourful.”

Teddy smiled a bit as his large eyes stared questioningly at Neville’s hands. “Um . . . Mr Longbutton?”

“Neville. Just call me Neville.”

“Okay, ‘Nebul’, why’s your hands dirty?’

“Teddy,” Harry interjected. “That’s not a polite thing to ask.”

“But . . . ”

“It’s okay, Harry. He’s just a kid.” Neville laughed. It was a soft laugh, and it sounded happy. One of Neville’s hands reached out to pat Teddy on his shoulder. “It’s dirty because I work with plants. I like Herbology.”

“‘Herbogey’? What’s that?”

“It means I like to study plants and make them grow.”

“Really? Like flowers? Trees?” Teddy thought that was really cool. “That means you play with dirt?”

“Yep, I play with dirt.” Neville’s smile revealed his crooked teeth, and Teddy found them funny looking.

“Can I play with Herbogey, too?”

Neville and Harry laughed. “Sure,” Neville said. “I’ll show you my personal greenhouse one day.”

“Okay!”

Teddy decided that Neville was someone fun and different. He wasn’t as outgoing or funny as Ron or George, nor cool and beautiful like Bill or Fleur, but he thought Neville was super-nice and friendly for a grown-up. Plus, Neville played with dirt. That alone was good enough for him.

He wished all grown-ups weren’t so picky about playing with dirt.

“Grandmamma? How come Charlie has a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend?” Teddy wriggled a loose tooth as he watched his grandmother turn an interesting shade of red. It was quite an impressive sight, considering how she lacked any Metamorphmagus skills.

“Teddy Remus Lupin! What kind of a question is that?”

His friends told him to always smile innocently with big puppy eyes to avoid trouble with grown-ups. Teddy felt like he ought to give that a try. He had a feeling he’d just bungled up, so he widened his eyes and answered in a child-like voice, “I just wanted to know why he’s got a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. I thought it was normal for boys to have girlfriends. Not boyfriends.”

“Well . . . some men like men and some women like women. Love . . . love isn’t something one can be judgmental about. As long as the people themselves are kind and caring individuals, it doesn’t matter who they love.”

Teddy thought about her answer. He thought about the people he loved himself, but he figured that there were different, more grown-up kinds of love. “So it’s a choice people make?”

“Yes, dear. We all have the right to love who we want.”

He glanced at a plant, and he was reminded of something. “Does that mean Neville’s the same way?”

“Same way? Oh, you mean like Charlie?”

Teddy nodded.

“Well, yes, I suppose . . . but Teddy, it’s really none of your business. Don’t go around poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Andromeda said in a firm voice. “Now, let’s go practise your penmanship! I will not have a grandson who writes poorly.”

“Yes, Grandmamma.”

As he practised on improving his handwriting, Teddy daydreamed about Neville. He was slowly finding out that Neville was an interesting man. He’d heard stories about Harry and his friends’ adventures in their seventh year. He’d also heard stories about Neville’s bravery as he fought the bad wizards and witches in Hogwarts. Neville had acted quite headstrong and determined, and Teddy thought it didn’t quite fit what he knew of Neville right now.

The Neville he knew right now was kind and gentle, always friendly and polite, and Teddy enjoyed talking to him about the different kinds of plants. He’d visited Neville’s personal greenhouse several times now, and he’d watched Neville bent over a pot to take care of a flower, his hands and arms all black and brown from the dirt as he worked with a happy smile. Teddy really was having a hard time imagining Neville fighting the bad guys.

But all that didn’t matter to Teddy. He knew Neville was a good person, and that was what counted.

Teddy looked at the crowded platform, where he could hear the chattering and shouts of excitement from the students and their guardians. He clutched his grandmamma’s hand and Harry’s hand tightly. He knew he should be excited that he was finally going to Hogwarts, but he felt fear and nervousness surging through him instead.

He looked at the trunk Harry was levitating. It had all his new textbooks; he’d already flipped through them, and the scent of new books had wafted to his nose, encouraging him to get a head start in reading. There were new parchments, quills, and inks for him. He’d stuffed his “Hairy Teddy” in there along with some sweets, his potions equipment, and some new robes. In Grandmamma’s other hand, she carried a cage with a beautiful tawny owl Teddy had named “Amber”. He was ready for Hogwarts with all his new stuff, but he didn’t want to leave home.

He mainly didn’t want to leave his grandmamma and Harry, but he knew he had to go to Hogwarts. He just wished he didn’t have to board there, but that was the way things were so he had go with the system. Tears were in the back of Teddy’s eyes, and he blinked hard to keep them from coming out. He didn’t want to cry. He was going to Hogwarts now, and Hogwarts boys did not cry in public places.

However, when Grandmamma hugged him tightly, he buried his face in her chest, and a few tears came out against his will. He sniffled loudly, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and mumbled, “I don’t want to go.”

“Oh, Teddy, it will be fine. You’ll love it there, and we’ll write to each other. You’ll make new friends and have the time of your life,” Grandmamma soothed him.

Teddy wasn’t convinced. He wanted to study at home like he’d been doing before. Why did he have to go away?

Still hugging his grandmamma, he felt a large hand ruffling his hair, which was in a sombre shade of blue at the moment. “Teddy, don’t you remember all the stories I told you about Hogwarts? The ghosts? The moving portraits? The way to sneak into the kitchen to meet the house elves and grab some extra food?”

Teddy did remember. He did want to see all of the fascinating stuff Harry and Grandmamma had told him, but he just wasn’t ready to leave home yet.

“Plus, don’t forget. Neville will be there. If you ever have any problems, you can go to him,” Harry reminded him.

Neville? Teddy completely forgot about Neville being a professor at Hogwarts. He knew Neville worked there, but Teddy didn’t associate Neville as “Professor Longbottom”. He only considered him as “Neville”. But now that he remembered this little fact, he gave Harry and Grandmamma a brave smile. “Okay, but if I really don’t like it there, will you come get me . . . ?”

“I doubt that’ll happen, but yes, if you really want to leave, we’ll come get you,” Grandmamma promised.

When Harry gave him a big hug, he said, “Say hi to Hagrid for me, okay? And don’t worry so much. You’ll enjoy Hogwarts.”

With one more round of hugs, Teddy trudged onto the train. He found an empty compartment, but it didn’t stay empty that long. He was joined by a hyper girl, named Helena Kensington, who was a cousin of Mr Finnigan, and a friendly young boy named Jacob Goldstein. They were both first years like Teddy, and it wasn’t long before the three of them began to talk and converse like they’d been friends for years.

Eventually, they reached their destination, and he heard Hagrid’s loud voice calling all the first years towards him. After relaying the message to Hagrid from Harry, Teddy got in a boat with his new friends. Harry had told him about the Giant Squid, and even though he didn’t really want to run into the beast, he still kept out an eye for any signs of it.

Professor Vector, the deputy headmistress, greeted them in the castle, and she led them into the Great Hall.

Once again, nervousness came fluttering into his stomach as Teddy sensed thousands of eyes watching him. All the first years were silent, including Helena and Jacob, and they all stood in a line to go through the Sorting. Even though Teddy had heard plenty of stories about the Sorting Hat, it still tickled him to hear it actually sing.

The first student, a girl by the name of Victoria Adams went first. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, and Teddy waited a minute before it yelled, “Ravenclaw!”

As he waited for his turn, he wondered which house he would be put in. Would he go to Gryffindor like his father or Harry? Or would his mother’s house fit him more? Would he be sorted into Slytherin like his grandmamma? There was also Ravenclaw. Teddy really wasn’t sure where he’d end up.

Jacob went to Gryffindor, and Helena ended up in Slytherin. He waited and waited until Professor Vector finally said, “Lupin, Teddy!” Taking small steps to the stool, he sat on it. He ignored the stares as he tried to keep his hair brown instead of red. He didn’t want the whole world to see that he was embarrassed by all of this. He glanced up at the Head Table, and there he saw Neville smiling at him. It was an encouraging smile, making Teddy feeling a bit better. Before he could force a smile back, the hat came on him, and he nearly jumped at the voice he heard in his head.

“Well, well. A Lupin and a Tonks! I would have never guessed . . . but let’s see. I see you have a bit of everything going for you. Brave, yes. Hardworking, intelligent, ambitious . . . it’s not often I meet a first year like you, Teddy Lupin. Which house should I put you in . . . ”

I . . . I want to be in . . . the house where I can make people be proud of me. Teddy wasn’t sure why he suddenly thought that, but it was true. He did want to make his grandmamma and Harry and Neville all proud of him. And he wanted to make his parents proud of him, too, wherever they were right now.

“I see . . . if that’s how you feel then I think you will do excellently in . . . SLYTHERIN!”

A Slytherin. He was now a Slytherin. Teddy slipped the hat off, and he nearly stumbled over to the Slytherin table, where he was greeted by a happy Helena, who scooted over to give him a spot. As she chattered on how it was a shame that Jacob hadn’t joined them in the same house, Teddy dazedly stared at the rest of his new housemates. Some of them looked aloof and scary. Some looked as if they just didn’t care about what was happening around them as they conversed to themselves. Teddy felt strange inside. Was this really his house? Was he really suited for this?

He looked up, feeling someone’s eyes on him. He met Neville’s dark brown eyes. They were kind and gentle, and Teddy knew that he had Neville’s approval and support for his Sorting. He remembered what his grandmamma and Harry told him. It didn’t matter what house he was in. No house was better than the other. In Neville’s eyes he saw that same message, and he grew more confident with his house placement.

His nervousness disappeared, and he began to see that being at Hogwarts was going to be fun. Teddy did not regret coming here at all. He would make the best of it.

“Good morning. I am Professor Longbottom, and I want to welcome you all to my class.”

Teddy stared at Neville in awe. This Neville was different from the Neville he was used to. Then again, Neville had always been more of a good family friend than a direct authority figure. Whenever they’d been together, it was always to play in the greenhouse or to have dinner with Harry. He’d never seen Neville in his professor mode, and now he finally saw Neville in action.

“In my class,” Neville continued, “I expect you all to be attentive and on good behaviour. I will not tolerate anyone misbehaving. I have no qualms about giving out detentions or deducting house points. However, I will try to make this subject fun for you all. If you ever have any questions, do ask. The only stupid question is the one that’s never asked. So please, ask questions!”

Standing, Neville had a good, sturdy look about him. His back was straight, and his shoulders were broad. His eyes, while still looking gentle, had a firm look about them, and his mouth was set in a pleasant but no-nonsense smile. It was a strange contrast, but it was very effective. He watched Neville give two students — both were whispering — a fixed stare, and they quieted down without him ever telling them to do or raising his voice. In fact, Teddy noted that Neville never yelled. If Neville ever turned upset, his voice would change in its inflection, and Teddy could hear the disappointment underlying his deep voice

As each day passed, whenever Teddy had Herbology, his respect for Neville grew. Neville was very fair and firm, but he always acted in such a gentle manner that nobody would dare try to disappoint him. Teddy really liked that in Neville, and Neville quickly became his favourite professor after Professor Nott — who was the Head of his House and the Arithmancy professor.

One day he had been outside by the lake, enjoying the autumn breeze, reading at the docks, and again trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Giant Squid. He had no luck, though, and he was on his way back into the castle when he bumped into Neville.

“Hello, Teddy! What are you up to?” Neville asked cheerfully.

“Oh, Nev– I mean, er, Professor Longbottom. I was just reading outside.” This was the first time he had the chance to talk to Neville outside of class, and he had almost called him “Neville”, which was what he’d always called him before.

“I see. Good book?”

Teddy nodded as they stopped outside the main entrance. Now that he was alone with Neville, he had no idea what to say. Their relationship had changed somehow since he started at Hogwarts; they were now in the student and teacher relationship. Teddy wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. It wasn’t bad per se, but it was awkward. As much as he liked Neville as a teacher, he also missed their easygoing friendship they had before he started school.

“It seems like you’re really enjoying Hogwarts. I’ve heard that you’re doing well in your other classes and I see you’ve made new friends.”

Teddy nodded eagerly, glad that there was something to talk about. “Yes! I love it here, and I really like the whole castle. It’s such a wonderful place, and I do like my new friends.” He and Helena were great friends now, and they were both still friends with Jacob despite their different houses. Whenever they could, the three of them would study together in the library or spend time exploring the castle and visiting the kitchen for a snack.

“That’s great to hear. If you ever have any problems or want to talk about anything bothering you, do stop by my office or my personal greenhouse, okay?”

“All right, Professor. Thank you.”

Neville opened the door to the castle, and he turned and gave Teddy a big smile. “Also, whenever we’re alone, you can just call me ‘Neville’. Just don’t call me that in class, or I will assign a week’s worth of detention with Mr Filch.”

Teddy grinned. “I won’t call you that in class.”

“Have a pleasant day, Mr Lupin.”

“You, too, Professor.”

There were plenty of things for Teddy to learn at Hogwarts. He was taught all about the wizarding subjects — some more fun than others. He discovered that he enjoyed Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration the best, while he detested History of Magic and Astronomy. Also in his studies, he enjoyed doing the practical lessons more than listening to the theories in lectures.

Aside from school, he learned much about his social life, too. He was slowly finding that not all Slytherins were aloof and scary as he had thought on his first day here. He realised here and there that not everyone would be friends with him, and that was fine with him. He’d always preferred having small groups of friends, and he was happy with Helena and Jacob. And even though he had one unique skill that not many had, he didn’t want to use it all the time and appear like he was bragging. Though, depending on his mood and stress level, it was a bit harder to control his hair or eyes from changing colours when he least expected.

Lastly, Teddy learned, in the beginning of his second year, that there were different kinds of respect. Especially with his professors. He respected most of his professors and listened to them — even if Binns was a boring ghost — and he liked all of them. He valued Professor Nott, his Head of House, and he knew that Professor Nott always had his door opened for the Slytherins if they ever had any problems that needed to be addressed. However, he noticed that he respected Professor Nott differently from Neville. With Neville, he wanted to go talk and get to know him. With Neville, he felt comfortable to the point where he could talk to him about his personal problems; with Professor Nott, he only could talk about school-related topics.

That was why, one day when he struggled with a personal problem of his, he sought out Neville instead of Professor Nott. Yet even though Neville had told him that he was welcome to visit whenever, Teddy still felt a bit jumpy when he knocked on Neville’s personal office door.

“Come in.” Teddy opened the door and entered with his hands behind his back. Neville’s office was a nice, cosy room; sunlight streaming inside gave it a warm and inviting feel. The earthy colours Neville had picked out for his curtains, carpeting, and furniture was a nice change from the rich and high-class office Professor Nott kept. Then there were the various flowers and plants Neville had all over the room. He saw a bonsai tree in the corner, and he remembered the time Neville had shown him how to take care of it. Teddy hoped to keep a bonsai tree of his own one day.

Teddy walked closer to the front of Neville’s desk. It was a large desk, and it was covered with papers. He looked at Neville who, with a quill in one hand and an essay in another, appeared quite occupied. Teddy had a feeling he’d come at bad time. “I . . . are you busy?” Teddy asked, his foot scuffing up the carpet.

“Oh, no! This is my last essay, and then I’ll be done . . . although the mess here probably makes it look like I have more to go . . . do excuse it. I kind of like having my desk all covered up with papers,” Neville explained cheerfully. He set the parchment and the quill down and gave Teddy his full attention. He gestured at the chair that was next to Teddy. “Have a seat. What can I do for you? Oh, would you like some tea and biscuits?”

After getting his own cup of steaming tea, Teddy took a sip and nibbled on a biscuit. “I . . . I need some advice.”

“Oh?” Neville’s brown eyes twinkled, and he lifted one dark blond eyebrow. For a few seconds, that eyebrow distracted Teddy. It wasn’t elegant and thin like Professor Nott’s or bushy and wild like Hagrid’s, but it was in between and nicely-shaped. Teddy didn’t think Neville would cast an eyebrow shaping spell like his grandmamma did, so those brows had to be natural. He decided he’d try to transform his just like that later when he was alone in the loo.

“Grandmamma’s birthday’s coming up. I want to get her a special gift, but I don’t have a clue on what to get her.”

“Well,” Neville said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands together, “what did you get her before?”

“Usually a card with a drawing or something, but I want to do something different this year . . . ” Teddy explained. “I’m coming up with a blank on what I could get her.”

“What are some things she likes?”

“She likes tea, flowers, books, and sewing, but those aren’t anything special for me to get her,” Teddy listed, staring at the teacup in his hand.

“Teddy? Anything you get her will be special since it’s from you.”

“I know . . . but I want to do more.” Teddy wasn’t sure how to explain it, but he really wanted to get her something extraordinary. “I was hoping you could give me a better advice than Helena and Jacob did. Helena told me to get her a subscription to Witch Weekly, and Jacob suggested I get her a bunch of sweets I can nab from her later.”

“Hm.” Neville pondered after he laughed at Teddy’s story. “When is her birthday?”

“In about a month.”

“Why don’t you try to make a handcrafted gift? You can personalise it to her liking, and since you made it yourself, it will really make her happy.”

Handcrafted? Like what? It wasn’t like he knew how to sew or anything. “I don’t know how to do that kind of thing. I can’t sew or knit.”

“Do you know Luna Lovegood-Scamander?” Teddy nodded. Since she was friends with Harry and Neville, Teddy knew of her slightly. “She’s really good at making all sorts of stuff. Maybe she could show you how to make a bookmark or something? You could also learn a stasis charm that will freeze your grandmother’s favourite flower into staying in its beautiful state forever, and you could add to the bookmark. Those are some suggestions.”

Teddy thought about it. It wasn’t something grand like he was originally thinking, but it was a great idea that would allow him to make a unique gift for his grandmamma, and it would be special since he made it personally. “That’s a good idea,” Teddy spoke with a smile. “But I don’t know Ms Lovegood-Scamander well enough to contact her . . . ”

“Then allow me. I’ll contact her. She’ll love to teach you all her neat tricks, and plus, you will be a new audience for her. She’ll love to talk about the Nargles with you.”

“Nargles?”

Neville smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

Intrigued as he was by Neville’s vagueness, Teddy was happier with the fact that he finally had an idea for his grandmamma’s birthday present. Joyfully, he drank and ate more of his tea and biscuit, and he said, “Thanks, Neville.”

Neville’s deep voice answered, “You’re welcome,” and the rest of the afternoon passed by pleasantly as Neville and Teddy talked about Hogwarts and Herbology.

“I hear you’re having some problems in your DADA class,” Neville said, placing a teacup and a saucer in front of Teddy.

Teddy came to have his weekly Saturday afternoon tea with Neville. Somehow, ever since that time when he went to talk to Neville about his grandmamma’s birthday present dilemma, they both made this get-together a weekly ritual. Teddy enjoyed their weekly meeting, but today, he wasn’t in a good mood and he scowled when Neville mentioned “DADA”.

“It’s that Boggart! I . . . I hate that thing!” Teddy exclaimed. He really did detest that creature, and he hated how its main purpose was to scare individuals by revealing their deepest fears out in the open like that. His deepest fear was loneliness, and although the Boggart would transform into this ball of darkness, and although he could see that it puzzled his schoolmates, he didn’t want them to know what his real fear was. Even though it was rather humorous to see his friend’s deepest fear — Helena was afraid of some weird looking people with white make-up on their faces, giant noses, weirdly painted mouths, colourful curly hairs, and these bizarre, puffy, polka-dot outfits — he still didn’t want to display his vulnerabilities.

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t really enjoy those either, but your father turned our Boggart class into a fun one . . . at least for me.”

Teddy brightened at the mention of his father. Harry had told him stories about his father as a professor, but Neville never mentioned about his experiences with his father. And since Neville never talked about it before, Teddy had almost forgotten the fact that Neville was a student of his father’s.

“Will you tell me about that class? Harry had already told me, but . . . I’d like to hear it from your perspective. And how come you’ve never talked about my father before?” Teddy didn’t mean to sound so curious and invasive, but he wanted to hear about his father. His grandmamma had plenty of stories to tell about his mother, but aside from Harry, there weren’t a lot of people he could talk with about his father.

Neville laughed lightly. “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

With his face and his hair turning red, Teddy stammered, “I, er, that is . . . ”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just joking.” Neville sipped on his tea before continuing. “Your father, as I’m sure Harry had told you, was a wonderful professor. Patient and kind, he allowed me to grow at my own pace, and he never once made me feel like I was a failure. I almost want to say, he’s probably the first adult who really instilled any confidence in me.”

Teddy listened to the Boggart story. He’d already heard about that particular class from Harry, but hearing the same story from Neville, it sounded different yet still very familiar.

As he listened and processed this precious bit of information, he realised that his father had left an impact on quite a few people. Sure, his father had only taught at Hogwarts for one year, but he knew, whether it was a day or a decade, single or multiple encounters, one person can leave a lasting impression on someone, leaving a bit of themselves behind.

His father had done that. Teddy felt like his father was more tangible after hearing these stories, and since he heard it from Harry and Neville — the two people he felt most connected to — he understood then that he was not alone, and he should never fear loneliness.

His father had given Harry and Neville confidence. Now, it was his turn. Indirectly, he received confidence from his father through Neville, and he’d tackle that bloody Boggart now!

“I can see you’re ready to challenge that Boggart. Shall we do that?” Neville asked, smiling as he stood up.

Teddy grinned. “Ready. Oh, and Neville? Thank you.”

He didn’t have to clarify on what he was thanking Neville for. Neville already knew.

Teddy grumbled and glared at the blank parchment, wishing he could burn it up with his eyes. He couldn’t concentrate on anything at the moment, especially not an essay; all he could think about was his latest argument with his grandmamma.

Behind him, he heard Neville shuffling about, seeing to his plants. It wasn’t a Saturday; Teddy only came here today to work on his dreaded Muggle Studies essay, wanting a quiet place with no distraction. Yet he was too high-strung to get the words out.

He startled when he heard Neville ask, “All right there, Teddy?”

Teddy grunted, watching the ink from his quill drip onto the clean parchment, wondering if he could at least train his eyes to do telekinesis and draw an unflattering image of his grandmamma. He decided against that idea. Knowing her psychic abilities, she’d find out and chew his ears out since she was obviously part-Harpy. Or at least distantly related to one.

He looked up when Neville sat across from him, who said lightly, “Sorry, but I don’t speak or understand cave-man language. Care to speak in English? Or maybe Welsh? I know a bit.”

Teddy bit his tongue. It really wouldn’t be wise to tell a professor — no matter how close they are — to bugger off. He thought for a minute before he asked, “How come you stopped being an Auror?”

Neville blinked before he said, “It just wasn’t for me. I’ve always preferred Herbology.”

“If you’ve always preferred Herbology, why’d you become an Auror?”

“To be honest, I wanted to still try it. It was something my parents did. I wanted to try it and see if I could feel closer to them. And Gran, who raised me, had this idea that I’d be like my father, her only son.”

It was Teddy’s turn to blink. “That’s it!” he blurted. “That’s the same thing Grandmamma’s pushing me into! She wants me to be an Auror. She insists that it’ll be a good career and it’ll let me work with Harry.” He looked off to the side, trying to suppress his bitterness. He tried to keep the words from coming out, but they escaped him. What he said next wasn’t exactly true, but he was just so frustrated that the words tumbled out. “I think that’s all she sees me as. I look more like my mum. I’m a Metamorphmagus like my mum. I like to be a night owl like my mum. Apparently, I am my mum’s clone! Grandmamma doesn’t see me as me. I’m just a male version of Mum!”

Breathing hard, Teddy angrily looked away as tears stung his eyes. He hated to lose his composure, but after days of keeping his feelings bottled up, he just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Neville didn’t say anything, and Teddy realised then that he probably sounded really immature and bratty. Bowing his head, his fringe covering his eyes, Teddy mumbled, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Neville answered calmly.

Teddy looked up then, and he saw something in Neville’s face. He didn’t see disgust or pity; he saw support and understanding in those brown eyes. “You understand,” he said simply.

Neville nodded. “What is it do you want to pursue after Hogwarts? What is it you really want to do?”

“Potions. I . . . I want to study it and be a Potions master.”

“Have you ever tried to tell your grandmother what you just told me?”

Teddy shook his head. “I didn’t think she’d listen. She’s . . . stubborn.” He stopped himself in time from saying “an old cow”.

“You should do so. Granted, like you said, she’ll be stubborn, but she’ll come around. Gran did for me. Eventually.” Neville grinned. “Just don’t do your screaming banshee act, all right? Believe me when I say that older women are not to be messed with. They are quite . . . formidable.”

Teddy snorted. “And strange.”

“I can’t disagree with you on that.” Neville laughed and shook his head. “Then again, my grandmother likes to wear vulture hats.”

“That’s nothing. Mine thinks sauerkraut with liver is tasty. I think she’s mad. Those two things are nasty, and that sauerkraut stinks up the whole house when she makes it. I swear, her nose is fully clogged.” Teddy sniggered at the green tinge on Neville’s face.

Neville coughed. “Well, we’ll have to exchange grandmother stories later.” He eyed Teddy’s parchment. “Is that your Muggle Studies essay?”

“Yeah.”

“You better start writing that essay. Now that Luna’s the new Muggle Studies professor, the consequences are not pretty if you don’t do well on your assignment.”

Rolling his eyes, Teddy dryly said, “I don’t mind listening to her talking about the Nargles. She does that whenever she helps me with Grandmamma’s gifts.”

“Oh? That’s only like a few hours.” Neville’s face turned green once more. “Try ten hours and throw in twelve hours of her talking about the Blibbering Humdinger and Crumple-Horned Snorkack to the mix.”

Teddy stared at Neville and then quickly looked at the parchment. “Er, I suppose I should concentrate fully on the many uses of a Karaoke machine.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Teddy groaned as he lifted up his blanket to see his morning greeting. This had become a daily occurrence, and he knew this was normal for a boy of his age, but the content of his dreams confused him. Instead of soft and gentle curves, dainty and pretty hands, perky breasts, and a gorgeous female seducing him, he had hard angles, large and callused hands, a flat chest, and a handsome male seducing him.

He wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact that it was a faceless bloke invading his sexual fantasies. Then again, he’d never really thought about his sexual orientation that much before. He’d just assumed he liked the ladies; the idea that he’d prefer the gentlemen had never really occurred to him until these dreams appeared almost out of nowhere.

Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him something. He sensed something familiar about the faceless bloke, but no matter how much he mulled over that pesky implication, he was unable to figure out the faceless bloke’s identity.

He needed to talk about this with someone, someone who wasn’t an adult and who wouldn’t judge him.

He decided to tell Helena first; he was slightly closer to her anyway. He’d tell Jacob later.

He told her at the docks. It was just the two of them enjoying the warm spring sunshine and the flower-scented breeze. He took a deep breath and said, “I think I’m gay.”

Helena’s gum went flying and landed in the water with a plop. She turned and stared at him as her mouth moved without making a single sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Not that I care, but why do you think you’re gay. It’s either you are or you’re not. Or you could be bisexual. If that’s the case, your Metamorphmagus skills will come in handy if your next man or woman decides they want to experiment having sex with the opposite gender.”

He gave her a horrified look. “How can you say all that with a straight face?”

“It’s in my nature.” She smirked at him. “Now, don’t change the subject. Why do you think you’re gay?”

“I . . . I just think I am?” No matter how close they were, he decided to keep his fantasies and dreams a secret only privy to himself.

“Look,” she said exasperatedly. “Are you asking me to help find out if you are? Is that what this is about? You want me to plant you a big, wet kiss or something?”

Unsure if she was serious or not, he slowly said, “I guess?”

“Fine, fine.”

Before his brain could decipher her response, she grabbed him by his arms, and her grip was extremely strong — not surprising since she was one of the Beaters. As his arms protested against her iron-clad hold, she pulled them together, with her breasts squashing into his own chest. He didn’t find them pleasant or soft. When their lips met, her teeth clashed into his, but after that initial bumpiness, they stayed still, hers pressing against his, and he waited for some sort of a spark or a “zing” he secretly read about in his grandmamma’s trashy romance novels from her own hidden stash.

He felt nothing. No spark, no zing, absolutely nothing.

They parted, and she grinned. “You didn’t like it.”

He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so–”

“Don’t apologise. You don’t need to. At least we’ve established that you don’t like kissing girls — or at least me. Are you going to test your gay theory by kissing Jacob? That would actually be a very interesting way to come out to him.”

“Helena!” he yelled. “Ew! Just, no! I think he’d punch me if I tried!”

“True. A shame, though. I’d kill to have a picture of you two snogging. That could be my personal wanking material . . . ”

He covered his ears and shouted, “Too much information!”

Helena’s laugh could be heard all the way to Wales.

“I have a question,” Jacob said, blowing on his hands. “That damn warming spell is not helping.”

“That’s,” Helena said witheringly, “not a question.”

Teddy snorted as he watched the people pass by. Many were Hogwarts students enjoying their Hogsmeade weekend, but there were older wizards and witches bustling through the busy town.

Jacob glared. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, but my previous comment goes well with what I’m about to say next. Why, for the love of Merlin, are we people watching out in this freezing weather?!”

“There’s more to see out here,” Helena explained. “While Teddy and I admire the handsome wizards walking around, you can drool over the witches and imagine them propositioning to you. A shame it’ll never happen in reality.”

“Oi!” Jacob shouted while Helena threw her head back and laughed. “I don’t see any wizards coming up to you or Teddy! Teddy, why are you letting her abuse me like this?”

Holding back his own laughter, Teddy held up his hands and backed away. “Don’t drag me into this. You and I both know that it’s pointless trying to outwit her.”

Something caught Teddy’s eyes. Ignoring his two best mates bickering as usual, he squinted his eyes, barely making out the two people in the shadows of the dark alleyway. His eyes widened a bit as he watched the two of them in their private snog fest. He could see one of them pressed against the wall; he took in that wizard’s strong grip on his partner’s hips. The way the two moved against one another appeared so powerful, so needy yet beautiful, that Teddy had to force himself to look away. Yet he couldn’t help but feel something off about this, feel like he should know one of those wizards.

Helena and Jacob hadn’t noticed anything. They were still arguing with each other, so Teddy walked away from them and he leaned against a wooden fence and dug through his bag of sweets. He picked out a Chocolate Frog and unwrapped it, holding onto the sweet tightly so it wouldn’t escape. Just as he took a bite, he saw one of the wizards walk out from the alleyway. He looked at the wizard’s back, looked at the familiar dark-brown robes, the slightly shaggy dark-blond hair, and he stilled. The chocolate in his mouth melted, but he couldn’t taste anything. He just stared at the wizard’s back, feeling something igniting deep inside of him.

“Oh! Hello, Professor Longbottom!” Helena’s distinctively loud voice pulled him out from his stupor, and Teddy now stared into Neville’s slightly flushed face.

And Teddy knew why Neville’s cheeks were pink, he knew why Neville’s lips were swollen, and he knew why the back of the robes looked slightly dusty.

He knew.

His feelings hidden inside of him intensified. Anger, happiness, sadness, eagerness. They all warred against each other within him. All those times he’d spent with Neville, the advices, the conversations, those dreams . . . he’d somehow fallen for Neville Longbottom.

He was in a daze. He could hear Helena and Jacob talking to Neville. He heard himself telling Neville that he’d just bought some sweets. When Neville walked away, Teddy didn’t miss the concerned looks from him. And when Helena and Jacob asked if he was all right, he answered in a monotonous voice.

At the castle, when he was finally alone in his dorms, his mind cleared up a bit. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes, and it wasn’t long before his imagination took over. He thought about what it would be like if he’d been the one pushing Neville against that dirty wall, wondered how tight Neville’s hands would be on his hips. Those same hands were always gentle and caring towards any plant life. Would there be dirt under the nails? How would Neville’s callused hands feel when they touched him?

He thought about the kiss, remembering how that one kiss with Helena left him feeling nothing. Somehow, he just knew that kissing Neville would be different. The “zing” he so craved, he almost could sense it on his own lips. He then pondered on how Neville would taste. Would he taste the tangy flavours of Earl Grey — Neville’s favourite tea — or would it be something different? Something spicy? Sweet?

In a joint effort, all of his senses and his mind worked overtime as he fantasised all of this to the point he almost thought Neville was actually in the room with him — kissing, touching, never stopping, and always encouraging.

After hours of lying on his bed, Teddy whispered, “Blimey.”

With this huge revelation, he knew that everything had changed for him.

Their Saturday get-togethers occurred less. Teddy told Neville he was too busy studying for his NEWTs, a perfectly good excuse he used all throughout his seventh year.

Honestly, though, being away from Neville was a blessing and a curse. Teddy hated being away from him, hated that he had to lie and pretend he was too NEWT-obsessed to be in the same room as him. Even his Herbology classes were doing a number on his libido. Every time he saw Neville do something, he wanted to jump him. Just hearing Neville’s deep voice and watching those wonderful hands touch a plant in a caressing manner made Teddy instantly aroused.

It wasn’t long before Helena and Jacob cornered him at the docks to question his strange behaviours.

“What’s the matter with you? I know I always say that we’re an odd bunch, but you’re acting really weird.” Jacob punched Teddy’s shoulder, making him wince.

Before he could punch Jacob back or shove him into the lake, Helena announced, “I think I know why. Ickle Teddy Bear is in love.”

“That’s your theory. My theory is better,” Jacob said, cutting Teddy off once more.

“What’s your theory? You know I’ve got the brains, right? You’re just too busy fumbling around in Myrtle’s bathroom with whatsherface to come up with a good theory. You’re just going to say something like ‘He needs to get laid’.”

“Oi!”

“You know I’m right.” Helena smirked before turning her attention to Teddy. “Now, fess up!”

Teddy hesitated. He knew his friends wouldn’t judge him, but he wasn’t sure if he could tell them yet. He chose to be vague. “You’re right, I suppose.”

Jacob gave him a wary look. “She is?”

Helena ignored Jacob and gave Teddy a long look. “With who?”

“I don’t really want to say right now.”

“You’re spoiling the fun here. You’re supposed to launch onto about the love of your life and how you’d bring them the moon and the stars or something sappy like that.” She grimaced. “Never mind. I should know better than to believe in those crap-filled romance novels.”

Before Teddy could retort with something witty, Jacob, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, said, “It’s Professor Longbottom, isn’t it?”

Teddy swallowed loudly, fighting hard to keep his purple hair from changing colours. He could have easily denied his friend’s claim and lied. But he found himself unable to deny the truth now that it was out in the open, especially when his two best friends were right in front of him. Closing his eyes tightly, he nodded.

Nobody said anything. Teddy could hear the splashing from the lake, the distant chattering of students, and Fang’s barking. There was a breeze, and the pages of his book fluttered under his thumbs. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and forced himself to look at his friends.

He nearly fell off the docks upon seeing their grins.

“We knew it. Or at least we guessed it, but I was the one who thought of Professor Longbottom.” Jacob turned towards Helena and gleefully said, “I was right. You owe me now!”

Grumbling, Helena muttered, “For once. I mean, it was kind of obvious, so even you could have picked up on Teddy’s sudden mood changes and the changes in his schedules.”

Teddy blinked. “You guys were betting on me?”

“Not really. We were just guessing.” Helena sat next to Teddy and put an arm around his shoulders. “I have to say, you have good taste. That Professor Longbottom does have some nice arse.”

“Please! I respect the bloke. Really, I do, but let’s not talk about his or anyone’s arse at the moment?” Jacob intervened.

Laughter escaped Teddy’s mouth, and he felt tension leaving his body. He should have expected his friends to make a serious situation into a fun one.

Helena rolled her eyes at Jacob’s statement. “I’m going to pretend you’re invisible. I’ll just talk to Teddy. Anyway, Teddy, dear, what are you going to do about your great love for Professor Longbottom?”

“Nothing,” Teddy sighed.

“Nothing?” Jacob and Helena said together.

“Yeah, nothing. I mean, I . . . ”

“Is it because you don’t want to broach that student and teacher relationship thing?” Helena asked.

“No, that’s not it . . . ”

“Is it because you don’t feel like you’re — how should I put this . . . oh, sod it. You don’t feel like you can confess anything to him until you feel like you’re his equal or something?” Jacob questioned seriously.

Helena and Teddy gaped as if Jacob had grown another head and a tail.

“What?” Jacob looked annoyed. “Despite what you two might think, I am not an idiot.”

“Ah.” Helena snapped her finger with a smile. “You’ve been reading those psychology books of yours, haven’t you? Well, you’ve always been a bit sex-crazed, so all those Freudian stuff should be a no-brainer for you!”

“Aw, stuff it, Helena!” Jacob gave Teddy his full attention. “Anyway, if that’s the case, then the solution is simple! Go out into the real world, live a little, and then when you’re ready to conquer Professor Longbottom, go after him.”

“Yeah, follow Jacob’s plan. I hate to admit it, but it’s actually a good one. You need to be wiser and gain more self-confidence to go after a man of Professor Longbottom’s calibre. You can do it, Teddy.”

“Oh, you two!” Teddy laughed once more and crushed them into a three-way hug. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Don’t thank us. Thank Professor Scamander. Have you been talking to her lately? She made me and Jacob have a meeting. A three-hour long meeting, sprouting about Nargles or something, saying that they’ve possessed you, and that we need to talk to you.” Helena made a face. “We don’t take Muggle Studies like you do. Does she go on like that all the time?”

“Well, the last time I met her, my head was in the clouds . . . ” Teddy gave them a sheepish look. “Yeah, she tends to ramble, doesn’t she?”

“Definitely,” Jacob affirmed. “Not that it’s a bad thing, I suppose. Her theories were interesting. Strange, but interesting.”

“Enough with this love fest between us. Let’s talk more on this later. I want to go to Hogsmeade. You two come with me.” Helena got up and stretched. “I want some sweets. Race you two!”

She dashed off, with Jacob running after her, shouting that she’d cheated. Teddy ran after them, his book in hand, and he decided he’d just have fun with these two now and think about Neville later. He had time, after all.

Teddy felt like an idiot.

He watched the closed doors to Neville’s office, shifting his feet. He’d stayed there for the last fifteen minutes, wishing he’d brought that letter with him so he could have just easily slipped it under that door.

“I should have just endured Helena’s screeching lecture and just went about it my own way,” he muttered to himself, thinking back to the conversation he had with his two friends earlier. He and Helena and Jacob were technically no longer Hogwarts students as of this afternoon, but they were spending one final night here before they all separated tomorrow.

Teddy took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He’d told his friends that he had a plan, a simple plan consisting of him confessing his love to Neville. In a letter.

He regretted telling them his plan. Helena had balked at the idea, claiming that it was very impersonal and a coward thing to do. In fact, her exact words were, “I know you and I are the intelligent Slytherins, and we like to tackle stuff seamlessly and quietly, but I know you’ve got some of that Gryffindor traits in you. Find it, grab their bollocks, and go tell Professor Longbottom in person!”

Even Jacob had agreed with her. Damn him for being so diplomatic about it, too, with his, “She’s right, you know. She and I both say go tell him in person. You’re the one who wants to send him a love confession on a parchment. That’s two against one. Majority rules in this case.”

“Traitors, the lot of them!” Teddy continued to mumble to himself.

He groaned, hearing Helena’s waspish voice in his brain again. He clearly heard her, “Knock on that door, you idiot! Now!”

Teddy stepped closer to the door, raised his shaking hand, and knocked.

“Come in,” Neville’s pleasant voice rang out; the deep tone made Teddy’s stomach do flip-flops. He realised then that it had been ages since he’d last came to visit Neville, and he wished he hadn’t been so stupid to forgo his Saturdays like that. Forcing himself to stay away from Neville had caused Teddy to miss him more.

Teddy entered, and he saw Neville’s expression, a mixture of surprise and something else. Expectant? Was Neville expecting him?

Neville’s face transformed, displaying his gentle, familiar smile. Standing up, he gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Do you want some tea? Juice?”

This all felt familiar and comforting, but that didn’t ease his nervousness at all. Teddy shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pocket before saying, “I’m only here for a bit. I just want to tell you something.”

“Oh?” One of Neville’s eyebrows quirked up, and Teddy had to clench his fists, preventing one or both of them from reaching out. He couldn’t allow his hands to touch Neville. He knew if they touched Neville, they would never stop.

Teddy mentally slapped himself. He had to do this. He wanted to do this, wanting no regrets or having questions about all the “what-ifs”. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “I like you.”

Neville blinked. “I like you, too, Teddy.”

“No!” Teddy lowered his voice. “I mean, I like you, Neville. I’ve liked you for a while, probably for a long time, but I didn’t realise it until . . . ” He bit his lips, realising it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention his accidental voyeurism at Hogsmeade.

“That day in Hogsmeade. You saw me and my lover then.” Neville’s calm statement was just that, a statement, not a question. “You also stopped our Saturday get-togethers.”

Teddy gaped at him. He’d imagined all sorts of conversations from the result of his confession, but this scenario had never occurred in his head. “I . . . how’d you know?”

“Teddy,” Neville sighed. “I thought about this, and only two things came into my mind. One was that I did something to upset you. I wasn’t certain what I might have done, but I must have done something to make you uncomfortable with me. The other possibility was that you’ve developed a crush on me, and that made you uncomfortable instead. With you here, visiting me on your final night instead of out partying with your friends, I figured the second possibility was the most logical.”

Once again, Teddy felt like an idiot, but he hurried onto his next question, figuring he had nothing to lose. “How do you feel about me?”

Neville was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Teddy, I’ve known you since you were a child. You’ve grown up to become a fine wizard, and I admit you’re very easy on the eyes, but . . . ”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say I’m too young and don’t know any better.”

“Teddy, have you even been with anybody?”

“Well, no, but . . . ”

“I don’t want you to mistake your affection towards me.”

“It’s not a mistake!” Teddy felt his hair changing colour. He knew, without looking, it was fiery red right now. He pursed his lips and breathed hard through his nose as he tried to calm down. In a softer voice, he said, “It’s not a mistake, nor am I confused. I know what I want, and I know my feelings well to know that I really do like you. That day, when I saw you in Hogsmeade, I was jealous of that guy. I was wishing I was in his place instead of him. I . . . I’m no longer your student. I’m of age, and I know what I want. I want you.”

Neville stayed quiet, his usually warm brown eyes were void of any emotion, but Teddy saw it. A tiny glint of emotion. He wasn’t sure exactly what that glint was, but his instincts told him it was something akin to desire and astonishment.

It was enough to give Teddy courage to say, “Kiss me, please. Kiss me. I want to . . . I want to try it with you.”

Neville’s eyes narrowed. “You know I can have my wards kick you out?”

Teddy nodded and declared, “But you won’t.” Again, following his instinct, he stepped around Neville’s desk and stopped in front of Neville. Teddy could feel Neville’s warmth, and it made him feel warm, his palms beginning to sweat. He took his hands out and reached out to tilt Neville’s head slightly. In the last couple of years, Teddy had outgrown Neville by a couple of inches. Their eyes met, and this time Teddy didn’t miss the glint of suppressed desire.

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

Slowly, Teddy moved closer, angling his head slightly. He could feel Neville’s hot breath against his cheeks, and he stilled when only mere centimetres separated them. Teddy waited, wondering if Neville would push away or punch Teddy’s noggin hard.

Neville did neither. Who made the next move, Teddy wasn’t sure, but the gap between them closed and lips met each other. Neither moved, just two lips pressed against each other, both chapped but warm. The light pressure didn’t give Teddy the spark he sought, so he was about to break it off, disappointed, but then Neville slightly parted his lips, and Teddy parted his, too. Their tongues, both hot and wet, encountered then, and that was when Teddy felt that delicious, powerful, and mind-blowing zing.

Blood rushed through Teddy’s body, and he had a sensory overload as he tasted, smelled, and touched the man he’d been wanting for ages. All those dreams of him kissing and touching Neville were nothing compared to the actual real thing right this moment. He intensified the kiss, his tongue reaching deeper into Neville’s sensual mouth. His hands, originally around Neville’s hips, began to move and dance all over Neville’s broad back and shoulders. While his mouth and his hands busied themselves, he pressed his whole body against Neville’s, loving the hardness of a man’s body and discovering just how wonderful Neville fit in his embrace.

Teddy wanted someone to freeze them, desperately wishing he could always savour this exact moment, but his longing went unanswered as Neville gently broke the kiss and stepped back as he panted lightly.

Panting himself, Teddy could feel disappointment growing inside of him. He struggled to keep his face neutral. “You didn’t like it, right?”

Neville shook his head. “On the contrary,” he said softly, reaching out to place a hand on Teddy’s shoulder, “it was quite nice.”

“Nice?” Teddy echoed. “Nice? It was beyond nice! I . . . kissing you was brilliant! It was so much different, so much better, so much . . . way better than kissing Helena!”

“Helena?” Neville started to laugh. “I see.”

Teddy wasn’t sure what made him say his next statement, but he did. He grabbed Neville’s shoulder and looked at him fiercely. “You enjoyed it. You felt that zing, too.”

“Zing? Is that what the younger crowds call it now?”

Teddy, embarrassed by his choice of word, ducked his head, blushing hard to match his hair colour. “Well, yes, zing. I blame my grandmother’s secret stash of romance novels. I think that’s where I picked up that word–”

Neville’s hand went through Teddy’s hair, and that calmed Teddy down. His fingers, so long and big and protective trailed down to touch Teddy’s cheek. His voice gentle, he said, “I felt it, too. That spark. I’ve been with a few partners now, but kissing you, I felt that connection. Kissing you is different from the others.”

Teddy’s eyes brightened, and his hair changed to turquoise while his face still remained red. “Does that mean–” He couldn’t continue it. Instead, he gave Neville a hopeful look.

“Well . . . ” Neville’s hesitation caused Teddy’s stomach to plunge unpleasantly. “Teddy, I do like you, and I am attracted to you. However, I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to start up a relationship with you so quickly.”

“I see,” Teddy said slowly. He heard the unsaid words. He knew Neville thought he was too young, not ready to get into a relationship with someone seventeen years older. He still had some growing up to do in Neville’s eyes. He’d matured from a little child to a man now. He’d gone through many changes that were physical and concrete or mental and abstract. He’d evolved, and he wasn’t finished. Neither was Neville, nor anybody else. Evolution was everywhere, inevitable and inescapable, but it could be manipulated, and that was exactly what Teddy planned to do. After all, he was a Slytherin.

Neville looked at him warily. “You’re smiling. Rather dangerously. Should I worry?”

Teddy shook his head. “No, I plan to woo you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I agree we should take this slow. You know I’ve taken up an apprenticeship to become a Potions master? I’ll be doing that with Professor Slughorn. That means I’ll be in Hogwarts a lot. That also means . . . ”

Neville chuckled. “I can’t get rid of you that easily, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, get that mastery first, and then we’ll take the next step.”

“Wait, what?” Teddy glared, wondering if he’d just been outwitted by Neville, a Gryffindor of all people. “That might take a couple of years!”

Neville just laughed again. “We’re wizards. We’ve got a pretty long lifespan, so why are you going to let two or three years hinder your goal?”

“When you put it that way . . . ” Teddy rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine! It’s obvious I can’t win with you!”

Neville responded with a soft kiss to Teddy’s cheek. “Glad you realised that. Now, do me a favour? Go out and party with your friends. You don’t need to hole yourself up in here with me when your friends are leaving tomorrow.”

“Can I have another one of those ‘zinger-fied’ kisses? On the mouth?” Teddy couldn’t help asking.

“Fine, fine. But after that, I’ll kick you out. I need to go water Maurice and Alec, and I’ll have to make sure Clive is recovering from a burn one of the first year students caused, all right?”

“All right.” And Teddy puckered up one last time for the night.

Now that he had hope, he would use it to his advantage. And his next goal was to convince Neville to take the next step sooner than later by asking Helena and Jacob to come up with a plan — never mind that their plans had a tendency to work or backfire or both.

Teddy was ready for anything.

Severus rushed away from Spinner’s End, eager to get to the little clearing in the woods. It was a quiet clearing, surrounded by tall trees, currently covered with snow. This little clearing was a special place that he and Lily played in, both considering it their secret hideout.

As he walked down the snow-covered streets, he brought his cold hands up to blow at them, trying to warm them up. He shoved his hands into his pockets. The wind stung his cheeks, and he ducked his head down to avoid it. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the Christmas decorations still on some people’s houses, unlike his own dark, undecorated dwelling, and he was glad that Christmas was over.

When he reached the entrance of the clearing, he shoved the branches away and slipped past them, ignoring the snow that had fallen on his head, and he saw Lily already there, smiling. As usual, she had on a colourful matching set of hat, mittens, and a scarf. Her bright green eyes gleaming, she waved one of her mitten-clad hands. “Hi, Severus!”

He smiled back, but he didn’t wave, keeping his hands still in his pockets. “Hi, Lily. Did you have a good Christmas?”

“The best! How about you? Did you get some nice presents?”

He nodded briskly. “It was fine.” It wasn’t, but he had no intention of telling her that or that her little gift — a book about the Arthurian legends — was the only gift he’d received for the holidays. Quickly, he changed the subject. “I looked through one of my mum’s old books a couple of days ago. I discovered something called frostyworms. Apparently they are magical worms, some kind of flobberworm, and they can be found in snow. My mum said they can be found around here.”

That was before his father had started yelling at his mum. It was one of the worst fights he’d seen his parents have, and he could still hear the shouts and screams. He didn’t want to think of it, though, and he only thought about finding the frostyworms because he wanted to try the Snowflake Potion. He’d read that if it was poured onto an object, the potion would transform into snow for a while. Even though there was a lot of snow around him, he still wanted to try it since it would be quite handy to have in the summer. “Want to help look for them?” he asked, hoping she’d agreed. He knew how girls were about worms and bugs. He’d seen Petunia scream over spiders, cockroaches, and worms all the time.

“Sure!” Lily said enthusiastically, which surprised him. “Are they potions ingredients, too? You want to find them and practise potions, right? We’ll be turning eleven in another year or so.” She bit her bottom lip. “Do you really think I’ll get a Hogwarts letter, too?”

Severus nodded hard. He knew she was a witch, and he could tell she would be a good one. Last year, before they’d first talked, he had been watching Lily and Petunia from behind some bushes. Apparently Petunia did something to annoy Lily, and to his and Petunia’s amazement, Lily’s annoyance had made her do some wandless magic. Interestingly enough, Lily had made real petunias sprout out on top of Petunia’s head. Severus would never forget the look of horror on Petunia’s face, and now that he knew Petunia, he thought that was a fitting punishment for her! “You will. And we’ll go to Hogwarts together. I’m going to make the Snowflake Potion, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“That’d be great! But we have to dig for them, right? We’ll need shovels or something.”

Severus’ brows furrowed together. “Yeah.” He’d forgotten about that. Then again, his family didn’t have any shovels.

“We have two at my house! Let’s go get them.” Lily grabbed Severus’ wrist, tugging so his hand slipped out of his pocket. With his hand in her mitten-covered one, they walked out of the clearing and went towards her house. As they walked, he couldn’t help but revel in the fact that his hand felt warmer in Lily’s as opposed to in his pocket. It was strange because his pocket was usually much warmer. He shrugged, though, and let himself be dragged along by Lily’s enthusiasm.

“Oof!” Lily said, throwing a pile of snow over her shoulder. “Snow’s sure heavy.”

Severus grunted in agreement. “I can’t wait until we can legally do magic. It’d be easier to Accio these frostyworms.”

“That’s the summoning or another spell, right? It’d be easier, I agree, but I think this is more fun. And this is exercise — ah-ha!” Lily exclaimed. She pointed at something in the snow. “Is that your frostyworm?”

Severus looked at the wriggling worm. It was blue, fat, and squishy, and it looked rather . . . disgusting. More disgusting than the picture in his mum’s book. “I’m not touching that!”

Lily took off one of her mittens, stuffed it into her pocket, and reached out to grab the frostyworm. She picked it up gingerly between two fingers and brought the frostyworm close to her face and studied it. “I think it looks cute.”

Severus shook his head emphatically and made a face.

Lily giggled and stepped closer to Severus and practically shoved the frostyworm into his face. “Look at it.”

“Lily!” Severus shrieked and backed away. Shuddering he said, “I don’t want it near me!”

Rolling her eyes, she set the worm down on her other hand, watching it crawl around the woollen material. “How are you going to be a Potions master if you can’t stand the sight of your own ingredients?”

“How come you’re not like other girls who squeal when they see bugs and other creepy stuff?” Severus retorted.

“Please. I’m not like Petunia! I like this stuff. Maybe I should become a Potions master if I go to Hogwarts. Or should that be Potions mistress? No, that doesn’t sound quite right . . . ”

While she pondered on that, Severus pouted. Lily did have a point — he would have to get used to handling disgusting potions ingredients. And if Lily — a girl — could touch a frostyworm and not get sick, then by all means, so could he!

Determinedly, he pushed his disgust deep inside, and he reached out to touch the frostyworm in Lily’s hand. It did feel slimy and cold, but he repeatedly reminded himself that it wouldn’t hurt him, that it was a harmless little bug that he could overpower; after all, he was larger than the frostyworm!

He quickly got used to it, and eventually, he had the entire thing in his own hand.

Lily gave him a smug look. “See? It’s not bad.”

Snortling, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not so bad.”

“Good. Now, go make that potion!”

Severus came to the clearing first. Waiting for Lily, he sat on his haunches and he found a stick and drew random doodles in the snow. However, he had to stop every few minutes to warm his hands up. Whether he blew on them, put them in his pocket, or pulled his sleeves over them, it didn’t work. His hands were too cold.

When Lily finally arrived, he stood up and threw the stick aside. “Hi.”

“Hi. I had to do chores with Petunia, but she was too busy complaining and whining. Honestly. She’s older than me, but I feel like I’m more mature than her!” Lily grabbed the stick he had thrown, and she continued his drawing. “You’re lucky you’re an only child.”

Severus agreed and disagreed with her statement. He thought about how lonely it was to be an only child, but if he had to have a sibling like Petunia — who was not only a cow, but an evil, soul-sucking cow — he’d rather eat dirt! “I guess,” he said noncommittally.

“How’s your potion?”

“It’s kind of hard,” he admitted, “but it’s just that my hands get too cold at home. Our house’s heating system has its good and bad days.” Truthfully, his house had no heat since his father hadn’t paid the bills for this month, but he decided not to tell Lily the entire truth. He bit his lip. He didn’t like talking about his home situation with her.

“Oh, I see.” She looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m in a mood for hot chocolate. Plus, Mummy made raspberry tarts. Mummy knows you like her tarts. Let’s go to my place and get some.”

Hot chocolate and raspberry tarts . . . things he didn’t have at his house. And there was also the fact that Lily’s house was heated, and Severus longed for that warmth. Something his own home lacked in more ways than one. Trying not to appear too eager, he said, “All right.”

Hand in hand, one in mitten and one in nothing, they walked down the snow-covered streets to Lily’s house.

Severus was bored. And cold. And sick of staying in his house. Then there were his parents. He could tell that both of them were in bad moods, so another one of their famous fights would happen soon. Sighing, he decided to go see if Lily was free.

He walked through the cold streets, and he saw that the blasted Christmas decorations were still up on some people’s houses. It was almost New Year’s. Why did these people not take down the cheerful decorations? Seeing them only reminded him of his home life and what he lacked. All his life, his family had never decorated for Christmas. No wreath, no stockings, no nothing. His place was always cheerless.

At the next intersection, he turned at the corner of Lily’s street, and there he saw Lily running towards her house.

“Lily!” he called out.

She stopped and smiled. “Hi!”

“Want to play?” he asked hopefully.

She frowned slightly. “Oh, I want to, but I can’t today. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, he shuffled his feet. “Maybe later then?”

“Sure! I’ll see you.” She waved and dashed off.

Forlornly, he stared at Lily’s retreating figure, and he let out a sigh. Well, he thought, he could always go to the public library nearby. That was surely a better idea than standing around in the cold. In the opposite direction, he walked slowly to the library, wishing Lily was there to accompany him.

“Oh, Seveeeeerus.”

Severus stifled back a groan and bit his tongue from going on a rampage at the annoying voice that called out to him. Even though his back was turned to the person, he knew exactly who it was. There was only one person who had that annoyingly high-pitched, screeching voice, and the person was none other than Petunia Evans.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around to face Petunia with a blank expression. “Yes?”

Her smile, which looked fake and ugly on that long face of hers, grew wider as she said, “Why are you alone? Do you have no one else to play with now that Lily has a new friend?”

“Friend?” Severus’ eye widened. “What friend?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Petunia looked surprised. “Well, she’s so occupied, so I guess it’s not surprising she wouldn’t make the time to tell you.”

Even though he was upset, he decided he didn’t want Petunia to know that her words had upset and surprised him. “Oh, right, that friend. I know. So?”

She snorted, which reminded him of a horse. Then again, her face was indeed long, so he could definitely see the resemblance. “You’re a terrible liar. But whatever. It won’t be long before Lily realises that her new friend’s a lot better than you.” With that, she flounced off.

Severus, at that moment, had never hated anyone this much. “You’re the liar. Lily would tell me if she’s got a new friend!” he snapped at the empty street. He stomped in the opposite direction. He was furious — not only at Petunia’s words, but he was also miffed for showing his weakness to her. He remembered reading about Occlumency, and he decided he’d master that when he turned older, and he’d also learn how to mask his face from showing any emotions that would give him away. He would never let anybody like Petunia mock him again!

Severus managed to catch Lily outside her house a few days later. He grabbed her hand, which was in her richly coloured mitten as usual, and he noticed his pale hand contrasting against the vibrant material. “Lily, can we talk?”

“Hmm?” She glanced down at her watch. “Not now. I’ve got a meeting with someone today! An important meeting.”

He stepped back and let go of her hand as if he’d been slapped. “I see . . . ” Maybe Petunia was telling the truth. “Well,” he continued blandly, “have fun.” He turned around and ran off, ignoring her calls of “Severus, wait!”

He ran and ran until his stomach cramped, and when he came to their secret hideout, he fell down on top of the snow, not caring that his clothes would get wet. Hot tears came down his face, and he muffled his sobs by stuffing his hand into his mouth. Sod it all, he thought. If Lily had found a new friend and chose that person over him, then forget her! He didn’t need her or his parents! He only needed himself. At least, that was what he tried to convince himself for the rest of the day. Whether he succeeded or not, he didn’t care too much on that. Deep inside, more than anything, he only wanted Lily’s friendship.

But it looked like even his friendship with Lily was deteriorating. He miserably realised that with his birthday around the corner, this was the worst present he could ever receive.

A few days later, his birthday came. His mother had wished him a happy birthday while his father just ignored him. But Severus did not feel happy. Instead, he moped around his room in the morning. He’d stared at the blank walls and studied its cracks. That got boring, so he went to his hideout to mope and stare at the tree’s trunks, its branches, and all the snow around him. It wasn’t much better than his room, but at least he could get some peace and quiet here instead of listening to his parents arguing.

Like before, he found a stick, and he crouched to the ground and drew in the snow without really thinking about what he was drawing. When he finished he stood up and saw that he’d drawn Lily. In the drawing, her hair was down, and she was smiling that friendly smile of hers. He felt a pang in his heart, and he let out a loud sigh. “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself.

Throwing the stick, he was about to erase the drawing, but he froze when he heard a noise behind him. He blinked when he saw Lily coming into the clearing, and he gave her a wary look.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he repeated.

“I, er, wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

He didn’t say anything. He only stared down at his feet with a scowl.

“And to apologise.” His head snapped up and he stared at her. She gave him a small smile. “I found out what Petunia said to you. What she made you believe is all a lie. I . . . I didn’t make a new friend. But it is true I had an important meeting . . . but it was with my aunt!” She made a face. “I was doing something with her.”

“Oh . . . ” Severus now shifted uncomfortably. “It . . . it’s okay. I didn’t believe her anyway.”

Lily cocked her head and stared at him. Her green eyes were intense, and he almost could feel them burning into her, but he refused to blush and show her that she was right. Thankfully, she only nodded. When he saw her arms move, he realised that they’d been behind her back this entire time. “Here,” she said, revealing a wrapped package. “It’s your birthday present.”

This time he couldn’t hide his emotion. His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped opened. “What?”

She beamed. “This was why I hadn’t played with you lately. I had to finish this in time for your birthday! Take it!” She nudged the package, and he accepted it. “Now, open it!”

“T-thank you.” The words almost didn’t come out from his clogged up throat. Slowly, he unwrapped the green-coloured paper, and he peeked inside. What he saw were mittens. Rainbow-coloured mittens. He looked at her.

“My aunt taught me how to knit those.”

He looked down at the mittens and studied them closer. He saw that the thumb coverings were a bit on the wide side. He could see small holes and tangled up yarn in some places. One mitten was slightly bigger than the other. The colours blinded him. Honestly, it was probably the worst pair of mittens he’d ever seen.

But he didn’t care.

This was the first time anyone had ever made him something.

All sorts of emotions flooded over him, and Severus ducked his head to hide the tears that threatened to spill. He blinked them away, and he said softly, “Thank you. They’re brilliant.” Shoving the wrappings into his pockets, he slipped the mittens on his hands. As soon as his hands were encased in the imperfectly made mittens, he felt them grow instantly warm.

“Oh, I’m glad they fit!” Lily squealed, clapping her hands. “And I know you like black, but I decided to knit you a rainbow pair. You need more colour in your life, Severus! Being in black all the time is utterly depressing!”

“But I like black.”

“You’re hopeless,” she joked. “Just like your drawing skills. Since when do I have gigantic lips?”

Severus gave her a mock glare. “You’re the one to talk. You can’t even draw period!”

“Hey! Not nice!” She quickly bent over and made a snowball.

Before Severus could stop her, the snowball hit his face. “Payback time!” He made his own snowball, and he was pleased to see that his hands stayed warm as he threw it at her.

Laughter rang out in the small clearing, and snow went flying all over the place as they both tried to snow each other out. Severus’ drawing of Lily disappeared, and the two of them shrieked and yelled as they chased each other all over.

It wasn’t long before they both leaned against a tree and panted from their chase. “That was fun,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Yes,” Severus agreed. Staring up at the trees, he could see sunlight coming through the branches. The warmth he felt from the sun and from running around with his best friend made him smile wider. “It was fun.”

“Let’s end today with some hot chocolate at my place. And cake.” She grabbed his hand, no longer naked and cold. “I helped make it! Don’t worry. Petunia didn’t go anywhere near the cake. So it won’t have salt or any other disgusting thing in it. I swear, she can’t cook anything!”

Again, his throat tightened, and he could only nod. She gently tugged him, and hand in hand, they walked down the street.

“Tomorrow, let’s go look for more frostyworms. We’ve got to cure you of your bug-and-other-crawly-stuff-phobia.” Lily grinned. “I’ll make sure you become the best Potions master in the world.”

Finding his voice, Severus answered, “Deal. You can be my partner-in-crime as we come up with new potions that will change the world!”

“And,” she added, “I’ll get you to wear more colours.”

Severus groaned. “Whatever.”

“Watch me!”

When they entered Lily’s warm house, Severus said to himself, “You already have me in colours.” He looked at their entwined hands. “I am in colour now.”

1979 — Horcrux Cave

Surrounded by the darkness, Regulus gasped out, “Lumos”. His throat burned him in ways he never imagined possible. His insides hurt him, making him feel like he had thousands of knives stuck in him. Stumbling, he focused his dry and itchy eyes to seek out the boat he had to get to, but he didn’t see any boat. Instead, he fell to the ground, and he half-crawled and half-dragged himself forward as he shut his eyes in vain to keep the terrible visions from affecting him. Along with the visions, memories of his past came swarming in pieces, and he groaned loudly as he buried his face into the wet earth.

“Sirius . . . ”

1965 — 12 Grimmauld Place

“Siri!” Regulus whispered.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asked, just as another peal of thunder exploded outside their house.

Jumping in fright, Regulus covered his mouth, his eyes wide, as he crept towards Sirius’ bed. When he was close, he asked, “Can I sleep with you? I don’t like the scary noises.”

“You know Mother doesn’t like this. She says we’re pure-blood wizards, so we have to be proud, noble, and strong!”

Regulus whimpered, “Just one more time? Just now? Please, Siri?”

“Why don’t you go to Kreacher?”

“I want to stay with you. Please, Siri?” Regulus implored again.

“Oh, fine,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes and moving over for Regulus to slide in. Happily, Regulus slipped into the warm bed, and he felt protected with his big, strong brother next to him. Snuggling next to Sirius’ side, he said, “Night, Siri.”

“Night, Reg. Just wake up when I tell you to so you can go back to your room! Let’s not upset Mother tomorrow morning.”

“I will,” Regulus answered in a sleepy voice.

1967 — 12 Grimmauld Place

“Are you sure you can do this?” Sirius whispered.

Regulus bobbed his head vigorously. “I can do this, Sirius. I can. I’ll make you proud.” He smiled widely, and he tucked the prank item into his pocket. “I can’t wait to try this on Cissy!”

Sirius and Regulus shared one last conspiratorial look before they walked into the small but majestic looking dining room for the weekly dinner with their relatives. Regulus avoided looking at Narcissa, but he did greet his aunts and uncles politely. As he took a seat, he breathed out in relief that Bellatrix was at Hogwarts instead of here. Without her scary presence, Regulus felt comfortable enough to pull this prank on Narcissa.

It wasn’t long before a huge screech was heard all over 12 Grimmauld Place, and Regulus couldn’t help but snigger at the image of his cousin looking like a drowned, greasy rat. The old bucket trick with water and oil was simple but effective. Plus, her long locks looked like a rainbow, but, unfortunately, there was no pot of gold at its end. A simple serum from Zonko’s had done the trick, and Regulus was pleased that he’d managed to sneak some of it onto her plate of food . . . with the help of Kreacher!

For the first time ever, his parents knew that this prank wasn’t one of Sirius’. In fact, they immediately knew it was him — most likely because of Regulus’ poor attempt to hide his amusement — and he suffered one of the worst beatings he’d ever gone through in his life.

He didn’t mind, though. When Sirius came to check up on him, he’d slugged Regulus’ sore shoulder and said, “Good job, little brother. You’ve managed to outdo me with Cissy. You’ve definitely made me proud.”

Regulus gave Sirius a beaming smile. “Let’s do another prank! This time on Dromeda when she comes back for the holidays.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but his eyes twinkled with mirth. “You sure? Well, Dromeda’s nothing like Bella and Cissy. I think she likes our pranks.”

Nodding eagerly, Regulus gingerly moved over on his bed to give Sirius some room. When he felt the bed dip with his brother’s familiar and comforting weight, he exclaimed, “Yeah! Let’s do something brilliant with Dromeda!”

1969 — 12 Grimmauld Place

Regulus backed up against the wall, and he struggled to hide his fear from Sirius. He’d never seen his brother this angry before. “I didn’t tell them!”

He watched Sirius’ scowl deepened, watched the way his brother’s grey eyes lit up with fierce rage. “Then how did Mother and Father find out about my friendship with David?”

“I don’t know!”

“You told them! After you promised not to tell!”

“I . . . I didn’t!” Regulus spat out. “They probably found out by themselves!” Now he was angry with Sirius’ accusations, and he yelled, “It’s your fault for being friends with that Muggle! Why can’t you just have friends who are like us?”

“Like us?” Sounding disgusted, Sirius continued, “You’re just like them. You–! And I thought you’d believe differently from them.” Spinning around, he stomped up to his room.

“Blast . . . ” Regulus sank to the ground, giving relief to his shaky legs. Tears came to his eyes, and he hastily wiped them away. He hadn’t meant to say that to Sirius. He wanted to support Sirius, but he also wanted to support his parents. He’d never wanted to choose sides.

Now, though, it looked like he had to choose.

1971 — 12 Grimmauld Place

Regulus watched his parents eat their breakfast with sour looks. It was the second of September, and his parents were in dour moods because they hadn’t heard from Sirius yet.

“If he doesn’t send an owl today, I’m sending him a Howler. How dare does he make us worry like this?” Walburga set her fork down hard enough that the table shook.

Orion grunted in agreement.

Regulus remained silent, knowing it wasn’t wise to say anything now since his mother’s rage might turn towards him.

Just then, an owl fluttered in, and all three of them looked at it. Regulus blinked at the tawny owl. It wasn’t Sirius’. Instead, it belonged to Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella.

Walburga quickly grabbed parchment, and Regulus watched as his mother’s curious expression transformed into disbelief and anger. Her fingers gripped the parchment until it began to wrinkle. “I don’t believe it!”

Orion looked at her warily. “What does it say?”

“Narcissa owled my brother and Druella with some news. According to Narcissa. Sirius has been sorted into Gryffindor!” Spittle sprayed the parchment, and Regulus could imagine smoke coming out of her nostrils. “How . . . how dare he?! How dare he bring disgrace to our name?” She turned and glared at Orion. “It’s all your fault! You’ve been too easy on him over the years!”

“My fault?” Orion snapped back, now slamming his own utensils down on the table, making the poor table rattle once more. “If anything, it’s your fault for acting like a harpy! Sirius is independent, like his father. You shouldn’t have tried so hard. It only pushed him away!”

As his parents shouted at each other, Regulus shrank down in his chair until he was almost off of it. He tried his best to tune the noises out, and he thought about Sirius’ sorting. With the way his brother had been acting lately, he should have seen this coming. In a way, it made perfect sense for his brother to be sorted into the house with the blood traitors, and he grew angry at how Sirius’ betrayal was causing more trouble between their parents.

By the time his parents had calmed down, Regulus had made a vow. He’d made a vow to not follow his brother’s path. After all, someone had to maintain the Black family’s reputation, and he was the only one left to do so.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang inside of him. Doing what his parents wanted would mean he and Sirius would never get along. Like that time when Sirius had accused him of telling their parents about David, Regulus was once more obligated to choose a side. Now, with certainty, Regulus finally made his choice.

1972 — Hogwarts

“Slytherin!”

Regulus jumped off the stool, after taking the hat off, and walked over to his cheering house-mates. He’d done it. He’d fulfilled his duties, and he was in Slytherin. Just like a real Black was supposed to do. Taking a seat, he glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Its occupants were quiet, and most of them had an apathetic expression; some wore sneers. But it was Sirius’ face he saw. His brother’s face was a picture of disgust, and Regulus felt his insides churn unpleasantly.

He knew this day was coming. Now that it had come, Regulus didn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he would. Instead, he knew that whatever chance he’d had to get on his brother’s good side was now gone.

However, he didn’t want his brother to know that. He didn’t want to appear weak to Sirius. So he sneered at his brother, and he then turned to his house-mates and accepted them as his new “family”.

1973 — Hogwarts

“You all right, Reg? Your skin’s our house colour . . . and I don’t mean silver.”

Regulus took a deep breath as he fought down his nausea. He forced a smile at Barty, his new best friend. Barty was only a first year, and even though Regulus was older, he and Barty clicked instantly when the former was sorted into Slytherin. Since their first night together, the two had been inseparable. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re a good flyer, and you’ve been practising almost every day, so you’ll make the team! And with you on the team, we’ll beat the other houses in Quidditch! Your Seeker skills will be unrivalled!”

Regulus tried not to blush from Barty’s praises. Luckily, he was distracted when they bumped into Sirius and his friends.

Regulus watched Sirius’ grey eyes glance at the broom he was carrying.

“Trying out for Quidditch, are you?” Sirius drawled, as he smirked.

Tensing up, Regulus’ nausea was replaced with something akin to anger. “Yes,” he answered testily.

“So my ickle, little brother thinks he’ll be the new Seeker to bring the Slytherin team fame and glory, huh?” Sirius and James laughed while Remus and Peter stayed quiet.

“Oh, yeah. Too bad I’m not a Beater. Otherwise, I’d love the chance to smash a Bludger or two into your brother’s face . . . if he makes the team that is,” James said.

Infuriated, Regulus grabbed Barty’s wrist, and they edged around the group and dashed out to the Quidditch pitch. His brother’s scornful laughter rang in his head, and he determinedly said, “I’ll show him! And that Potter prat! I’ll show them that they should never mock us Slytherins.”

Barty nodded. “You can do it, Reg. I know you can.”

“I will!”

When his turn came, Regulus channelled his anger into energy and determination. He flew faster and better than before, and his sharp eyes flickered back and forth as he looked for the golden glint of the Snitch.

And he did it. He made the team, and he vowed to play his best and beat those Gryffindor pricks in every game he played against them.

1974 — Hogwarts

“I can’t wait until I’m in third year,” Barty said. “Then we could have fun in Hogsmeade together.”

Regulus grinned as he passed over some sweets he’d bought at Honeydukes. “Yeah. Then I won’t have to buy stuff for you and carry it. You can buy and carry your own stuff when we go next year,” he teased, but he didn’t mind. Barty was his best friend. He’d do anything for him.

They reached the lake’s dock and sat at the edge, letting their legs dangle above the murky waters. They ate their sweets in silence. After a few minutes of peace, in hushed tones, Barty said, “I’ve heard the older students talking about the Dark Lord.”

“You mean Lord Voldemort?” Regulus said quietly. “Yeah, I’ve heard about him.”

“What do you think of him?”

Pausing, Regulus sorted out what he knew of Lord Voldemort. He didn’t know much. He only knew that Lord Voldemort valued blood purity, and he’d heard rumours about Lord Voldemort wanting to get rid of Mudbloods and half-bloods from the wizarding world. He also heard of Lord Voldemort’s power, and he found himself attracted to all of it. He was especially attracted to the ideas of traditional principles and values. Things were changing too fast in the wizarding society. Muggle-borns were bringing their odd items into Hogwarts and changing what it meant to be a wizard. Lord Voldemort would surely put a stop to all that. “He fascinates me.”

“Me too. Nott told me about the Death Eaters. Would you ever join them?”

Regulus had heard about them as well. He’d heard about them because of Bellatrix. With Andromeda now not a part of the Black family because of that Mudblood she married, Bellatrix and Narcissa were the cousins he saw the most. Over the summer, he’d heard about Bellatrix praising Lord Voldemort. She’d joined the Death Eater, and she told him a lot about the group, and Regulus found himself wanting to join, too. “Bella told me about it a bit. I think I’d like to join. I can tell Bella we’re interested . . . do you want me to?”

Barty nodded eagerly, and Regulus’ enthusiasm grew. “Great!” Regulus exclaimed. “I’ll tell her. Maybe we can join and be the youngest Death Eaters ever. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Yeah! After all, we’re Slytherin. We’re pure-bloods. We’ve got to show those Mudbloods and those half-bloods who are the rightful wizards and witches.”

“I’ll owl her tonight. In the meantime, pass me another Chocolate Frog.”

1975 — The Hog’s Head

“Bella . . . is this really a good idea?” Regulus asked, peering over her shoulders to make sure nobody spotted them in the alleyway.

“Shut up!” Bellatrix hissed. “Let me cast a Disillusionment Charm on you two, so I can take you boys into the Hog’s Head.”

Regulus and Barty glanced at each other and remained quiet as Bellatrix cast the charm. She then led the way to the Hog’s Head, and they entered with no problems. They followed her to a dark corner, and there they met Lord Voldemort for the first time. Regulus’ breath hitched when Lord Voldemort stood up to greet them.

Lord Voldemort was tall. Not that Regulus was short, but Lord Voldemort just felt taller. He could feel power emanating from the man, and it felt tangible. He looked at Lord Voldemort’s face. It was a handsome face, with a smile that showed dimples and straight, white teeth. Lord Voldemort really was good looking, and Regulus felt attracted to him.

When he looked into Lord Voldemort’s dark brown eyes, he could see intelligence and cunningness lingering there. And when Lord Voldemort first spoke, his deep voice resonated in ways that sent shivers of lust down Regulus’ back.

“You must be Regulus and Barty,” Lord Voldemort said with a pleased smile. “I’m always happy to meet members of my former house. Let’s sit down.”

With awe, Regulus sat, and for the next hour or so, he could barely concentrate on what Lord Voldemort was saying. All Regulus knew was that he was going to join the Death Eaters as soon as possible. This, he thought, was his destiny. He’d be happy to serve someone this magnificent and powerful. Who needed half-bloods like Dumbledore? No, he’d follow this pure-blooded wizard to all ends of time.

1976 — Hogwarts

Regulus backed up against the wall, and he cursed to himself. Defiantly, he glared back at Crabbe and Goyle. They were Beaters on the Slytherin team. They’d just lost a game yesterday, and they were blaming Regulus.

“How could you let Prewett get that Snitch? Are you blind?” Crabbe demanded.

Regulus turned red at the accusation. He didn’t mean to let the Gryffindor Seeker get to the Snitch before him, but he did, and he felt regretful about it, but these two were making it sound like Regulus had done this on purpose. “Back off and leave me alone. Why didn’t you two smash that Bludger towards him? I bet you two couldn’t hit a bloody dragon with that kind of aim.”

“Shut up! You’re asking for a beating, and we’ll give it to you!” Goyle thundered, raising his fist. But before he could swing it, a deep voice rang out.

“What’s going on here?”

Behind Crabbe and Goyle was a Ravenclaw prefect. A boy named Kingsley Shacklebolt, if Regulus remembered correctly. All he knew was that Kingsley was a half-blood.

Crabbe and Goyle mumbled, “Nothing.”

Calmly, Kingsley said, “Detention, for the both of you. Report to Mr Filch tonight at seven. You may leave now.”

Regulus smirked at the way Crabbe and Goyle ran off, but then he was alone in the corridor with Kingsley, and unfortunately, he now owed Kingsley, which was something he did not want! He didn’t want to owe anybody anything — with the exception of Barty — and being in debt to a mere half-blood made him cranky.

A long silence passed, and Kingsley said, “You’re welcome.”

He could hear amusement in Kingsley’s voice, and he scowled. “I didn’t thank you.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“I don’t need to thank a half-blood like you,” Regulus snapped. He knew he was being rude, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to bow his head and play nice with a half-blooded prefect.

Kingsley cocked his head. “Does my blood status matter that much? We’re both human. Are we that much different?”

Regulus’ tirade stopped and all he could say was, “We just are.”

“We both bleed when injured. We both need food and water. We’re both capable of casting the same spells,” Kingsley said wisely.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably. What Kingsley said made sense, but he wasn’t ever going to admit that. “It matters, okay?” Stiffly, he forced himself to look at Kingsley’s face. He felt a sense of calm come over him, and he wondered why. Was Kingsley that much more powerful than him because of his blood status? Or was it because of his prefect status? Regulus wasn’t sure, but he shoved these conflicting thoughts aside, and he grudgingly said, “Thank you.”

“Here,” Kingsley said, handing him some library books. “Will you return these to the library for me? I’d appreciate it.”

This was Kingsley’s way of clearing Regulus’ debt. Regulus quickly accepted it, and he nodded. Kingsley left, and Regulus was alone with a pile of books. He stared at them, realising that Kingsley had given him an easy way out, and he felt cheated. The pure-blood traditionalist inside of him knew that this was not enough to cover the debt, but he somehow knew that Kingsley really didn’t expect much, and Regulus was disturbed by that fact. Why hadn’t Kingsley demanded something more from him? Why didn’t Kingsley use the opportunity?

“Honourable gits,” Regulus spat out in the deserted corridor. “That’s all they are. They are the weaker and inferior ones. It’s their faults they don’t take advantage of power!”

1977 — Somewhere in Hogsmeade

Losing his balance from the Portkey’s effect, Regulus fell, the sharp pebbles digging into his stomach and the palms of his hands. Glancing around, he saw that he was in one of Hogsmeade’s dark alleyways. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and promptly vomited all over the dirt road. The pain in his left arm was secondary only to his pounding head, and he could feel tears streaming down his face as he continued retching up everything in his stomach.

What he had seen tonight was terrifying. He had to watch Lord Voldemort and his most loyal followers torture helpless Muggles. He rolled over onto his side, and he brought his hands up to cover his ears. He tried his best to block out all the screaming and the begging he had witnessed. He shut his eyes to erase the horrified expression on the Muggles’ faces — he just wanted to forget it all.

Worst of all, for his own initiation, he had to torture a small child who had looked to be no older than five. Of all the cries and screams he heard tonight, this child’s anguish was truly horrible — enough to make him re-think his decision. Somehow, though, he went with it. Pointing his wand, his voice low and guttural, he had said, “Crucio!”

He didn’t know how many times he said that spell. He didn’t want to remember.

He didn’t even know how he felt about Lord Voldemort anymore. What he saw tonight was not the same charismatic man he’d met two years ago. What had replaced that man tonight was something non-human, something with power and authority, but something Regulus was now frightened of.

Before he started sobbing, a goat bleeted out, and he heard a rough voice say, “Lumos.”

The sudden brightness made Regulus turn away. As he adjusted his eyes, he looked up and saw a familiar, old wizard. It was the owner of the Hog’s Head.

“Aren’t you one of those crazy lads always hanging off Tom Riddle’s every word? And always under some Disillusionment Charm? Why in Merlin’s name are you out here disturbing my goats?”

Startled, Regulus reached out with his left arm to grab something to pull himself up. The old wizard glanced at his arm, and Regulus realised that his Dark Mark showed. Quickly, he stood up and pulled his robe sleeve down.

The old wizard exhaled loudly. “I see. You’re one of them. Another young, pure-blood fool joining up with the biggest hypocrite of this century.”

Despite his horrible night, Regulus hated being called a fool. Against his better judgement, he retorted, “I’m not a fool, you . . . you ancient goat lover!”

“That is not my name, boy. The name’s Aberforth, so if you’re going to address me, get it right, you silly nitwit!”

Regulus swiped at his face, wiping away the tear stains, and he glared at Aberforth. “Stop insulting me!”

“Then wise up, boy! Why are you hanging around with that Riddle? Is it because you believe in Riddle’s so-called agenda to get rid of those who aren’t pure-blood? If so, like I said, you’re a fool.”

Turning around, Aberforth started to walk out of the alleyway, and Regulus bit back another retort that nearly escaped him. Instead, he felt as if a goat had rammed into his head, and he sank back to the ground on his knees, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. Groaning, he heard footsteps coming back towards him, and he saw Aberforth hovering over him. “Go away,” he mumbled.

Aberforth exhaled another monstrous sigh, and he said, “Come on in. You can sleep in my place for the night. Hope you’ve slept on hay before. It might make you get itchy in certain places.”

Regulus felt strong arms — at least strong for someone quite old — helping him up, and next thing he knew, he was being thrown onto a pile of hay. Even though he knew he had to go back to Hogwarts — Barty, who wouldn’t get initiated until next month, was waiting for him — as soon as his body hit that pile of hay, he went to sleep.

Instead of sleeping well like he’d hoped, he was plagued by the most appalling nightmare ever. In his nightmare, it recurred tonight’s events with him torturing the child. Only, instead of the child . . . he was torturing Sirius.

In his dream, it wasn’t the screams that affected him deeply. Instead, it was the look of betrayal on Sirius’ face that made him feel sick. And all Sirius would say was “Why?” Sirius never once told him to stop like the child had begged. That was all Sirius did.

Shocked and still feeling queasy from everything, Regulus got up before dawn and crept out, leaving a hasty ‘thank you’ message in the dirt. As he snuck into Hogwarts, Regulus hoped that he could just get on with his life, forget about last night’s atrocity, and be proud of his achievement of becoming an official Death Eater.

1978 — The Hog’s Head

“You look like shite, boy,” Aberforth said, plunking down a tumbler of Firewhisky. “Drink up. You already look like shite, so this will only make you shine like one of those Dungbombs you children like to waste money on.”

Regulus grabbed the tumbler and grunted, “Thanks.” Since last year, somehow or another, he’d become “friends” with this old wizard. Regulus had to admit that Aberforth was quite a crabby old coot who liked goats way too much, but despite Aberforth’s royal grumpiness, Regulus had started to respect him — albeit grudgingly.

“Still having that nightmare?”

Regulus nodded and took a sip of the Firewhisky.

“What about that friend of yours? That junior boy? You and he still inseparable?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you so quiet? As you young people say, ‘What’s got your knickers in a twist’?”

” . . . I don’t wear knickers.”

“I would hope not.” Aberforth let out a low chuckle.

Regulus drained the entire tumbler, and his throat protested, and he started to cough, tears filling his eyes.

“You must be a masochist,” Aberforth noted.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Regulus asked quietly.

“Tell you what?”

“About Riddle’s true heritage.”

“I gave you a hint last year. It’s not my fault it took you this long to realise it.”

Regulus scowled and looked around the empty place. Last week, Lord Voldemort had requested to borrow Kreacher for a worthy cause. Only thing was, Kreacher had been mistreated badly. With that and with the discovery of Lord Voldemort’s half-blood status, he remembered the incident with Kingsley. Then there was the nightmare-that-refused-to-die, the same nightmare he’d been having every night.

He was nearing the edge of insanity, and he found himself telling Aberforth everything.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t,” Regulus whispered. “And . . . I wish things were back to way it was with Sirius. I . . . I miss him as a brother.”

Aberforth rubbed the ends of his beard. “Well, if you want change, lad, you have to do it yourself.”

“How?!” Regulus burst out. “I can’t just walk up to Headmaster Dumbledore and ask for his help!”

“Oh, for the love of Billy the Goat! Why ever not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Then ask me.”

“What?” Regulus blinked. “You?”

Aberforth poured some more Firewhisky into Regulus’ tumbler. “I think you’re going to need some more of this because I’m about to tell you something.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows. “What? That you study goat fornication?”

“You have a strange sense of humour, lad. I’m about to tell you my last name. It’s Dumbledore.”

Choosing that moment to take a sip, Regulus spewed it all back out. “What?!”

“I’m offering you a chance to come help the Order. I won’t tell you how to do it. It’s up to you. If you want to help, say it. If not, I will have no choice but to Obliviate you.”

Regulus’ eyes narrowed. “Do you trust me that much to even offer this choice to me? You know I’m a Death Eater. Why would you even bother to help me . . . considering you’re somehow related to the leader of the Order.”

“Because I trust my judgement. And,” Aberforth paused before he gruffly said, “you’re all right, lad. You’re a bit of a fool, but I know you’re all right.” Standing up, he gave Regulus a small smirk. “I’ve got to tend Billy, Willy, and Dilly. Think about it.”

Left alone with his drink, Regulus stared off into space. He knew deep inside that Lord Voldemort was a madman, a hypocritical bastard who only wanted power for himself and who was seeking immortality. But could he really betray Lord Voldemort? Could he really be brave like a Gryffindor and help out the Order somehow? Or should he just be resourceful and continue to support Lord Voldemort through his horrendous agenda? After all, what if Lord Voldemort did win and take over the wizarding world? Or what if his nightmare did come true? Would he really have to torture and kill Sirius? Or could he somehow avoid all that by joining the Order?

There was always that other possibility that the Order would win instead . . .

Regulus sighed and drank some more Firewhisky, and he slowly pondered over the pros and cons of each choice.

By the time Aberforth came back, Regulus had made his decision.

1979 — Horcrux Cave

Lifting his head up, Regulus forced himself to his hands and knees. He couldn’t give up now. He had to finish this. He had to succeed. Had to for the Order’s — no, for Aberforth’s — sake. Had to for Barty. Had to for Kreacher. And most of all, he had to succeed for Sirius. He wanted Sirius’ love back.

His heart beat rapidly now, and it hurt to breathe as he crawled slowly towards the boat.

“Water . . . ” He desperately wanted it. A drop would feel like heaven to him. Surely, one drop from that murky lake wouldn’t hurt?

He edged himself closer to the water, ignoring the nagging in the very back of his head. He knew there was something important about the lake, but he couldn’t remember. His mind felt too sluggish. Shutting his eyes, to keep those unwanted visions away, he reached out with his hand. He felt the cool wetness at his fingertips. Forcing a pained smile, he brought his hand close to his lips.

There were sounds of loud splashes, and the cave reverberated, the vibration hurting him more. Ignoring the sudden screeching that encompassed him, he gripped his wand tightly. In a light voice, he said “I can do this, Sirius. I can. I’ll make you proud.”

“I don’t want our son to become a dragon handler. I refuse.” Thinning her lips, Astoria’s blue eyes flared with unmitigated anger at her husband. Her eyes met her husband’s cold, grey eyes — eyes she never once saw as warm and inviting.

“That’s what he wants to do, Astoria. Scorpius is no longer a child. I refuse to coddle him the way you have all these years,” Draco retorted coldly.

“I’ve never coddled him. I just worry for his safety with those beasts. Is it wrong for me to worry? Or,” she continued, sneering, “was becoming a dragon handler something you’ve always wanted to do? And since you’ve never had the chance to do it, you’re supporting our son’s ambitions to do so? Are you trying to live through him?” Astoria clenched her hands by her sides; they were shaking with anger. How dare Draco undermine her authority as a mother? How dare he try to make up for his failures through her son?

“That’s enough!”

The slap didn’t hurt. Instead it only numbed her. She straightened herself up to her full height and said, “Have you no heart? I only worry for his safety. I’ll always be against this. I hope you pay the price if something happens to him.” Her face was an icy mask as she turned around smoothly and walked out, her footsteps echoing in the large room, a room that never gave her much love, a love she always had desired from her cold and unresponsive husband.

“Mother? What are you doing here in Romania?” Scorpius rushed over to where Astoria had waited for the last ten minutes. “I . . . I never thought you’d ever visit here . . . ”

Giving her son a loving smile, she reached up to give him a soft peck on his cheek. She knew why he was surprised. After all, she had voiced her opinions about Scorpius’ job choice, but she figured she’d give it a chance. Her son was a brilliant young man, after all, and what kind of a mother would she be to question his intelligence? Besides, she felt confined in that manor despite its grandness and vastness. She’d wanted out, and she’d decided to visit Scorpius at his current workplace. “Your owls have intrigued me, and it made me want to see this place for myself,” she answered calmly. “Also, I would like to meet your supervisor, to thank him for taking you in. Your supervisor is a certain Mr Weasley, yes? Remind me which one?”

“Charlie, Mother. Charlie Weasley.”

And when Scorpius introduced Charlie, Astoria felt something warm inside her, something that melted the iciness she’d been carrying for many years. Charlie Weasley looked nothing like she’d imagined. He was ruggedly handsome. His muscles looked strong and well-trained. His chest — well exposed through a low-cut shirt — was littered with scars — but it only made him look more rakish. Then there was that confident smile, which combined with his warm, lively brown eyes, gave him a friendly appearance.

Astoria couldn’t remember the last time she’d laid eyes on such a good looking specimen.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something good to come out of Scorpius becoming a dragon handler, despite all the risks involved.

“Mrs Malfoy? What can I do for you?”

Charlie’s warm and friendly smile made her heart flutter. She looked around the small office before clearing her throat. “I came by to visit Scorpius, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello.” She tilted her head to give him a small smile.

“Well,” Charlie said, spreading his arms out. “You’re invited any time.”

Discreetly, her eyes travelled all over Charlie’s muscular body, memorising everything about him, including the little mole she saw right under his right eye. Her eyes finished their wandering course, and they soon landed on Charlie’s face. The smile she saw earlier was still there, but when she locked eyes with him, she saw something deep in there that made her feel dominant. In his eyes, she saw discomfort.

Instead, her own smile grew, and she continued, “Thank you for your hospitality. And also, I’ve brought you some sweets, too. I wanted to thank you for taking good care of Scorpius.” She handed the package over to him, and she made sure their hands touched each other, and she purposely let her hand linger against his longer than necessary.

“Er, thank you, Mrs Malfoy.” His hand — the very hand she just touched — ran through his short hair, and she noticed the way he’d shifted.

“You’re welcome.” She gave him one last sweet smile before she turned around and left.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Malfoy,” Charlie said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t have prevented this terrible accident.”

Gritting her teeth and clenching her eyes shut, Astoria was glad her back was turned to him. She didn’t want to appear weak to him. Him . . . the man who’d invaded her dreams these past months. The man to whom she’d entrusted Scorpius. The man who had failed to keep her son safe. How could this man, braver than most, allow her son to die?

Deep down, Astoria knew it was she who had failed her son. She was the one who couldn’t keep him safe. She’d failed as a mother just like she’d failed as a wife. It was just easier to blame Charlie. He should have kept her son safe.

When she spoke next, she was glad to hear that her voice came out steady in its usual calm tone. “Have you told his father yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I shall tell him. I’d like for you to leave now.”

“Mrs Mal–”

“Please do not ever call me that again. If you’re going to call me anything, call me Astoria. Now, leave.”

When she heard the footsteps fade along the corridors, she collected herself once more and headed towards Draco’s study. At the door, after three abrupt consecutive raps, she let herself in to that room, a room she’d never felt welcome in, but that was to all change in the next few minutes.

With Draco falling into a shocked state that’d turned him into an empty shell, it was Astoria who took care of Scorpius’ funeral arrangements. She handled everything that needed to be handled, and through it all, she never once cried.

She had no tears to cry. There was no sadness inside of her. Even though she acted like her usual aloof self, inside, she felt more barren than she’d ever felt before.

When she’d met Mr Weasley, it was as though she’d rediscovered a part of herself that had been buried for years. But that little spark of light inside of her disappeared along with Scorpius. It made the void even more unbearable.

She needed to get rid of that nothingness inside of her. She had to.

She soon discovered the answer to her dilemma in a little dingy pub. There, she’d run into a very drunk Charlie Weasley. From his incoherent babbling, she understood that Charlie was still distressed from her son’s death. Fury bubbled deep inside of her, and she’d hit him, but he didn’t respond to it. Instead, she in turn felt strong — stronger than she’d ever felt in her life, and she craved that newfound power.

That was when she laughed — a strange high-pitched laugh she’d never heard from herself before. “Not going to fight back? Not going to argue?”

Lethargically, Charlie shook his head. “You can do whatever you please.”

The emptiness inside of her became full as she felt a myriad of emotions tumbling, piling, and fighting for dominance. She didn’t mind, though. She only welcomed the chance she finally had to feel alive again.

“Is it painful for you, Charlie?” Astoria crooned as she tilted the red candle slightly. Its wax dropped onto Charlie’s naked chest, covering up the scars that were on its broad expanse, contrasting beautifully — the red against the white, the red being the same shade as blood.

With a gag preventing Charlie from saying anything discernable, Astoria smiled lazily as she imagined Charlie hissing at each drop of the wax. She stepped back, wanting to admire her handiwork. Charlie was spread-eagle on his back, and his wrists and ankles were tied to each bed post with scarves that were spelled to be tear-resistant. Charlie’s brown eyes looked back up at her, and they were no longer filled with the fire and life as they were when she’d first seen him. They were dull, and they reflected the remorse and guilt that plagued him. Astoria knew it for sure; after all, it was entirely his fault that Scorpius had died and that Draco had become catatonic.

And it was only fair to punish those who deserved it, right?

At least, Astoria was merciful. Along with the appropriate punishment, she made sure Charlie also received the proper rewards.

Satisfied that the design on Charlie’s chest was done, she set the candle down on the nightstand before she climbed and straddled Charlie’s trouser-clad hips. Only wearing a loosely tied dressing gown herself, she bent over until her breasts pressed against Charlie’s broad chest. She snapped her fingers, and Charlie’s gag disappeared. “Are you ready, Charlie?” she asked, her manicured fingers tracing over his scorpion tattoo — a tattoo she’d requested herself — on Charlie’s left bicep.

“Mrs Mal–”

“Astoria. Call me Astoria. Don’t call me anything else.” She gripped Charlie’s shoulders, her long nails digging into the skin. “You’ve come this far. Don’t do anything that’ll set you back, darling.” She smiled prettily, something she only showed to him now. “Remember. This is all for Scorpius.”

It was always that phrase that would trap Charlie, and Astoria always said it when necessary. She’d already lost two men in her life. One was like the Tin Man who had no heart, so she had never really had him to begin with. Another was robbed of life too early in the game because the scarecrow hadn’t made a smarter choice for his future. Third time was the charm, and she could feel it with Charlie. After all, the brave lion had now become the cowardly lion, one with a tremendous amount of guilt.

And with easy acceptance, she’d chosen the lion over the other two.

“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.

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.

Prologue
March 1945

The silence of the night aided him as he crept quietly down the vast and elaborate staircase, trying not to wake up the few people who lived in the manor. He tightened his hold on his small pack, filled with a few clothes, some food he smuggled from the maids, and all the money he had in the world, which wasn’t a lot.

Scorpius Malfoy winced to himself as the staircase let out a loud creak. He held his breath and stood still as he listened for any other sounds. When none came, he continued his descent.

The seconds seemed to drag as he treaded carefully onwards. His heart pounded heavily, worrying that someone would wake and he’d get caught. He didn’t want to explain what he was doing, why he was sneaking out late at night. Lord Potter might have understood his wanting to enlist, but he knew Albus would be furious, and he doubted he could withstand Lily’s sad face asking him why he was leaving them. But he had to go. He had to fight for others like himself and help end the war that had cast a dark shadow upon his life. He couldn’t just sit and wait.

Scorpius finally made it off the staircase and to the front door. He took a deep breath out of anxiousness as his hand touched the handle and slowly began opening it. He pulled it wider and wider and prayed silently that it wouldn’t squeak or groan. When it was wide enough, he thanked God for his success and quietly walked out, closing the door just as sluggishly as before behind him.

He walked out of the entrance way and made his way down the path and past the front gate. Now outside, he looked around the dark English moors. Spring was around the corner, so he knew that soon the moors would be green with life. He looked behind at the manor and stared at it one last time — his home in the past six years. A minute or two passed, and he faced forward and started to head down the path that were illuminated by the moon.

About a couple hundred metres away, he suddenly stopped as he saw a shadow appearing from behind some bushes. He tried to dismiss the person, thinking of him as some wanderer, but he froze as he saw moonlight reflecting against the familiar emerald eyes. He stared at them, and instead of seeing its usual warmth, he saw coldness mixed with hurt and anger. In a strangled voice he said, “Al.”

“What are you doing?” Albus asked, even though it was clear that he knew.

“I–” Scorpius began, but was quickly interrupted.

“You can’t go!” Albus yelled. “I won’t let you!”

Scorpius’ mood then switched from nervousness to anger. “What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot do? I want to make a difference. I don’t want to sit around and wait for everything to end. I won’t do it!”

“After everything, you just want to up and leave?” Albus asked, his emerald eyes flaring with anger.

Scorpius bit back a nasty retort that threatened to escape from his lips. He tried to placate Albus. “Al, I’ll come back. I prom–”

“Don’t give me that! This is a war! There’s a high chance you won’t come back!”

“Al, please, I have to do this!” Scorpius tried to step around him, but to no avail. It was obvious that Albus was not giving up yet. Especially when he felt a strong pair of arms wrapping around him.

“Don’t go, Scor. Please, don’t go.” Scorpius closed his eyes as he sagged nearly with defeat in those arms, with the warm voice whispering into his ears. The same voice that held a desperate edge to it.

“Al . . . I . . . ” He tried to speak, but failed.

“Please, don’t leave,” Albus continued to whisper as Scorpius fought back tears.

Stupid Al, he thought miserably. Why did Al have to make things so difficult? Why couldn’t he just let him go and do what he had to do? It would be so much easier if things had been different between them. If they hadn’t become so close, he could just leave. But he knew that despite how hard it was, he wouldn’t have traded any of their memories together.

As he tried to fight his sense of duty and his desired wants, his mind drifted down his life’s memory lanes of the last few years. Already six years passed since he came to this country, a country that somehow became home to him.

Closing his eyes around the unshed tears, he wrapped his arms around Albus’ slim body and buried his face into Albus’ hard and strong shoulders as he allowed the memories to rush into him.

Part I
December 1938

It was mid-December, not even a week before Chanukah. Scorpius would normally be with his parents at this time, just like any other eleven-year-old boy would be. But here he was, in the back of some chauffeur’s automobile, on his way to some stranger’s house, where he was supposed to live until his mother and father came to the country and got him. He thought it was stupid. Why did he have to leave and why did he have to go alone? It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be with some other family; he wanted to be with his own.

“Sind Sie gute Rückseite dort?” the driver asked. Are you good back there?

“I can speak English,” he replied with force.

The driver let out a disappointed sigh. “Keine Notwendigkeit, sich zu zwingen,” he insisted. No necessity to force yourself.

“I neet to get uset to it anyvay.”

Scorpius was glad when the man let it be. He didn’t want to talk. Who would anyway? He had been travelling non-stop since he boarded and left the train station. He couldn’t remember how many days ago it was, but it seemed like forever and it had been terrible. The train had been packed to the absolute fullest capacity. It had been a mad house; one full of emotional children who were scared and depressed. And the boat ride later wasn’t much better either. The car ride on the other hand was a godsend. The hum of the engine was like a sweet, long sought after lullaby. No cries of other children, no terrified screams, and no angry yelling. Perfect, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the car door.

As the car drove along the dirt road, he watched as the English countryside passed by him. He’d always wanted to come here. As the spoiled darling of his family, Scorpius had been given the opportunity to learn the unfamiliar English language at the tender age of six. He had hoped to learn to be fluent by the time he was old enough to go study at Oxford or Cambridge. Ever since he ran across some poetry by prominent poets like Yeats, Wordsworth, and Coleridge in his father’s library, he dreamt of going to England to study English literature. But now his dreams of attending the most prestigious universities in the English speaking world plummeted to hell just as his own life.

He’d give anything to be with his parents right now. He couldn’t understand it. Last month, when that horrific event, the Kristallnacht occurred, he knew some unexplainable changes had come into his life. He knew that his family, as well as the others in their affluent neighbourhood, were finally given that slap in the face that perhaps things were no longer safe in their country. The last few years proved to be difficult for people like him, but the incident last month finally proved everyone fears. Jews were no longer safe in Germany.

A couple of weeks ago, Scorpius saw the hushed urgency on his parents faces. He knew they were trying to get a visa that would allow them to escape Nazi Germany. What he didn’t expect was to be sent ahead of them. Alone. That idea never came to him, but now here he was alone in the car, and it was all thanks to the Kindertransport organisation. A group of volunteers in England and Germany had arranged for German Jews children a safe passage to England, where they would be placed in foster homes or in child care services. Scorpius just happened to be one of the many children selected. He knew he should feel lucky, but he didn’t.

“Here ve are,” said the man in a heavy accent. “Wellingborough. That house on the hill? That is where you stay.”

Scorpius eyed the gigantic house on the hill. He almost retorted at the driver that it wasn’t a house but a mansion, but he stayed silent as he studied the Victorian architecture of the place. It was an old house, and he could see it. At first glance, he felt a shiver go down his spine at the unfriendly looking place, but as he looked at it closer, he sensed something gentle about the place, despite its sheer size and its formidable appearance.

It wasn’t long until the car went through the gate that guarded the mansion and drove up the vast driveway. Scorpius saw a small gathering in front of the entrance. He saw two maids, a butler, a cook, and a gardener standing off to the side. Closer to the front, he saw a thin man with the most unruly hair in the world, dressed in an expensive looking suit, three boys — two older ones and one about his age — dressed in nice clothes, and a lone girl dressed just as nicely as the men.

They all had a friendly look about them, despite their rich appearance. Scorpius already decided he hated them on the spot.

The car soon came to a halt and the chauffeur came around to his door and opened it for him. “Here ve are, young sir,” he said as Scorpius stepped out. The man then turned to the people in front of the mansion and began announcing him. “May I introduce young Scorpius Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Richard,” the man with the horrendous hair spoke as he walked forward. “Please take the young gentleman’s bags up to his room. Ettie and Loretta will assist you and show you the way.” The driver nodded and began doing as instructed; the two maids moving to help him. The lord of the house then turned to Scorpius and offered a warm smile that made him dislike him more. Then in German, he said, “Welcome, Scorpius. I am Lord Harry Potter, Marquess of Northamptonshire.”

“Hello,” Scorpius replied stubbornly.

Lord Potter merely chuckled before the young girl, about half Scorpius’ age, scurried behind the man’s leg and peeked from behind it at him. Her father patted her on the head and looked back to Scorpius. “This is my daughter, Lily. And he,” he gestured to the youngest boy, “is my second eldest, Albus. And the two older boys are my eldest son, James, and Teddy, my godson and child of a deceased friend of mine. I hope you will all come to get along and make yourself feel at home.”

“Humph,” he sounded. Like he could ever feel at home in some stranger’s home. The only place that could feel like home was with his own family and not someone else’s.

The man let out a sigh and signalled for the girl to go stand by her brothers before kneeling in front of Scorpius and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know this must be difficult. I lost my parents a long time ago and was forced to live with my uncle and his family. And though they may have been related to me, they may have well been strangers. It was scary and confusing — just as it must be for you. But I will do my best to make this as comfortable of a place to live for you as I can until you are able to return to your parents. All right?”

Unexpectedly, tears suddenly came into his eyes, and Scorpius quickly ducked his head in a feeble effort to hide his weakness.

Was it from exhaustion? Was it from the stress of being separated from his parents? Was it from coming to a foster family more affluent than him? Or was it from the kindness of the lord who spoke in his native tongue to make him feel at ease? Scorpius wasn’t sure what it was, but he forced his tears to stay in his eyes as he said softly, “Ja. Danke schön.”

He looked up to see Lord Potter giving him a gentle smile. “Come. I know you’re probably tired from the journey. My butler, Clyde, will show you to your room. In about an hour, we will have high tea. I’ll have one of my boys send for you.”

Scorpius nodded, and he walked past the others without making any eye contacts. Following Clyde, Scorpius took in the elaborate but homely décor of the inside. His footsteps echoed on the dark mahogany floors where there were oriental-designed carpets here and there. He walked past many portraits of Impressionist paintings reminiscent of Monet and Van Gogh. He easily recognised those style since his mother was a big art aficionado. Meanwhile, he caught pretty urns, vases, and even marbled statues of people or other inanimate objects. When he climbed up what looked like the grandest staircase in the world, Scorpius felt dizzy and wondered just how rich was this Lord Potter?

Clyde finally led him into a hallway (Scorpius knew it would take a while to navigate through this labyrinth) where he assumed was the bed chambers. Walking into what was to be his room, he should have figured that the rooms would be just as affluent the rest of the place was. He saw his stuff already in his room, and he looked closely at his “home” for the next month or so. In the middle of the room, there stood a four-poster bed, its sheets, blanket, and curtains in the deepest shade of evergreen, trimmed with gold and silver threads. There were two night tables on both sides of the bed, where one held a water pitcher and a basin with a towel. There was a desk off to the side of the corner, along with a bookcase full of books that were in German and English. There were two windows in his room, both connected to a window seats that had velvet cushions, and finally there was even a fireplace, which looked as if it was recently lit since his room felt nice and cosy.

“Please rest and someone will come for you later,” Clyde said, interrupting Scorpius’ visual exploration of the room. “I’ll take my leave now.”

Scorpius nodded slowly. He only understood “please”, “take”, and “someone”. But when he saw Clyde leaving, he knew just what the man meant. With a sigh, Scorpius, still in his jacket and all, sat on the soft bed, lay on his back, and went to sleep without changing anything.

Scorpius heard a knock on his door and quickly bolted up. When his eyes opened, he wondered for a few seconds where he was before memories of the last few days came to him. His lips formed a pout before his thoughts returned to the present by a voice behind the door.

“Scorpius?” a young, male voice asked.

He got up from the comfortable bed reluctantly and walked to the door. When he opened it, Scorpius saw the little boy from earlier. Albus he believed his name was. He looked much like Lord Potter, though his hair had a barely noticeable touch of red, and he didn’t have glasses blocking his extremely green eyes.

“H-hello,” Scorpius managed to say.

“I am Albus,” he greeted. “I am here to take you to tea. Ready?”

Scorpius nodded, able to understand the gist of what he said, and followed him down the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind him. His gaze focused on the ground in front of him as his feet kept in step with the boy’s. He wondered to himself, as they walked, how he was supposed to ever feel truly comfortable at this place. He could barely speak or understand English, even with all the teachings, and he didn’t expect he would improve much by the time he left. But maybe it didn’t really matter. It shouldn’t take his parents too long to come and get him, so did it really matter if he could keep conversation with any of them?

He was too lost in his own thoughts to notice Albus coming to a stop and turning to him. “Is something wrong?” he asked and Scorpius was brought back to reality.

“No,” he replied, a bit disappointed at the interruption of the silence. “I am goot.”

“You sure?”

Scorpius nodded, eager to get moving again. And to his relief, Albus accepted the response and they continued making their way down the hall. He didn’t miss the occasional glances from the other boy in his direction. The looks made him feel slightly uncomfortable, but it was soon over when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Good evening,” a voice spoke and Scorpius looked to see a light-brown haired boy — Teddy was it? — who was standing next to the eldest Potter son, James.

The greeting made Albus smile brightly. “Hello, Teddy,” he replied. “James,” he nodded to his brother. “Shouldn’t you two be in the dining room?”

“We will be in there in a bit,” James answered. “We were having a short discussion . . . about school matters.”

“All right,” he said and turned to Scorpius. “Come along. I will take you to the dining room.”

Scorpius briefly studied the two boys — no, they were men — in front of him. Teddy reminded him of one of his friends back home, a gentle, studious sort. James on the other hand seemed to be the energetic chap, judging by the way his deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

But before he could discern anything more about them, Albus picked up the pace, and soon they were both in the dining hall. If the rest of the house was fancy as Scorpius had seen earlier, then the dining hall was perhaps the most majestic place he found himself in. He took in the golden chandeliers, the ornate wall decorations, and the huge table laden with sandwiches, biscuits, and teas.

The magnificence of this place made him freeze. He realised that he hadn’t changed out of his travelling clothes and felt embarrassed by his appearance. Then again, the Nazis didn’t really let him pack much of his nicer clothes, so it wouldn’t have really mattered. He remembered that when his parents found out he was selected for the Kindertransport, they were given a list on what he was allowed to bring with him. Despite that, though, he still could have freshened up and even taken his jacket off.

“Are you cold?” asked Lord Potter in German, entering the dining hall.

“N-nein,” Scorpius blushed at the question. “I’m just comfortable like this.”

“Do have a seat. Anywhere.”

Instead of sitting, he waited until the lord of the house took his seat first along with the other occupants. Then he finally sat down in a spot between Lord Potter and Albus with Teddy across from him. James sat next to Teddy, and Lily sat next to Albus.

As he slowly began to sip at his warm tea in front of him, Scorpius anticipated tea to be a silent one. His expectations failed him as he saw that the Potters were vocal and loud — quite the opposite from his family.

Teddy and Harry talked to each other about something Scorpius couldn’t catch. James teased Lily, and Lily, not letting her big brother win over her, teased back, the two bantering back and forth together.

Albus at the moment wasn’t saying anything, but Scorpius figured that he’d enter the discussion with his siblings in a minute or so.

Again, Scorpius’ theories were thrown in his face when Albus turned to him and said slowly, “Sorry. We’re kind of loud at times.”

Scorpius frowned as he tried to separate the words together and translate them in his head so he could understand. “It iz fine.”

“Do you like Mickey Mouse?”

Something inside of Scorpius made him smile a little as that question made him recall his favourite film shorts on that eccentric mouse from United States. “Yes. I like Mickey Maus.”

He watched the way Albus’ green eyes twinkled. “I loved him in Steamboat Willie. Have you seen that?”

“Ja — Yes. I did.”

He saw the quick glance Albus threw at his father, but then Albus said, “Our local theatre will be showing that and other Mickey Mouse shorts. Would you like to come with me?”

That was too long for Scorpius to understand. “I sorry. I . . . Ich verstehe nicht.” I do not understand. Scorpius forgot the English for that. Luckily, Lord Potter became his interpreter.

“Yes, I go. Vith you. I go.” He accepted Albus’ invitation, but then he wondered why he did so. He shouldn’t be getting too close with them. He wasn’t going to stay here long, and he knew they were only being nice out of sympathy, and he didn’t like that. He still had his pride!

“Great!” Albus exclaimed with a grin. “We can go tomorrow afternoon.” He paused and turned to Lord Potter. “Is that all right, Dad?”

The man looked to Scorpius and asked in German if it was okay with him. He nodded and Lord Potter smiled in reply. “Then you two may go.”

“Thank you,” Albus said before taking a bite out of a sandwich. After taking a second bite, he must have noticed Scorpius had not yet eaten. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he managed to ask with a full mouth, his fingers pointing to the plate of sandwiches.

“What have I said about talking with food in your mouth?” Lord Potter admonished gently.

Albus swallowed. “Sorry,” he apologised and looked over at Scorpius, obviously still waiting for an answer.

Scorpius, feeling obligated, timidly reached for a sandwich and took a bite. Upon tasting, he realised he was actually hungrier than he thought, his nervousness masking it previously. He quickly took another bite, enjoying the taste of cucumber and dill.

“They are good, aren’t they?” Albus spoke with a smile, only to get a confused look from Scorpius in reply. The boy pointed to the sandwich. “Good?”

This time he understood and nodded in agreement. “Goot,” he replied once he swallowed his bite.

The other boy left him alone then, making a few jokes here and there with the others, letting Scorpius have a few moments to himself. He found it nice to not have to struggle to understand what the boy was saying, though he had to admit it was somewhat nice to have someone his own age to talk to. He hadn’t talked to any other kid since right before he left Germany. Yes, he had been with hundreds of other children on the way to England, but none of them were really up for a chat and neither had he. But again, it didn’t really matter. It wouldn’t be long until he was with children like himself again and with his own family, where he wouldn’t have to translate every little word.

After finishing his second sandwich, Scorpius’ attention was once again captured by Albus, who looked like he was struggling with something. “W–,” he began with scrunched face. “Uh, one second.” He then turned to Lord Potter then and asked, “May I get up and ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why you need to get up to do that, but all right,” he replied and the boy got up and went to his father.

Scorpius eyed the both of them curiously as Albus whispered in the man’s ear, and the man whispered back. After getting whatever answer he needed, he scurried back to his seat and smiled at Scorpius before speaking again. “Wie tun . . . Sie mögen . . . es hier bis . . . jetzt?”

Though it was forcibly spoken, and with a bad accent on top of it, Scorpius was able to understand that the boy was asking how he liked the place so far. “I . . . ” He started, but wasn’t really sure how to answer. After all, he had just gotten there and thought he already decided he hated them — he didn’t really want to be rude. “It . . . is . . . goot,” he eventually answered.

Smiling, Albus sat back down at his spot and resumed his sandwich.

Scorpius finished his, drank some tea, and then he realised something. “V-vhere iz your mutter?”

Apparently it was the wrong question to ask since everybody — despite not knowing German knew that word — stopped talking.

Quickly, Scorpius apologised. “I am sorry asking.”

Lord Potter gave him a gentle smile and answered in German. “It’s okay, Scorpius. My wife, Lady Potter, passed away a long time ago from diphtheria. We all miss her, but we get along fine now.”

Nodding, Scorpius apologised again in German and Lord Potter assured him that it was fine. “After tea, why don’t you write a letter to your parents? I’ll send it off for you.”

“Ja. I vill do that. Thank you.”

With a nod to everyone, Lord Potter left the room, with Lily tagging behind him, asking him something about reading a book later. Teddy and James both took their leave in the labyrinth, and soon it was just him and Albus.

“Come. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Understanding the gist of it, Scorpius followed Albus through the mazes and soon they were both in his room.

“May I stay here and keep you company?”

Scorpius blinked as he tried to figure out the meaning.

Grinning, Albus pointed to himself and then pointed to the floor. “Me stay?”

“Ah, ja, yes. You stay.”

And that was what they did. Albus sat on one of the window seats while Scorpius sat at his desk and wrote a letter to his parents saying he arrived well and what the Potters were like. He was tempted to write awful things about them, but he decided against it since they really weren’t bad — on the contrary they were great. The Potters were vastly different from the Malfoys. The Potters were openly friendly and warm while his parents were loving as them but more closed off to their emotions.

Quickly, he finished up the letter and when done, he walked over to where Albus sat, and before he could even ask, Albus scooted over. “Done? Here, sit.”

He sat, without saying anything, and he looked out the window to take in the view of Wellingborough at the bottom of the hill, the woodsy area that scattered around the manor, and the English moors he had read about in his books.

February 1939

It had been over a month, almost two, since his arrival at the Potter household, and Scorpius was slowly warming up to it. He had gone with Albus the day after his arrival to the theatre and watched the featured Mickey Mouse shorts. They were all in English, but he had seen them before back in Germany and could easily tell what was going on and when to laugh. Afterwards, the two of them headed back to the Potter manor, stopping for a second along the way to buy ice cream from a bicycling merchant.

Through the weeks, he had continued exchanging small letters with his parents, each time being promised they would make it to England soon, but never being able to yet. They will get here when they can, he told himself repeatedly. He was certain that it wouldn’t be long. After all, they had said they would be there as soon as possible to get him, and his parents never lied.

“Ich vermisse dich,” he whispered, the German words for ‘I miss you’, as he signed his name on the letter.

He then heard a knock on the door and turned his head towards it. “Yes?”

“It is I,” Lord Potter replied. “May I come in?”

“You may,” he answered and set down his pen on the table as the door opened, and Lord Potter walked in.

“Good evening, Scorpius,” he greeted and approached the table.

Scorpius smiled lightly. “Hello, Lord Potter.”

He returned the smile before moving on to explain why he was there; speaking in German to ensure the boy understood everything. “As you probably have realised, the length of your stay here isn’t certain. I have decided that it is probably best to enrol you in Wellingborough School where the boys attend. This way you can maintain your education and not fall behind once you leave. It will also give you something to do while the others are at school. How would you like that?”

Scorpius thought long and hard about Lord Potter’s suggestion. He hadn’t even thought about going to school — at least not until he was reunited with his parents. The idea of going to school without them here felt like betrayal in his part. He just didn’t want to get too close to this family during his duration here. And going to school under Lord Potter’s name made it seem like the gap he had between his parents grew larger and larger.

In Germany, Scorpius loved school. Naturally bright and studious, he had been at the top of his class, and he missed that feeling. He missed the challenges of learning, but he knew instinctively that if he went to a British school, he would no longer be at the top of the class. At least not for a couple of years.

But he still wanted to learn. His mind drifted through the events of the past two months. Teddy was already finished with school, so he helped with Lord Potter’s job. James was in his last year, so he attended school as well as Albus, while Lily went to an all-girls’ school in the town. While everyone worked or attended school, during the day, Scorpius was with the hired help in the big mansion. With the German books he had in his room, he self-studied what he could, and when the work day and school day both ended, he’d be with the Potters having tea or playing with Albus and Lily.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he was lonely during the day. Along with that, he felt like his English wasn’t improving as fast as it would if he had gone to school.

With mixed feelings churning inside of him, he took a deep breath and said, “Ja. I want to go to school. But I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You are never going to be a burden, Scorpius. Believe it or not, your father and I actually met each other during the Great War. He fought for Germany, and I fought for England, and while we were on two opposing enemy front, we actually learned to respect one another. I wouldn’t say we became friends since our mutual animosity did stem from that war, but after the war, we continued to correspond with each other, and it was he who helped me establish myself as who I am today. He was also the one who, more or less, slapped me back to reality when my wife passed away. I don’t think you are aware that we’d travel to each other countries, and we’d meet up from time to time.” Lord Potter took a breath and smiled. “Good thing I dealt with a lot of Germans at work these past decades! Otherwise, we’d have some huge language barrier. I knew becoming fluent in German would soon find its usage other than for work purposes!”

Scorpius smiled at the little joke. Lord Potter’s German was good — sounding practically like a native-speaker. And as for his father knowing Lord Potter, he didn’t know. He knew his father travelled to England many times for business trips, at least.

“Now, when you were sent here, I didn’t know for sure who I was going to get. See, I volunteered with the Jewish Refugee Committee to offer my place to one child, but it wasn’t until after I received news that you arrived in England that I knew it was you. You coming here was all merely a coincidence, but I’m glad it is you. And since your parents are still having some difficulties with the immigration office, and we are not sure how long they will be delayed, I don’t want your education to falter like this, so after I contacted your father about this, we both agree that you should start attending school here.”

The news of his fathers’ knowing each other really did put a new angle on how Scorpius thought about the Potters now. Despite maintaining a civil appearance with them, he still tried to keep his distance from them and still tried to “hate” them, but trying to hate them was trying to hate himself and his parents. He just couldn’t really do that. These people were genuinely good people, so to hate them for being here is much like Hitler hating the Jews just for who they are. And Scorpius definitely did not want to be compared to that monster.

Nodding, he said, “I’ll go. If it’s all right with you and father, I’ll go.”

“Then with today being Thursday, you will start the coming Monday. Tomorrow, you will need to get fitted for the school uniform, all right?”

“Ja, thank you.”

“Good,” the man smiled before glancing over to the letter. “Would you like me to send Clyde up to collect and mail off your letter once you seal it all up?”

He nodded. “Ja.”

“All right then, I will see in the morning.” Before leaving, he stopped at the doorway and said , “Good night.”

“Gute nacht,” Scorpius replied with a smile.

Lord Potter left and Scorpius began sealing the letter in a nearby envelope. Clyde arrived soon after and collected the letter to send it off for him. He then went to bed, excited about the latest occurrence and the preparations the next day.

Scorpius was glad on Monday to find out he had all his classes with Albus. If it wasn’t for him, he’d have likely gotten lost and confused. The teachers had a terrible issue of talking too fast for him, but luckily Albus was always there to clarify.

The morning passed by in a blur, and when it was midday meal time, Scorpius and Albus sat together, sharing the long table with the other boys. However, instead of interacting with them, Scorpius was busy concentrating on Albus going over one of their lectures from earlier.

“Eight times n plus forty-six equals seventy-eight,” Albus read as he pointed to his paper. “We need to find out what n equals.” He paused and looked up at Scorpius. “Understand?”

He nodded and Albus smiled before continuing. “First, we take forty-six and subtract it from seventy-eight. Then, we divide the resulting number by eight. The answer to that is n.”

“Okay,” he replied with another nod and began working on the problem on his own paper, muttering the numbers under his breath in German as he did so. “Sechvierzig . . . achtundsiebzig . . . zweidreibig . . . acht . . . vier.” He then looked up to Albus and asked, “Like dis?”

Albus leaned over to look before smiling and replying, “Yes! And the others are just like that except some have different variables. The variables are all the letters next to numbers.”

The two worked this way until all of their assignments were done. Tired both mentally and physically, Scorpius leaned back in his seat and sighed.

“Tired?”

“Ja, tired. But . . . ” he paused as he tried to find the words to express himself. “I miss school. I miss works.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re with me.”

At first, Scorpius didn’t quite catch the sentence, so Albus repeated it. “Ah.” He gave Albus a tentative smile. “I am happy you help. Help me. Da — Thank you.”

“Bitte.”

That single word made him give Albus a genuine smile.

Scorpius had been worried about being stuck alone at school as Albus spent all his time with friends, though the boy had rarely left his side. Albus told him that that he didn’t have a specific group of friends, that he was on good terms with practically everyone in his year, but he wasn’t too close to anyone and usually stuck to himself or with family. This seemed odd to Scorpius, who had had a specific circle of friends in school that he rarely strayed from. Still, having Albus to himself, or even with just a family member or two, appeared more appealing than ending up the odd one out when around a mountain of people he didn’t know.

“Could I have your bread pudding?” Louis, the only relative of Albus’ in their year, asked Scorpius, pointing to the odd looking food on his plate.

“Ja.”

“Thanks!” Louis exclaimed, as he began moving the pudding to his own plate.

“So, Scor,” Albus began, “How do you like it here so far?”

“It is goot,” he replied with a smile. “De teachers are a bit confusing, but you are goot at explaining.”

The answer seemed to please Albus, whose face lit up at the reply. “That is great!”

“I think you are a loon,” Louis commented as he finished off a bite of pudding. “Both of you. School is boring. I hate being forced to learn all this useless stuff.”

“I like to learn,” Scorpius said timidly.

“Me too,” Albus agreed with a smirk. “Louis here just doesn’t have much brain, and learning nearly kills him.”

“Hey!” Louis exclaimed. “Not nice!”

Scorpius gave a confused look, not having caught all of what was said. Luckily, Albus noticed and pulled out a piece of paper and pen. Albus had learned earlier that it was easier for Scorpius to understand things if he wrote it down. Louis is pretty stupid and learning hurts his head, he scribbled down before passing it to Scorpius.

He chuckled and said, “Poor, Louis.”

“Now you got him laughing at me, too!” Louis glared Albus.

“Maybe you should study more.”

“Shut up,” Louis mumbled and continued eating the pudding.

Scorpius just smiled at the exchange, finding it a bit familiar to conversations with his friends back home. Even with different language, culture, and customs, the children were a lot like the ones he had known. Of course, Albus didn’t compare to most of his old friends. He was a lot nicer, considerate, and went out of his way to help him out even if he didn’t need to. When it was time to leave, he would really miss the youngest Potter boy.

July 1939

Albus gave Scorpius a grin as they reached the fountain, their breaths heavy from the long sprint. They were playing Bulldogs with Lily, Louis, and some other children Scorpius had met the previous week: Rose, Hugo, Lorcan, and Lysander; the former being brother and sister and the latter twins. They were the children of Lord Potter’s friends who came to visit occasionally to catch up and discuss things that would make Scorpius’ mind spin in confusion when he tried to listen in.

School had been over for about a week. As expected, Scorpius hadn’t been top of his class as he had been back in Germany, but he didn’t mind so much. He was just content to be able to make it through without falling helplessly behind. He owed it all to Albus, who never seemed to mind taking the time to explain the schoolwork. Spending time with Albus, as well as attending school, also helped him improve his English. Less and less he had to ask Lord Potter to interpret what Albus or the others said.

“You guys are too fast,” Rose panted a few feet away.

“Not our faults you lot are slow,” Albus smirked.

“Mark my words Albus Severus Potter, I will tag you before this game is out.”

“You can try,” he shrugged.

After shooting him a glare, Rose ran off again to attempt to tag the others with Lorcan. The eldest twin managed to tag Hugo before making it to the fountain along with Lily, Louis, and Lysander.

They ran around — the area filled with laughter of his new friends. Scorpius dashed around the fountain, feeling the breeze pass by him. Playing games like this with others allowed him to escape his worries about his parents. It had already been more than six months now since he came here, and despite the letters of encouragement from them, which were becoming fewer as time went on, he couldn’t help but worry and resent his parents for not keeping their promises.

But regardless, he tried not to think about them in a negative manner and only tried to keep up the faith on them coming here soon. Perhaps in a couple more months? He hoped it wouldn’t be much longer. He did truly miss them and worried for them.

Suddenly, he heard James’ naturally loud booming voice. “Okay, young ones! It’s time for dinner! Come on in before I eat it all!”

That distracted him, so he stopped for a few seconds and that was when Albus, who had been it, pounced on him, making Scorpius fall over with Albus on top of him.

“Oof!” That fall knocked the wind out of him. He dazedly looked up into Albus’ grinning face.

“Got you! You’re it when we come back outside later!” Standing up, Albus extended his hand out to help Scorpius off the ground. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you fall.”

“It is all right.” Scorpius recovered from his fall, and with Albus’ warm hand clasping his, he stood up and smiled at him. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine. Now, come! Let’s go. I fear one day he will eat all the food. He knows how to clean up more than his share!”

Understanding and laughing at Albus’ hyperbole, the two of them and their friends all ran into the house. Both maids scolded all of them for bringing in dirt, but they didn’t pay any attention since the maids all scolded them with smiles on their faces.

After they all quickly cleaned themselves up, they all gathered into the large dining room, where the adults along with James and Teddy were already present.

Scorpius took his usual spot between Albus and Lily, and the next hour showed a picture of happiness as they all ate good foods and chattered amongst themselves.

“Oh, Ronald,” the bushy-haired woman down the table shook her head at her red-headed husband. “Must you shove your face with food like that? The food isn’t going to disappear.”

Mr. Weasley swallowed his mouthful and smiled cheekily. “But Hermione, it tastes so good.”

“The flavour will last longer if you savour it.”

“But I much prefer the taste of loads of it at once.”

“What am I going to do with you?” she muttered, making the children giggle simultaneously.

Teddy flashed James a smile. “So I take it you get your eating habits from your mum’s side, eh?”

“Shuwt up,” he replied with a mouthful, earning a playful nudge from his friend.

“You know,” the odd blonde woman, Luna Scamander, spoke up. “I hear that eating fast can make a hole in your stomach. That is why Rolf here eats as slow as a snail. He doesn’t want to take the chance, you know?”

“Know you’re a nut,” Mrs. Weasley muttered into her cup.

“Hmm?” Mrs. Scamander sounded with light curiosity.

The woman shook her head. “Nothing, nothing.”

Scorpius bit back a snicker and he could tell Albus was doing the same. He could sense the animosity between the two women, well, from Mrs. Weasley’s side mostly. Mrs. Scamander’s head was too far off to carry any hostility from what Scorpius noticed. The group of people was interesting though, he noted. Lord Weasley, Mr. Weasley’s eldest brother, seemed the epitome of cool and his wife, Lady Weasley, the most elegant woman he had seen since he last saw his own mother. The Scamanders were the craziest people and the most knowledgeable in abnormal facts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were an odd match, him being a not-too-bright man with a large appetite for food and her an intelligent woman with a large appetite for books.

“May we be excused?” Victoire asked, after finishing the last bite on her plate. “Dominique and I wanted to finish embroidering our handkerchiefs.”

“Yes, you may,” Lady Weasley answered.

“Thank you, Mother,” Dominique replied before looking to both Lily and Rose. “Would you two like to join us?”

“No, thank you,” Rose answered. “We have got to beat the boys at Bulldogs.”

Scorpius saw the tongue Hugo gave his sister behind their mother’s back. “You will never beat us, right Scorpius?”

“Er.” Scorpius looked at Lily who gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes he ever saw. “I don’t know. The girls are . . . ” He struggled to come up with the word. “Tough.”

“He’s right! We’ll show them, Lily!” Rose made her declaration, and after excusing herself from the table, she headed outside first with Hugo following.

Albus and Scorpius were the last to come out, and when they were going through the long hallway, Albus said, “Lily won you over, eh? Can’t say no to her when she makes those eyes at you. She’s the darling spoiled baby of the family, after all.”

Scorpius nodded, understanding fully on how it’s like to be the spoiled child of the family. “I was like that. My parents spoiled me.”

“At least you don’t act horrid like that Alston McLaggen. I’ve overheard James and Teddy talking about how they overheard that even McLaggen’s father acted like his son when he was young.” Albus made a face when he said their snotty classmate’s name.

Grinning, Scorpius said, “Well, comparing me to him is like comparing mudpies and chocolate mousse!”

“Yeah, only you’re the better one. Though I don’t think you’d be any tastier than McLaggen!”

Laughing, the two friends went outside and joined in another round of the game, with Scorpius being it first.

Part II
September 1939

Dear Mutter and Vater,

I miss and love you two and cannot wait until you two arrive here. The Potter’s place is nice, and I am having a lot of fun here, but it is still not as great as being with you both. It seems like forever since I have seen you. I almost feel like you will never make it, but I know that you two will do whatever you can to get here. Until then, I will try my best not to be sad since I know that you don’t like it when I am.

Since I last wrote you, I have been spending more time with Albus, his cousins, and their family friends. Lorcan and Lysander are a bit strange — they look identical and tend to speak at the same time — but they are not as weird as their father or mother. Hugo has a weird bug collection, and Rose is a bit bossy and a know-it-all. Louis’ sisters have been around, too, but they keep to themselves doing womanly activites. I think Victoire, the older one, likes Teddy, but he doesn’t give her too much attention.

Albus and I have been reading some of his books together. I have read some parts by myself, but my English isn’t perfect enough yet, so I usually have to ask Albus for help. Lord Potter has some German books, too, and sometimes I read them, but not often since he doesn’t have many I find interesting.

School started a few days ago. It is just the same as before. Albus and I have most classes together, though not all. Luckily all the classes he isn’t in Louis is, so I am not all by myself. Hugo and the twins now have lunch with us, which I find a bit odd since I am used to it just being me, Albus, and Louis, but the company is still good so I don’t mind.

I don’t have much else to say. I love and miss you both. I said it earlier, but I want to make sure you know.

Wish you were here,
Scorpius

He set his pen down after he finished the last word. He read over it, making sure it was all correct before he sealed it up in an envelope. He looked at the date of the letter, Sunday, September 3, 1939. Once done, he headed downstairs and found Clyde.

“Please mail this for me, Clyde.”

“Will do, young master.” Clyde bowed and took his leave with the letter.

When Clyde was out of sight, Scorpius decided to find Albus, but Lord Potter approached him instead.

“Scorpius? Would you care to join me for some tea? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, Lord Potter.” While he followed the master of the house to the tea room, he quickly checked over himself, making sure nothing on him stood out of place. It wasn’t long when he sat in a comfortable armchair and had a warm cup in his tea. As he took a sip, he waited patiently for him to talk.

Lord Potter cleared his throat and hesitated before saying, “As you know . . . Germany invaded Poland two days ago. We, the British, have officially declared war on them about an hour or so ago.”

“Ah,” Scorpius set his cup down and watched how he clenched his hands in his lap. He knew about the invasion. Everyone did. A strange part of him felt ashamed, like he was the one who started the invasion, which made no sense, but to him he still considered himself German, despite how the Nazis had stripped him and his family of their citizenship to stateless Jews.

“Yes,” Lord Potter continued, “unfortunately, war has begun. And as much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news . . . I think your parents coming here now will be extremely difficult. Not only that, but I think them leaving Germany alone will be difficult.”

“I . . . ” Scorpius tried to take in the news as well as he could. To be honest, when he had heard about the invasion two days ago, deep inside of him, he knew that once war was officially declared, things were to go in an entirely different direction for his parents.

Scorpius looked up when he heard a sigh from him. “Look, I never make a promise I cannot keep, but I will try my best, will try everything that I have, to bring them here.”

As much as Scorpius wanted his parents right now, he thought of something else instead. “Do . . . do you still want me to stay here?”

He saw that his question threw the man off the course, for Lord Potter sat there blinking, his bespectacled green eye giving off a confused look. “What do you mean? Of course you will stay here!”

“But . . . won’t my stay here be dangerous?”

He looked at the frown on the older man’s face. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean . . . I am a German Jew. That means, I am the enemy.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Scorpius saw Lord Potter for who he really was. The man absolutely emanated sheer power, anger, and sadness towards him, and Scorpius had to force himself not to cower under that look.

“Scorpius Malfoy. Yes, you are Jewish. Yes, you are German. But that does not mean you are the enemy!” Lord Potter’s face softened as he continued his next statement. “In this world, there are good Germans and bad Germans. Good Jews and bad Jews. Good British and bad British. I’ve been taught to judge others based on their social backgrounds and classes, their religious and political affiliations, and other factors that divides society up into many factions. However, when I was in the Great War, I discovered the truth of our world. We, regardless of who we are, are all human, the same species, and since then I’ve decided that if I cannot judge people based on their personality and their inner selves, then I have no right to even judge myself.”

This short speech was perhaps the most eloquently delivered set of words he had heard in his short life. As he took in the man’s words and processed them, he realised that Lord Potter was right. Even if he himself would always feel a bit of that shame for his origins, he shouldn’t judge others like the way anti-Semitic people judged him.

The realisation bought tears of gratitude to him, and as he hastily tried to blink them back or swiped at them, he felt a pair of strong, warm, and protective arms around him. He allowed himself to be hugged, and that was when he knew that Lord Potter would always be there for him. Lord Potter was not one to be disloyal to anyone without a reason.

A door slowly creaked open, and Scorpius left the embrace to see who it was. “Scorpius?” a familiar voice asked before walking into the room. “I have been looking for you everywhere. I was –” Albus then paused when he noticed the tears going down Scorpius’ face. “What is wrong?”

Lord Potter, who was standing next to Scorpius’ seat, looked to his son with a grim expression. “I just told him some dire news.”

“What?”

“Britain has declared war on Germany, and that means that it will be longer than expected until Scorpius’ parents can make it here or even out of the country.”

Albus looked shocked and his eyes went back and forth between his father and his friend before finally just settling on Scorpius. “I am sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he replied with an attempt at a smile.

“I am going to go find Teddy and James now,” Lord Potter spoke up. “You two feel free to ask Loretta to fetch anything you want from the kitchen.”

The boys nodded and he took his leave. Once Lord Potter was out of the room, Albus moved to the chair where Scorpius sat and sat on its arm. “How are you feeling?” he asked with real concern evident in his eyes.

“A mixture of things,” Scorpius replied as he looked at his lap glumly. “Confused as to why all of this happened. Sad that I do not know when my parents will be able to be here. Scared that they aren’t safe and that I may not be, whether now or further in the future. I don’t know what to do or what to expect.”

For the second time, Scorpius felt arms wrapped around him. These were not as strong or large, but just as warm and comforting. He felt Albus’ head on his, and he felt touched when Albus’ hands rubbed his back gently, his way of trying to placate Scorpius, obviously.

“Thank you,” Scorpius spoke as tears quietly made their way down his face again. “I am glad I was brought here to such caring people.”

Albus offered him a comforting smile and brushed a few tears off of his face. “And I am happy you are here, too.”

December 1939

Already a year had passed since he came here. He glumly looked at the 25-word Red Cross postcard. With the war blazing on, this little card filled with a generic “we miss you, we will be there soon” message were the only thing his parents were allowed to send now. And Scorpius, too, was only allowed to send a similar card telling him that he was fine and that he missed them.

He learned that a lot can happen in a year, and things changing drastically in three months shouldn’t be surprising.

The Potter household now lacked two members: Teddy and James. As soon as the war’s declaration came to be known everywhere, both young men decided to enlist in the Royal Air Force. For some reason, Scorpius envied them. He wanted to do something for his adopted country, but at the age of twelve, what could he do?

He, Albus, and Lily still attended school, but now their routines consisted of air raid exercises. Loud sirens blaring across their town became a usual occurrence. Along with the unwelcome blast of ear-shattering sounds, they quickly became a master at putting on their gas masks in a matter of seconds.

Things they took for granted became hard to find as the rationing system was put into place. They weren’t starving by any means, no, but any luxury such as chocolate and real butter all disappeared as they went to the war effort.

But Scorpius didn’t care about that. He knew he was lucky enough to have a place over his head and people who will protect and care for him. He only wanted his parents to join him. Then things would be finally fine.

However, he could not deny that his friendship with Albus and Lily were growing, and he also began to see Lord Potter as another father figure. Last year he felt like an outsider intruding on a foreign family. Now? He didn’t feel that self-induced separation from them. Now that his English skills were practically on a native-speaker’s level, that erased any language barrier between him and the people around him.

In fact, now he was at the top of his class again — even beating Albus — but the two of them didn’t compete against each other. Albus seemed content to let Scorpius be the leader in their class.

“Scorpius!” Albus’ call broke his daydreaming. “Teddy and James are here! Those two are on leave and are here on a surprise visit! Come on down!”

“Coming!” Scorpius yelled in reply and laid the card down on the desk before hurrying down the staircase.

“Lily, Teddy isn’t a playground for you the climb all over,” he heard Lord Potter lightly scold the girl as he made his way down the flight of stairs.

“It’s okay,” Teddy chuckled and rustled the little girl’s hair, earning him a giggle.

“I missed you so much, Ted Ted!” she exclaimed as she hugged his neck.

“Missed you too, Lily-kins,” he replied with a smile before noticing Scorpius who was now at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey there, Scor!”

Scorpius’ lips formed a big smile. “Welcome back, Teddy! Where is James?”

“Stuffing his face,” Albus laughed from his spot next to his father.

“He is grabbing a sandwich,” Lord Potter added and gave his youngest son a stern look. “Could you two boys help carry up their bags?”

“All right!” They both replied in unison and grabbed a bag each from the line of luggage by the door.

“Thank you,” Teddy smiled as he picked up two suitcases. “Since you two are helping, and James is pigging out instead, how about we make him take us all to the cinema later?”

With Lord Potter heading towards the library with Lily, the two boys nodded with grins and rushed up the stairway, Teddy laughing to himself as he followed behind them.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the rooms, which were connected by a joint bathroom. They entered James’ room first, which was much like Scorpius’ room except the bed was covered in crimson material instead of the evergreen he was accustomed to in his own room. He had never been in the room before, since the older boys’ rooms were off limits, so his eyes took note of all the small things decorating the room; the baseball and glove on the desk, the old calendar of automobiles still hanging on the wall, and the forgotten candy wrappers on the nightstand.

Teddy laid a suitcase down on the bed, and Albus put the bag he had been carrying down with it. They then made way for the other door, the one leading to the linking bathroom, and moved on to the other room. This time, the bed sheets had teal and gold colouring scheme, the desk had books upon it, the nightstand clear of all but a lamp, and only a hole in the wall where a calendar once was.

“Scor?” Albus called, and Scorpius snapped out of observances before setting down the bag he was holding next to Teddy’s suitcase.

“Thanks again, you two,” Teddy smiled. “Now, how about you both go track down James and tell him to come up here and unpack so that way we can take you kids out. Oh, tell Lily to get ready and inform Lord Potter we are kidnapping you.”

“All right,” Albus replied and grabbed Scorpius by the wrist, dragging him along back downstairs.

Scorpius and Albus both ran down to tell James Teddy’s message, and then they went to tell Lord Potter and Lily their plan. When they came out of the library, they went back to their rooms to grab their coats, scarves, gloves, and hats. They met back at the bottom of the staircase, meeting Lily who was all dressed up in her winter clothing with a big smile.

“I’m so glad Teddy and James are back!” Lily said, clapping her hands in happiness.

The three of them chattered about what the film they were to see at the cinema, and after a while, Scorpius realised that Teddy and James were taking a long time.

“What’s taking them so long?” Albus asked out loud.

“Don’t know. Maybe they had more to unpack than we thought,” Scorpius said, shrugging his thin shoulders.

“Let’s go get them!” And before he could say otherwise, Albus dashed up the stairs.

Quickly, he turned to Lily. “Wait here, okay?” Without hearing her response, he followed Albus up the stairs, and when he reached the hallway that housed Teddy’s and James’ rooms, he stopped. Albus was standing in front of the partially opened door, sporting an astonished expression.

Quietly, Scorpius tip-toed to where Albus stood, and he looked in through the opening. What he saw immediately made his mouth dry.

He watched the following scene unfold in front of him. Teddy was on his back on the large bed, and James was on top of him. Kissing Teddy deeply on the mouth, to which Teddy responded back but a minute or so later, he broke it.

“James, we can’t do this now. The children are waiting!” Teddy tried to push James off of him, but James didn’t budge.

“They can wait. I can’t. We’ve hadn’t had any moments together when we were on duty.”

“But . . . !”

“And besides,” James leaned down to kiss Teddy’s pale neck while his hand disappeared between them. “You want it just as much as I do.”

At first Scorpius thought Teddy was in pain since he arched off the bed with a soft cry, but that sound quickly turned into a moan.

“James . . . ” Teddy groaned and ran a hand through the other man’s hair.

A hand then grabbed Scorpius’ wrist, and he heard Albus whisper, “I think we should go.” He could only nod as his mind tried to comprehend what he had just seen.

Albus led him back down the hall and down the staircase silently, gently dragging him along by the wrist. Scorpius kept trying to figure out what had gone on in the bedroom. He knew what they were doing, but he couldn’t understand why. That was the things he heard boys and girls do together. Both James and Teddy were both male and that wasn’t normal. Was it?

When they reached the bottom of the stairway, they saw Lily standing patiently and swinging her hips. “Lily,” Albus began. “They will be down in a little bit. How about you go to the kitchen and have a light snack?”

“Mmmkay,” she responded absent-mindedly and skipped off, leaving the two of them to sit alone together on the last step of the stairs, looking off into space.

It was quiet for a minute or so before Albus finally spoke again. “That was . . . ”

“Yeah,” Scorpius replied softly.

“I guess . . . they are a couple?”

He nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Do you think it’s weird?” Albus asked. “Two men?”

“I . . . ” Scorpius paused as he tried to think through his answer. “I don’t know. I always thought it was just . . . between a man and a woman. The idea of two men . . . ”

“Yeah.”

Scorpius looked at Albus’ faraway expression. “Actually, I do recall hearing a conversation about this between my father and one of his friends. Apparently one of their friends . . . must be one of those men because Berlin used to be . . . ” The word Scorpius looked for was at the tip of his tongue. He knew it in German, but not in English.

“What?”

“What’s the opposite of conservative?”

“Liberal?”

“Yes! That’s the word.” Scorpius tried to recall that part of Berlin’s history, but since it was never commonly discussed, he was having trouble remembering the little information. “However, the Nazis didn’t like it.”

As both of them silently sat together, a few minutes of solace passed between them before Albus said, “Well, at least this explains one thing.”

“Explains what?”

A slow grin came onto his face. “That would explain why Teddy’s not responding to Victoire’s advances.”

Even though this statement wasn’t a hilarious one, both boys started to laugh. Perhaps it was the way Albus said it, with that quirky grin, or perhaps they were both unleashing their nerves. Whatever it was, both of them laughed loudly, and it drew Lily, James, and Teddy to them.

“What’s so funny?” James asked bemusedly.

“Is it a new joke?” Lily wondered, jumping up down while holding hands with Teddy and James.

Albus and Scorpius shared a conspiratorial look with each other and chimed at the same time. “It’s nothing!”

“If it’s nothing, then can it! Let’s go to the cinema.” With that said, James led them all out on their little escapade.

August 1940

It had been almost a year since the war started. A school year had come and went, his friends there to talk him through any worries. Of course, their consoling words slowly comforted him less and less as the Red Cross postcards from his parents were taking longer to arrive. As of the first week of August, it had been over three months since he last received a postcard, and he became almost certain he wasn’t getting any more.

“Mutter, Vater,” Scorpius whispered as he looked through the previous postcards and letters he kept in an old box. A tear fell down his face and he quickly wiped it away.

Knock, knock. He set the letters down and looked up. “Ja?”

“It’s Albus,” a voice answered. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” he replied, putting the letters back in the box and sliding it under his bed as Albus entered the room.

“How are you doing?” his friend asked just in front of the doorway, genuine concern apparent in his eyes.

“Fi–,” Scorpius began, but stopped himself, frowning slightly. He knew that Albus wouldn’t buy into a “fine”. He had become closer to him since his first arrival. They spent most of their time together and shared everything. Albus would see through the lie, so he realised he shouldn’t even attempt. “I miss them.”

Albus walked silently towards the bed and Scorpius scooted over to give him room to sit beside him. He wrapped a hand around his sorrowful friend’s shoulder. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“It’s okay,” Scorpius replied and leaned into Albus’ arm. “I just want a postcard to arrive so I can stop worrying.” He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes. “I am starting to think they won’t ever write again. What if they are dead?” He looked up at Albus with watery eyes, almost as if his friend would have an answer.

Albus brushed his hand through Scorpius’ hair gently. “I am sure they are okay.”

“Yes . . . ” Scorpius swiped at his eyes and closed them when they were dry. “I want to believe that, but unless I get something from them . . . even a telegram or something . . . ”

He felt Albus’ arms around his shoulders tightened. “Never stop believing, Scor. Don’t give up.”

Something in Albus’ voice comforted him. Maybe it was the determination laced through those words. Or maybe it was that arm around his shoulder, its warmth seeping through his clothing. Whatever it was, Scorpius rested his head on Albus’ shoulders and allowed his arms to wrap around the other’s waist.

They sat there like that in silence, exchanging no words until Albus soft voice said, “Scor?”

“Hm?” Scorpius lifted his head slightly and looked up at his friend’s face.

“I–I will always be here for you, okay?” Albus said, his eyes stern, yet gentle.

He gave a light smile in reply. “I know.”

“And–” the other boy started, but stopped.

Scorpius scrunched his forehead and asked, “And what?”

Albus opened and closed his mouth, as if he were about to say something but at the last minute decided against it.

“Is something wrong?” Scorpius asked in unease.

Albus took a deep breath and moved his free hand to brush against the side of Scorpius’ face, from his cheek to his chin. Scorpius could only look at him with confusion before Albus leaned in and their lips met.

It took a few seconds for the realisation to hit Scorpius. Albus was kissing him, Albus’ lips were on his, and Albus’ lips were incredibly warm and soft.

And he found himself feeling nothing of disgust. Instead, he felt like this was something they should have done a long time ago, as strange as that sounded in his head. At the same time, though, he couldn’t help but think something was a bit wrong with this turn of event.

Gently, he pressed his free hand against Albus’ chest and pushed him. He looked over the boy with a dazed expression, but before he could say anything, Albus beat him to it.

“I–I’m sorry!” Blushing, Albus let go of Scorpius and jumped off the bed. “I don’t know what came over me! Look! I know you’re upset! And it’s my fault! I’ll . . . I’ll just go now!”

Scorpius took in Albus’ frightened and embarrassed demeanour. Obviously Albus’ interpreted his actions as a really big rejection. While he wasn’t exactly rejecting Albus, he didn’t really want to enforce this new thing too quickly either. So Scorpius reached out to grab Albus’ wrist, in an effort to calm his friend. “Wait!”

Albus halted and gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“Al . . . ” Scorpius took a deep breath. “I’m not upset.”

Now, Albus sported a bewildered look. “What? You should be! I mean . . . ”

“I’m not upset,” Scorpius repeated, tugging Albus back down onto the bed. “Honestly.”

“But I kissed you! Without asking for your permission!” Albus exclaimed, sitting back on the bed hard. “You should have hit me or something!”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you really want me to punch you?”

“No.” Albus gave a sheepish look. “Not really. But . . . I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, perhaps you shouldn’t have. Isn’t this what most would call ‘taking advantage of the weak’?” Scorpius said this in a dry manner. He really wasn’t that upset or anything, but he saw this as a perfect opportunity to tease Albus, and he certainly wasn’t going to give that up!

Again, a nice red blush stained Albus’ cheeks as he apologised again. “I’m really sorry, Scor! Please don’t hate me.”

“Albus,” Scorpius sighed. “I am not going to hate you. I could never hate you.” He wisely decided to keep his secret about how he hated the Potters at the beginning. He didn’t need to really upset Albus any further!

Albus smiled softly before he stared off at a random wall. “So,” he began timidly. “What did you think of it?”

“The kiss?” Scorpius asked and Albus nodded. “I . . . I am not sure. I enjoyed it and it felt right in a way, but it was also a bit strange. It was sudden and . . . I think it shocked me a bit. I didn’t hate it, though.”

Albus turned his gaze towards Scorpius. “Really?”

“I might even go as far as to say you can kiss me again,” he answered with a smirk. “But I don’t want to just jump into anything. I mean, you haven’t even told me your feelings. Not that I don’t get the idea, but it would be nice to hear them.” He bit his lip nervously and looked at Albus hopefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Albus nodded and smiled, his green eyes staring into the blue of Scorpius’. “I–I really like you,” he began. “I am not sure when I started to, but it happened. I used to try to deny it, but after catching Teddy and James that one time, I thought that maybe there was a chance that you could like me, too.”

“I see.” Scorpius took a deep breath before he went on. “I, to be honest, haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I didn’t have any reason to think so. But now that it’s there in front of me . . . I could like you to. I am not adverse to idea.”

“As long as you’re comfortable and fine with it, I won’t do anything you don’t want.” Albus slowly reached out to grab one of Scorpius’ hands, and he laced their fingers together. “I promise you that.”

“Will you . . . ” He was about ask Albus to kiss him again, but there was a loud knock on the door that cut him off.

“Scorpius? Albus? Are you two in there?” It was Lily.

The two of them quickly exchanged a look. “We’ll discuss this more later,” Albus whispered. Letting go of Scorpius’ hand, he went to open the door.

He remained on the bed, clutching the hand Albus held in his other one. The former felt warm, tingly feelings at his fingertips. As he watched the two siblings talked, he smiled to himself as he decided that these new feelings, these new turn of events needed to be taken in slowly. Instinctively, he knew it was something to not rush headstrong into.

June 1941

“We have but one aim and one single, irrevocable purpose. We are resolved to destroy Hitler and every vestige of the Nazi regime. From this nothing will turn us — nothing. We will never parley, we will never negotiate with Hitler or any of his gang. We shall fight him by land, we shall fight him by sea, we shall fight him in the air, until, with God’s help, we have rid the earth of his shadow and liberated its people from his yoke. Any man or state who fights on against Nazidom will have our aid. Any man or state who marches with Hitler is our foe . . . ”

Scorpius turned off the radio he recently had placed in his room, not interested in hearing anymore of Churchill’s broadcast about promising British assistance to the Soviet Union. All news of the war seemed to mush together in his mind; Germany invaded and or attacked such-and-such country, a country joined forces with the Allied powers or the Axis, one nation declared war on another, or Hitler said or did this and this. He’d much rather have a postcard from his parents saying they were okay rather than listening to depressing news that he could do nothing about. Sometimes he just wished he could join the Royal Air Force like Teddy and James and just do something to help.

“Hey, Scor!” Albus’ voice called from down the hall.

Scorpius approached the open doorway and popped his head out. “Yes?”

“They are playing Target for Tonight at the cinema,” Albus answered as he approached Scorpius. “You know that documentary about the RAF?”

“Oh,” he said with interest.

“I take it you want to go?” Albus smirked.

“Of course!” Scorpius exclaimed. “Just need to put my shoes on.”

He then moved back fully into his room and instantly began searching for his footwear, not noticing Albus’ entry until he was standing again, having just picked up his shoes, felt arms wrap around his waist, and the other boy’s chin on his shoulder. He tensed slightly at first, shocked by the sudden contact, before relaxing into the hold.

“You know, I can’t exactly put on my shoes if you are holding me like that.”

Instead of letting go, like Scorpius had expected him to do, Albus started walking him backwards before sitting down, with him placed on his lap, and moving his lips to Scorpius’ ear. “Better?”

“Yes, though, it would be odd explaining why I am in your lap if anyone walks in.”

“They are all busy,” Albus replied. “And if they were to come upstairs, we would hear them.”

Scorpius sighed and didn’t argue the logic, instead sliding his first shoe on his foot and tying it up. Once he was done putting them on, he attempted to stand up, but Albus only held him tighter.

“I thought we were going to go to the cinema?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

Albus chuckled lightly. “But I like holding you like this.”

“Albus!” Scorpius tried to unclasp the hands in middle of his torso. “The cinema was your idea! Or are you suffering from amnesia all of the sudden?”

He didn’t hear any answer from Albus. Instead, he felt Albus nuzzling into that crook between his neck and his shoulder. Feeling the warm breath ghosting against his skin, he involuntarily shivered and instinctively tilted his head sideways to give Albus more room. This simple gesture gave Albus more encouragement since he began to kiss the skin there, and he began to trail upward, nipping the ear’s outer shell and then planting soft kisses on Scorpius’ cheeks.

“Al . . . ” His words were cut off when he felt Albus’ soft lips on his own. As he relaxed into the kiss, he felt like his entire body burned from the inner fire inside of him. He knew that it was impossible for his body to melt from the heat inside, but he briefly wondered if it was perhaps possible.

When he felt Albus’ tongue tracing his lips, he startled and parted his lips. This allowed Albus’ tongue to enter into his mouth, and he had to wonder if this was even natural? Kissing with tongues inside each other’s mouth? He never really saw anybody kiss like that before. While these thoughts ran into his head, he briefly moved his tongue, making it bump and meet Albus’, and it felt strangely good. He did it again — this time he slipped his into Albus’ mouth, and it left him feeling breathless, as well as tasting the tea and biscuit they had earlier along with Albus’ own “flavour”.

It was Albus who broke the kiss first. Scorpius dazedly looked at his friend’s face, which was all flushed. He figured that he was flushed as well. Both of them panted from their excursion mere seconds ago.

“That was . . . ” Scorpius trailed off as he shifted his weight on Albus’ lap. That was when he felt something beneath him, and when Albus’ let out a soft gasp followed by a moan, he knew just what was ailing his friend.

“I . . . let me get off, Al. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You aren’t . . . hurting me,” Albus forced out, but Scorpius didn’t listen.

He managed to stand up and escape Albus’ hold. “There,” Scorpius began, turned to his friend. “Now, I won’t be hurting you anymore.”

Scorpius then sat beside him, Albus shaking his head in disbelief. “You are not the brightest , despite being at the top of our class, are you?”

“Hmm?” Scorpius questioned with a furrowed brow.

Albus let out a deep breath and turned to him. “You weren’t hurting me,” he replied, his gaze firm.

“But you sounded–”

“That wasn’t out of pain,” He attempted to explain vaguely, obviously hoping Scorpius would catch on.

“But then why–” He stopped when he suddenly remembered that one Christmas almost two years ago, when he and Albus had caught Teddy and James. Just now, Albus’ moan of “pain” was very similar to the one he had heard Teddy release in a moment of intimacy. Scorpius’ eyes widened with realisation. “Oh . . . ”

“I take it you understand,” Albus said before moving in to kiss him again.

Scorpius felt lips on his for the second time that day, and he impulsively closed his eyes and kissed back, losing any track of thought he once had. The kissed deepened like before, Albus’ tongue slowly entering his mouth and his own making its way into Albus’. He then felt a hand on the nape of his neck and the weight of the other boy guiding him to a lying position on the bed. Another hand made its way under his shirt, and he unconsciously leaned into the touch. He wanted to ask what Albus was doing, but that would require stopping the kiss which seemed like a painstaking decision to make at that moment.

As Albus explored his torso, he felt fingers on one of his nipples, arching into more of those touches. He was surprised that touching there could stimulate such pleasures, but he didn’t question it as he wrapped his arms around Albus’ waist and ran his hands all over the clothed back.

Their activities continued, and this soon had an effect on his body. The warmth he had felt earlier were now all pooled in the middle of his body. The stirring in his belly soon made something else of his come alive, and he automatically shifted his hips up to meet one of Albus’ legs. When he did that, his stomach met a similar happening on Albus, and both of them let out a soft moan of pleasure at the contact.

That also broke their kiss, and the two of them stared at each other with heated expressions.

“That was . . . ” Scorpius licked his swollen lips.

“Brilliant. Just absolutely brilliant.” Albus gave a soft smile. “But perhaps . . . let’s not rush this.”

Scorpius agreed. While a large part of him wanted to quickly explore this new territory, his rational side kicked in and told him to take this slow, to savour and pleasure it like he’s trying a new dish instead of shoving it into him like a glutton. “Now, let’s go to that cinema.”

Part III
August 1942

“What are you reading?”

Scorpius looked up and saw Albus coming towards him. Deciding that it was a beautiful summer day, Scorpius decided to spend it by reading some new books under this big tree in the wooded area of the Potters’ back lawn.

“I . . . ” Scorpius blushed at Albus’ question, as he discreetly tried to hide the book. “Nothing. Just some classics.”

“What’s with that reaction?”

“Er,” Scorpius paused, but it was in that moment of hesitancy did Albus manage to take the book out of his hand.

“Hmm.” Albus stood up and began to flip through the pages of the book.

“Albus! Give it back!” Scorpius tried to snatch the book, but to no avail.

“What’s this? Achilles and Patroclus? A book that explores . . . ” Now it was Albus’ turn to blush as he skimmed through the words. “Where’d you find this?”

“In . . . Lord Longbottom’s estate. He had a bunch of books like these, and he said I could borrow whatever was in his library.”

“I . . . see.” Albus sat on the ground, his eyes never leaving the book. “This is quite interesting. I mean, we did briefly study about the two when we learned about The Iliad, but this looks like it adds a whole new angle to their ‘friendship’.”

Scorpius bit his lip nervously. “Yes, it examines the possibility that they were more than just war buddies.”

“Like Teddy and James,” Albus mused as his fingers turned a page and something caught his eyes that caused him to scrunch his face in a look of puzzlement.

Scorpius tilted his head to the side in curiosity. “Al?”

“Hmm?” Albus responded and looked up from the book.

“You looked confused.”

“Oh,” he sounded in reply and turned back to the page. “This one line, part of it doesn’t make sense to me. It’s a quote from the original poem.”

“Which one is it?” Scorpius asked as he leaned in to look.

Albus gave a look of uncertainty before answering, “It reads, ‘You had no consideration for my pure reverence of your thighs, ungrateful after all our frequent kisses.’ I get the last part, but I don’t understand the ‘reverence of your thighs’ part.”

Scorpius’ face flushed for the second time that afternoon. “It . . . ” He began hesitantly. “It means . . . Achilles was in . . . admiration . . . of Patroclus’ thighs.”

“I get that, but why would he mention his admiration for them or even admire them specifically?” Albus asked as Scorpius seemed to fidget next to him. “Scor?”

“Well, in Greece, certain men would . . . ” Scorpius trailed off as his face grew redder.

“They would what?” Albus pushed.

“For . . . fornicate . . . with another man . . . between their thighs . . . ”

Albus made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth as the words registered in his mind. He then went on to ask, “Men do that?”

“So it seems,” Scorpius replied timidly.

Scorpius watched Albus set the book down. The two of them sat in silence for what seemed like hours but in reality only a few minutes.

“We . . . should we try it? I mean, all we’ve done so far was kissing . . . ”

Scorpius heard the slight catch in Albus’ voice, and for some reason that warmed him. Probably because he could tell that Albus was a bit insecure, despite usually having enough confidence for the two of them.

As Scorpius racked his brains for a neutral answer — he didn’t want to sound against it or entirely excited for this new prospect — Albus spoke again. “Never mind. Bad idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Al–”

“I mean, we’re no Grecian or Shakespearean actors! We don’t need to live out the role of Achilles and Patroclus!”

“Al–”

“Sometimes I wonder why I don’t think before I speak. I mean, I’m not as bad as James or anything, but the few times I do forget, I always seem to muck–”

“Albus Severus Potter!” Scorpius achieved something he never thought he’d able to follow. His father had this skill — apparently he learned it from a former professor or something — where he was able to hiss out a name, but it actually sounded deadlier and louder than expected. Now, he had done it, and he was giving Albus an exasperated look.

“May I speak?”

Albus bobbed his head up and down.

“In an answer to your suggestion . . . ” he paused briefly. “If we ever did take that route, I would not be against it.”

Whatever answer Albus expected must not had been what Scorpius just said, if Albus’ opened mouth were any indicator.

“However, we will take the necessary precautions — if there are any.”

“Right. Of course. Makes sense.”

Scorpius ducked his head to hide a smile. When flustered, Albus really did seem to lose his normal mental capabilities and was only capable of speaking in fragments.

“And, of course, we will not rush this as usual.”

“No, of course not. The fact that we’ve only been kissing for the past year proves how slow we are taking this,” Albus responded dryly.

Scorpius was about to point out that it had almost been two years, but quickly decided against it. Albus was obviously displeased with his wanting to take things slow and saying that would probably worsen the situation, whatever it was exactly.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even like me as much as I like you,” Albus muttered.

His eyes opened wide in disbelief of the words. “What makes you think that I like you any less?” he asked in heated confusion.

“You always want to take things slow! And your version of slow is just kissing and nothing more. I thought after that one incident last year that maybe, just maybe, we would start venturing further, but no!”

Scorpius defensively narrowed his eyes. “You are the one who said not to rush it.”

“I didn’t mean not ever doing it again!” Albus roared before taking a deep breath and rubbing his fingers against his temples, as if to cool himself down. “It just seems that I am the only wanting to do more.”

“I–” Scorpius began, opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out what he should say.

“You haven’t fought back,” Albus continued on, not aware of Scorpius’ mental fight for words. “But maybe you . . . I don’t know. Maybe you really aren’t okay with things, despite what you say.”

Scorpius couldn’t believe what Albus was saying. What would make him such a thing? He should know better than that! If Scorpius wasn’t okay with it, he would have said so.

Before Albus could say more, Scorpius snatched the book from his hands and wacked him with it in a fit of fury. “Ow!” Albus cried. “What was that for?!”

“Because you are an idiot!” Scorpius screamed, his eyes watering a bit. He then calmed down and looked off towards nothing particular. “I–I think I love you.”

“Love . . . me?” Albus asked, almost as if the words Scorpius had said were in German and unknown to him.

Scorpius nodded slowly. “Yes. At least, I think so. That is why I want to take things slow.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have seen what happens to other . . . lovers,” Scorpius attempted to explain. “Louis has been with a bunch of girls before, and with each of them, he rushes things and they always separate within a month; same with Hugo, Rose, Victoire, Dominique, Lorcan, Lysander, and everyone else.” He bit his lip nervously again before adding, “I don’t want to make a wrong turn and lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” Albus said tenderly as he reached to stroke Scorpius’ cheek.

“How do you know?” Scorpius asked desperately. “You may come to your senses and decide that another guy isn’t worth your time and fall for a girl. I mean we aren’t even supposed to be together. If we ever got caught . . . ”

Scorpius heard a sigh from Albus, and next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a warm embrace. He rested his head on Albus’ chest, where he could hear and feel the rhythmic beating from his heart. That soothed him as he just stayed like that.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you like this. I understand how you feel about not wanting to rush this. You’re right. And you’re also right about Louis and the others. But I’m not like them. I . . . I cannot see myself with a girl, ever.”
“That’s what you say now,” Scorpius said softly into Albus’ chest, “but in the future . . . ”

“You know there’s a saying in my family — a saying that states that Potter men are truly loyal. Once they find the love of their life, they stay with that person until the day they die or their spouse die. According to my father, he jokes that an ancestor in the Dark Ages was cursed by a witch who got spurned. Since then, that curse lies in the blood of every Potter men out there.”

Another round of silence passed between them until Albus broke it softly with, “And if that curse is true, I think you are the one who was meant to be the love of my life. I love you, too, Scorpius Malfoy.”

Scorpius looked up and met Albus’ green eyes. In their depths, he saw a combination of sincerity, gentleness, and love. That was enough proof for him. He leaned upwards and kissed Albus deeply. Tired of using words, he decided to convey all his emotions and feelings into actions instead.

November 1942

Scorpius looked at himself in the body-length mirror on a wall of his room. It was All Saints’ Day, and due to a party Lord Potter was holding at his home, he was instructed to wear a costume. He was clothed in the attire of a 19th century aristocrat. It had seemed like a good choice at the time, but now he regretted the decision to wear these tight pants. Or maybe they should be called stockings considering how they were practically attached to him like second skin.

“Aren’t we looking magnificent?”

He turned towards the doorway and spotted Albus, who had stealthily entered the room unbeknownst to Scorpius. He was wearing a strange costume that made him question his friend’s — or rather lover’s — sanity.

“And you look rather . . . odd,” Scorpius replied with a small smile.

Albus chuckled. “What, you don’t like my goat legs?”

“Only you would find dressing as Puck a good choice of costume.”

“I find that Puck and I are quite alike,” Albus replied. “Clever and mischievous.”

Scorpius shook his head. “You are more of a trottel.”

“A what?”

“It is German for a few things you categorise as,” Scorpius began with a smirk. “A dork, an idiot, and a twat.”

Albus gave him a mock glare. “I always shower you with compliments and all I get are insults?”

“Yep,” he grinned. “It is the only way to deflate that ego of yours.”

“Ouch,” Albus said as he gripped his chest with false pain. “That hurt.”

“It’s the truth, though,” Scorpius replied with a laugh.

“Now, who’s the twat?”

Scorpius stuck his tongue out jokingly before moving towards the bed. He grabbed the mask that went with his costume and placed it on his face. “How do I look?”

“So wonderful that I think that we should skip the party altogether and spend it up here doing something lovers do,” Albus answered as he moved his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

He gave him a stern look. “We are going.”

“I don’t want to,” Albus pouted. “It won’t be as much fun.”

“Tough luck.” Scorpius shrugged before pushing Albus out the door. “We have to, so there is no use complaining.”

“Fine,” he groaned and walked with him through the hall, downstairs, and into the backyard.

They walked out into the yard, the sun just about to be fully set. Carved and lit-up pumpkins decorated the area atop of the small fence lines, adding a glowing effect to the assortment of flowers and walkway below them. People were huddled in groups socialising and kids ran around playing various children games.

“Al! Scor!” a strangely dark-cloaked figure with slicked back hair screamed out to them.

It took Scorpius a moment to realise it was Louis and promptly smiled in reply. “Hello.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Albus inquired with a scrunched face.

“I should ask you the same. Though, mine should be more recognisable,” Louis replied. “I am Dracula by the way. Vampire seducer of women.”

“So what you want to be but never will,” Albus smirked.

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Oh, shut it.”

Albus wore a smug look and Scorpius couldn’t help but roll his eyes in reply. The two bantered a bit more, but Scorpius didn’t pay any attention. His attention was focused on examining the landscape around him. It wasn’t much, he thought, just some social gathering for adults with a few children added in. Yes, the scenery was decorative and probably amazed many of the younger ones, but it didn’t make up for the lack of things to do. Though, there were a bunch of kids fascinated with a basin.

“Ah, the old bobbing for apple. You try to catch with just your mouth. After that, it is tradition to peel the apple and drop the peeling into the water. If it spells out a letter, they say it’s supposed to represent the name of your true love.”

“Really?” Scorpius felt intrigued by it. “Let’s try it.”

Soon, the two of them and a few others were huddled around the basin, and it wasn’t long before Scorpius found his face in the cool water. He moved around, trying to get the apple, and when he felt one bump against him, he quickly grabbed it with his teeth. Hurriedly, he pulled his face out of the water, and he saw that he was the first one to grab it from the group.

As he yanked the apple out of his mouth, Albus said, “You did it! Congratulations!”

Smiling, Scorpius said, “Thanks.” Someone handed him a knife, and he slowly started to peel the fruit.

A few minutes later, he dropped his peelings into the water. It slowly formed a letter — an “A”. All Scorpius could do was blink and stare at peelings.

It has to be a coincidence, he thought.

Coincidence or not, he felt Albus grabbing his wrist. He stood up and followed Albus to a hidden area of the garden. There, Albus grabbed his hands and squeezed them.

“It spelled an ‘A’,” Albus said quietly.

Scorpius, still a bit dazed by the peelings, only nodded at Albus’ statement.

“It has to be fate.”

“Yes.”

“I . . . ” Albus swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “I really do love you, you know.”

Scorpius looked into Albus’ green eyes and smiled. “And I do, too. I love you as well.”

Albus leaned closer, and Scorpius automatically closed his eyes as their lips soon met each other. The kiss evolved into a passionate meeting of mouths, and the two of them were alone in their own world.

Their hands unlinked, and Scorpius’ arms wrapped around Albus’ back as arms snaked around his hips. The kiss seemed like it would last for eternity until Albus broke it, and Scorpius had to bite back a groan of protest. Before he could question him, he felt the lips that were previously on his pressed against the skin of his jaw and slowly trailed kisses down to his neck.

Albus sucked on the skin lightly, and Scorpius released a moan. He felt Albus’ lip quirk up into a smirk against his skin before suddenly lifting his head, causing Scorpius to eye him in curiosity. Albus was wide-eyed, staring off somewhere behind Scorpius, and looked to be in shock. He turned to see what was so dreadful, the answer causing him to gulp in fear of what was about to happened.

“Dad,” Albus finally forced out.

Lord Potter, who was dressed in some odd sort of robes and carrying a stick, seemed to be just as off-kilter as the two boys. “Hello . . . boys.”

“Good evening, Lord Potter,” Scorpius managed to reply.

The boys separated themselves from their hold to stand apart and turned to Lord Potter, doing their best to act as if he had not just caught them in the intimate situation they had just been in.

“So . . . ” Albus let out, obviously uncomfortable with the silence that fell upon them all.

Lord Potter cleared his throat and replied simply, “Yes.”

“I suppose I should probably explain,” Albus said in nervousness.

The older man was quick to shake his head in protest. “No, I need no explaining. I am quite aware what of what just happened.”

Both Scorpius and Albus’ faces blushed in embarrassment. To say the least, this wasn’t exactly a position they wanted to be in and the conversation wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“I’ve already gone through that discussion with Teddy and James and would very much not want to have it again,” Lord Potter explained as he rubbed the back of his neck in unease. Scorpius and Albus exchanged a look, both unaware that the man knew of the other two before turning back to him as he let out a small laugh. “I guess this means the Potter line has come to an end.”

Scorpius’ eyes widened at that sentence. Was Lord Potter joking?

“Dad? There’s Lily, you know,” Albus said slowly.

“Yes, but she won’t be able to carry on the family name now, will she?” Scorpius looked into Lord Potter’s green eyes — the same eyes belonging to his lovers. He saw the same sparks of mischievousness that appeared in Albus’ a lot, but at the same time, he saw that they were darker. Almost as if they represented the man’s older state.

“Dad . . . ”

Lord Potter waved his hand. “All I ever wanted was my children to be happy. If this is what makes you happy, so be it. Just be careful, though. The laws do not look kindly at those who choose this path.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“You too, Scorpius. I’ve come to see you as a member of my family, and I do not want you to gain unwanted attention.”

“Yes, Lord Potter,” Scorpius quickly said.

With that, Lord Potter turned and went back to the party. Once gone, Scorpius leaned back against a tree, all feelings in his legs suddenly disappearing.

“That went better than expected,” Albus said with a sigh of relief, taking a seat next to where Scorpius now sat.

“Still embarrassing.”

“Of course,” Albus replied with a nod. “What else would you expect in that kind of situation? But at least he took it well. I always pictured him having a heart attack when he found out.”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow and asked, “You pictured him finding out?”

“Well,” he began. “He had to find out eventually. I don’t think we could keep it a secret once we turn old and are living together without wives.”

“Who says I will want to be with you when you get all wrinkly?” Scorpius teased, trying to hide the flush brought on by the fact that Albus pictured them together in the future.

“You’ll be wrinkly by then, too,” Albus smirked. “And only me and my old, droopy skin will love you.”

“How depressing,” he jokingly frowned.

Albus chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Scorpius’ shoulder and pulled him closer. “We both know you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love me too much.”

“I think I’d much rather be like those old bird ladies,” Scorpius mused. “I could leave you to live a life on some random steps, have a shawl over my shoulders as I coo and feed birds seeds.”

“Now who is being depressing?”

Scorpius merely grinned before pecking the other boy on the lips. When he leaned back, he smiled gently and said, “Honestly, I can’t picture my life without you.” He then paused and furrowed his brow before adding, “I can’t picture myself old and wrinkly either, though, so who knows. Maybe you should find the fountain of youth to be on the safe side.”

“You are an adorable git, Scorpius Malfoy.”

“And you are a handsome, goat-legged freak, Albus Potter.”

The two boys let out a small laugh and kissed once more before getting up and joining the rest of the party, both too afraid to do much more in fear of yet another intruder.

May 1943

“Scorpius?”

“Hmm?” Scorpius had been sitting in front of the lit fireplace, with a blanket covering his lap, in the sitting room. Despite it being May, the weather still felt a bit nippy, at least for him, so he found solace and warmth from his current location.

“What are you doing?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” Albus sat next to him on the floor, slipping his hand beneath the blanket, holding their hands together, hidden from the world.

“The war.”

“Oh?”

“It’s almost four years — four long years of the Allies fighting against the Axis Powers. I wonder how much longer it will continue . . . ”

“Well, they are talking about that invasion that’s supposed to happen — don’t know when, though.”

Nodding, Scorpius closed his eyes. “Yes. And while we are safely tucked away here, thousands out there are fighting for their lives — both as soldiers and as civilians.”

“Well, we are doing our share, though. We go through rationing, we grow our Victory Garden, and we help support the war effort by doing those.”

“Yes, but . . . you know what I wish?”

“What?”

Scorpius took a deep breath and opened his eyes before answering. “I wish I could be out there, fighting on the front. And sometimes I wish Mother and Father never sent me here by myself. I think about myself here, and then I think about them still in Germany. If all that rumours about concentration camps are true . . . then maybe it would have been better for all of us to go through it together instead.”

Right after he said that, he looked over at Albus, and he was surprised to see such anger etched on his lover’s face. Not only on his face, but Albus practically emulated his displeasure all over the room. The warmth that embraced Scorpius moments earlier turned chilly.

“How can you say that?”

“I . . . I think I should have been with them, should be with them,” Scorpius attempted to explain, but Albus didn’t seem to accept it. “They are my family Albus! We are supposed to go through hardships together. I am in this luxurious home, and they could be on the run, in one of the camps, or even lying in a ditch for all I know!”

“So you think it would be better to be suffering, too? To have your parents worry about you every moment and possibly sacrificing their lives to protect you?” Albus fired questions at him, his emerald eyes aflame. “And what about all the people you met here? What about me? Do you wish you never met us?”

“Of course not!” he argued defensively as his hand tightened slightly around Albus’. “I am glad I met all of you, especially you! But those camps are supposed to be terrible, and if they are in them, I can’t help but wish I was there to support them!”

“And if you got hurt there or died? They may lose all reason for even putting up an effort to stay alive. At least with you here, they can have some hope that if they survive they will be able to see you again.”

“How do I know they will ever get out? If any of this will end?”

“It will! There are people out there fighting, like James and Teddy. They will end this war and you will see your parents again.”

“But I could help! If I were to enlist I can help the end come much sooner!”

“You mean your end? You could die out there!”

“I know! But I want to help!” He yelled. He looked away from Albus and stared off before saying softly, “You didn’t seem to be this against Teddy or James enlisting . . . ”

Albus took a free hand and placed it on the side of Scorpius’ face, turning it back towards him. “I am not in love with them,” he replied, voice tender but firm. “Not that I don’t care about them, but life without you . . . ”

“Albus . . . ” Scorpius leaned into the soft and loving hands, feeling some of his despair and confusion leaving him. “I just want to fight. I grew up as the spoiled child whose parents gave him everything he wanted. But at the same time, they taught me humility, they taught me to be strong and independent, and their teachings have not left me. I want to do something more than just plant a garden and not eat chocolate.”

Scorpius felt himself being pulled into Albus’ embrace, and he rested his head against the warm chest. Closing his eyes again, trying to force his sadness away, he breathed in deeply.

“I know. I know you want to do more. I do, too. However, don’t enlist now. Don’t lie about your age. Don’t leave me.”

Scorpius nodded and said softly. “Yes. Not yet.”

But soon, he thought to himself. One of these days, soon.

June 1944

“Albus! Scorpius!” Lily’s excited voice rang out through the huge house. “Come to the sitting room and listen to the radio! The invasion! It began!”

The boys exchanged a look of exhilaration before hurrying to the sitting room where they found the rest of the household listening keenly to the voice of John Snagge over the radio.

“ . . . Allies began the assault on the north-western face of Hitler’s European fortress,” the voice from the radio spoke as Lord Potter gestured the boys to sit next to Lily on the sofa across from him.

“First official news came just after half past nine when Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force, usually called ‘Shafe’ from its initials, issued Communiqué No. 1. This said, ‘Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces supported by strong air forces began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France’.”

This was it, the beginning of the end. The war that had started nearly five years prior was coming to an end and the Potter household couldn’t be happier. Teddy and James had been gone for so long and everyone missed them. They even missed Victoire and Dominique who had joined Queen Alexandra’s Royal Naval Nursing service a few years back. But what Scorpius was most excited about was that he may be able to see his parents again. No, there wasn’t any certainty that he would see them, or that they were even alive, but there was a chance, and the war ending made that chance even more plausible, and that was all he could hope for.

A hand intertwined with Scorpius’, and he couldn’t help but blush at the intimate touch in the not-so-private room. Albus turned to him with a warm smile, his green eyes shining with joy. He returned it and wondered silently whether the joy was for the end of the war, the return of family, or because it meant Scorpius was less likely to run off and enlist.

It had been over a year since that argument with Albus over enlisting. Scorpius did his best not to mention it, though every time they saw or heard propaganda for the war, he saw a sorrowful, yet angry expression sweep his lover’s eyes. It hurt him to see it, but he still couldn’t help but feel eager to help out. Even with the war ending, he still felt like he should. He wouldn’t tell Albus that, though. He couldn’t stand to see the pain that would bring.

“It will all be over soon,” Albus whispered, leaning and resting his head on Scorpius’. “Thank God.”

March 1945

Still in Albus’ embrace, Scorpius lifted his head up. The memories stayed strong in his mind — even the ones from 1938 still remained sharp in his mind. Things have changed so much over the years. The war changed everything and everyone.

Drawing in a breath, Scorpius looked into Albus’ emerald-coloured eyes. “Albus, I have to do this. Please. Let me go enlist.”

He felt Albus’ fingers digging into his shoulders, but he didn’t say anything. He only stared back into Albus’ eyes, his own filled with steely determination.

“I have to.”

Albus sighed and said, “Fine.”

“What?” Scorpius’ mouth dropped opened. He had expected more arguing, more pleading — not a simple acceptance.

“On one condition.”

His mouth snapped back shut. He should have known that Albus wasn’t going to make this easy. “What’s the condition?”

“You wait until we both turn eighteen this year, and we’ll join together.”

“What?!”

“You heard me just fine.”

Scorpius gave Albus his strongest glare. “No. You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to go.”

“Neither do you.”

“Albus Severus Potter!” Scorpius had never wanted to slap his lover until now. “Don’t take this out of context!”

“What context? We go together, we fight together, and hell, if we have to die, we’ll die together!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt on my behalf!” Scorpius tried to step out of Albus’ embrace, but his lover’s hold on him was too strong. “You stay here.”

“Just at least wait until December, and we’ll enlist then.”

“Albus . . . ” Scorpius sagged in Albus’ arms.

“We’ll do this together. Don’t sneak off now. We’ll wait.”

Deciding that his attempt to sneak off was useless for now, he decided to accept his defeat for now. “Fine.”

“Now let’s go and get some sleep. You exhaust me!”

Part IV
April 1945

“There’s a postcard for you,” Lord Potter said, coming into the sitting room where Albus, Lily, and Scorpius were studying.

Looking up, Scorpius saw an unreadable look on Lord Potter’s face. He stood up and gave Lord Potter a questioning look.

“It’s from your father.”

Scorpius stood still, unable to think, move, or utter a single syllable. His arm reached out mechanically as Lord Potter handed him the thin card as he kept reminding himself to breathe. This was it, the news he had been hoping to receive for almost five years. It was the one that he had expected to never see; the one he couldn’t even believe was in his hand with the familiar, yet more frantically written scrawling of his father’s. His hand felt the postcard, just to assure himself that it was real. A wave of emotion hit him, and he let unstoppable tears fall as he began to read it.

Scorpius,

I’m unable to write as much, so I have to be brief. Have to keep this under 100 words. I’m sorry it took so long to write you. I was sent to Auschwitz, but Soviet troops have saved all the prisoners here. I’m sorry to say your mother did not make it, but hopefully I’ll be able to reach you soon. I’ll not be able to go to you directly, but it shouldn’t be much longer until the war is over. I will be free to return to you, my sonnenschein.

Love your vater,
Draco Malfoy.

More tears formed in his eyes. His father was alive — well was when he sent the postcard, which was dated January of the year. But his mother, his wonderful and loving mother, was dead. His emotions went back and forth between joy and mourning. He may be able to see his father again, but not his mother.

“Scorpius?” Albus called his name as he sat up and moved towards him.

He looked up to his lover, a bittersweet smile on his lips. “My vater. . . he is free.”

Albus’ face lit up. “That is great!” He exclaimed and quickly wrapped his arms around Scorpius in a hug.

“Yes,” Scorpius replied with a hint of sadness.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this good?”

“Mutter . . . died,” he forced the words out before more tears made their way down his face.

Albus hugged him tighter and whisper, “I am so sorry.”

Scorpius allowed the tears to fall for a few more seconds before he stopped them. He wiped his eyes, and he struggled to smile. “At least he’s alive. All these years . . . he survived them.”

“That’s great!” Lily’s bright voice chimed in, and that made Scorpius remember that he and Albus weren’t alone at the moment.

Scorpius turned around and blushed as he remembered Lily didn’t know anything about Albus and him. He knew that their affectionate display just minutes ago might be perceived otherwise than a friend comforting a friend.

Lily beat him. “I knew. You two have my approval.”

“Since when did you get so smart, Lily-kins?” Albus teased, using her hated nickname.

“I’m smarter than all of you boys put together! I might be the youngest, but never underestimate a woman. We do have more intelligence, you know.”

Lord Potter chuckled at Lily’s loud proclamation. “Yes. Take heart, boys. Never try to argue with a woman. They will always be right. But Scorpius, I am glad your father’s alive. When he makes it back to England, he is more than welcome to stay here as long as you two want.”

“T-thank you, Lord Potter,” Scorpius really was grateful towards this kind and generous man. Really, Scorpius owed Lord Potter a lot.

“Now, I think it’s time for supper, and we’ll need to celebrate this great news!” Lord Potter went off to find his help to see if they can formulate a more festive meal than their normal rationed cuisine.

May 1945

“The war has ended! The Germans have surrendered!” Lily’s loud announcement echoed through the whole manor as Scorpius ran out of his room and ran down to the sitting room where the radio blared the announcement. Even though he knew the day was just around the corner, he hadn’t expected it to be today.

His footsteps bounced off the wall, and he soon reached the room, looking as if he had run a marathon instead of just down the stairs.

“Is it true? They surrendered?” Albus demanded, running into the room as well.

Lord Potter nodded. “They have.”

“It’s over!” Albus exclaimed, as he turned to Scorpius in excitement.

He saw the older man shake his head then, and Scorpius understood why. “Only the Germans have surrendered,” Lord Potter began, “But the other Axis powers are still there. They are greatly weakened, though, without one of their leading forces.”

“This means that it is almost over then, right?” Scorpius asked hopefully.

“Yes,” he replied. “And the German surrender also makes it easier for survivors of Nazi imprisonment to go to friendlier territory, and it also means that some soldiers will be able to return home.”

“Like Teddy and James?” Lily questioned, her eyes large and hopeful.

“Possibly. Though don’t expect them to just show up right away. If they do return, it may take a little while before they get home.”

Scorpius smiled. The war wasn’t exactly over, but what he was concerned most about was. That meant they might see Teddy and James again for the first time since that December that seemed forever ago, but importantly it meant a reunion with his father was closer. True, he didn’t know what happened to his father between January and the German surrender, but he was sure his father was still alive and that they would see each other again.

As he stood there imagining all the good that would come, Albus moved closer to him and wrapped his arms around him in a hug before whispering, “Finally.”

“Eww, they are getting all cuddly,” Lily joked.

“Oh, hush,” Albus laughed as he pulled from the hold and moved to her to put his hand on her head and mess up her hair.

Lord Potter laughed heartily at the exchange, as did Scorpius, before relaxing in his armchair next to the radio and saying, “You kids go out and play now. I am going to finish listening.”

June 1945

Slowly, trickle by trickle, Britian’s troops came back to the isle. Men and women, who had survived the horrendous war that raged around the continent, returned different. As ones who experienced and saw horrors and nightmares, it was only natural for some to look at life differently.

Luckily, when James and Teddy came back towards the middle of June, almost a month since the Germans admitted defeat, they weren’t one of them. In fact, they were both excited to be back home.

However, when one of the more inquisitive bunches asked them about what they saw during the wartime, both declined to answer. James’ face had a frown, a deep frown etched between his brows. Teddy didn’t scowl or anything similar like his lover, but he became quieter and refused to talk about what was asked.

Despite their refusals, they quite happily spent times with their families and friends. After lounging around the manor for a week or so, they decided to pick up what they left behind: they were to follow Lord Potter’s footsteps and would work under him.
The two older ones worked, and the younger ones continued their schooling. For Scorpius and Albus, this was their last term, so they had plenty of examinations to prepare for towards the end of July. During one of these study sessions, Scorpius would look up from his piles of books and stare out the window in his room. He looked at the blue sky, the fluffy clouds that slowly drifted by, and he wondered when he would hear from his father.

As the days went by, Scorpius became more and more apprehensive. He worried about his father’s current condition and location. He anticipated his father’s arrival any day now, yet he dreaded to meet his father.

So much time had passed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d meet the same man he left behind all those years ago. Also, there was the crucial matter of his father accepting his lover, one who wasn’t the fairer sex. How would his father react to his only son being of that inclination?

Hesitantly, Scorpius voiced his concerns to Albus, and he even told how he dreaded meeting his father again.

And Albus responded in a more positive manner than expected. “I can see why you’d feel that way. I’m sure I would, too, if I had been separated from my family this long. Don’t worry too much, though. I’m sure after he gets over his initial shock, he’ll still love you and accept you.”

Scorpius wanted to say “thank you” to his friend and his lover, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Albus’ shoulders and turned his face towards Albus’ to kiss him. When their lips met, he tried, with his all best, to transmit the unspoken gratitude and love he felt for the other boy.

July 1945

Scorpius stood still in between Lily and Albus, at least he tried to. It was hard standing still with all the nervousness and excitement swirling around inside of him. A few days prior, Lord Potter had received word that Draco Malfoy, Scorpius’ father, had arrived in Ramsgate. After careful planning, arrangements for his father to arrive at the Potter manor were all set. Scorpius’ mood swung back and forth between ecstatic and anxious. He hadn’t seen his father in so long and worried that things wouldn’t be the same as before between them, especially after a few new goings-on were told.

It was a Saturday afternoon when the day of his arrival had finally come. Scorpius continuously picked at his clothing and hair to make sure they were perfect throughout the day, which Albus would respond to by saying everything will be fine and not to worry so much. He tried to listen to his lover, but the worry stayed bubbling underneath. To try and distract his thoughts, he brushed up on his German with Albus and Lord Potter. He hadn’t used it in a while and wanted to make sure he didn’t seem too different than the boy who had left on the train all those years ago.

“There’s the car!” Lily exclaimed and pointed.

Scorpius eyes followed her finger, his heart pounding faster once they found it. He bit his lip nervously as he shot an apprehensive look towards Albus, who replied with a reassuring smile. He began turning to look back at the approaching vehicle when his eyes caught glance of Lord Potter. The man stood tall and proud in the line of members of the household, much like he did when Scorpius had arrived seven years before. He hated him then and the rest of the family, but he had quickly changed his mind. Now he felt like one of them, one of the family members.

He returned his gaze to his front, watching as the black car that held his father approached. Just the idea that his father was so close after so long was enough to cause Scorpius’ eyes to water. He couldn’t believe that he would soon see his father, that they were even in the same place. When he heard the brakes, it took every bit of control he had to keep standing where he was.

Time seemed to slow and stretch out as Scorpius watched the door open. Once open, a clean, obviously newly bought, shoe stepped outside the vehicle followed by the body of a man. He looked aged and worn, and for a moment Scorpius wondered who he was before the man lifted his head and the realisation hit him. This beat-up looking man was his father. Though not as well-kept and prideful as he last saw him, it was surely him.

“Vater!” he exclaimed and instinctively ran to him.

“Scorpius? Scorpius! Mein Sohn! Ich kann nicht glauben, dass es Sie, mein süßes Kind ist!” he shouted.

Tears fell down both their faces as their arms wrapped around each other in a long anticipated embrace. “Ich habe Sie verfehlt,” Scorpius spoke between sobs, telling his father he missed him.

“Ich verfehlte Sie auch,” his father replied through tears of his own.

Scorpius hugged his father tighter, and with his arms around his father’s upper-body, he felt just how thin the man had become, no doubt from the concentration camps. News of the horrible treatments at the death camps came through the reel, newspapers, and magazine articles. They shocked him, and while he realised his father went through this, to meet an actual death camp survivor left him feeling surreal.

Finally the two separated, and Scorpius turned to look at the others who had watched their reunion. He gently guided his father towards Lord Potter. Before he could say anything, though, Draco spoke up first.

“I . . . thank you, Lord Potter. Thank you for caring my son all these years.” Even though it had been years since he heard his father’s voice, he heard something he had never heard in them before. His father sounded defeated and exhausted, almost as if he had come back to him just to thank the man who had took him in.

Lord Potter must had felt the same thing since he stepped up and grabbed Draco by the shoulders. “Please. No need to thank me. I did what any decent citizen would have done.”

Scorpius saw his father’s shoulders slumping down in Lord Potter’s stronger and healthier looking hands. “But I still thank you.”

“Come. Enough of this. I’m sure this journey had exhausted you. A room has been prepared for you. Let us go.”

“Ja . . . thank you.”

As much as Scorpius wanted to go with his father to the room, he decided he needed some time to collect his thoughts and to let his father rest. When Lord Potter took his father inside, Scorpius grabbed Albus’ hand and tugged him towards a private place.
Wordlessly, Albus followed, and it wasn’t long until they reached their special little place in the wooded area behind the manor. They came upon the large oak tree that they liked to sit under — the same tree they were under when they discussed Achilles and Patroclus years before — and Scorpius sat on the ground first. Albus joined him, and when he felt his lover’s warm body, he went straight into Albus’ embrace and sought out solace and comfort. The reunion with his father sapped more of his energy than expected.

“He’s finally here . . . ” He heard Albus say softly.

“Yes. After all these years . . . ” Scorpius sighed. “He’s like James and Teddy except worse, I think. What sufferings he must have gone through . . . he’s so unlike the proud and haughty man I left behind.”

“I’m sure he will get better with time,” Albus replied, running a hand through Scorpius’ hair. “He probably won’t be exactly the same, but now that he is here with you and has less to worry about he will certainly get better.”

“I hope so; I hate seeing him like this,” Scorpius said before letting out a long sigh. “I knew that he was going through horrible treatment, but I never realised how badly it would affect him. As a kid, I always saw him as this strong, undefeatable force. Now, he seems broken.”

“He isn’t broken,” Albus reassured him. “He may have been worn down, but he is obviously strong or else he wouldn’t have made it this far. Having to hand over his son to strangers, being held in one of those camps, and losing his wife, your father must have been strong to not give up with all that.”

Scorpius gave his lover a warm smile before replying, “Thank you.”

Albus returned the smile and Scorpius closed his eyes to rest. As he did so, he thought about how lucky he was to have been sent to the Potter home. He had heard of other children being sent to horrible homes where they worked almost like servants, but Scorpius had a complete opposite experience. He was welcomed into the household with loving arms, found himself a second family, and encountered the love of his life. All the worrying through the years seemed worth it just to have met Albus who he now couldn’t imagine his life without.

“I love you,” he heard Albus whisper as a hand caressed his face gently.

Scorpius leaned into the touch and answered back, “I love you too.

He awoke to the sound of Lily’s voice calling out, “Albus! Scorpius! Dinner!”

Scorpius let out a yawn as he stretched his shoulders and opened his eyes. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Albus said, his arms still around him.

“How long was I sleeping for?” he asked curiously, not remembering when he had fallen asleep.

Albus shrugged, “An hour or two.”

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Albus smiled. “You were worn out from everything; it is understandable.”

Scorpius yawned again, and he stood up, reaching a hand out for Albus to grab. Hand in hands, they headed into the manor. When they reached the dining room, Scorpius, still holding onto Albus’ hand, forgot a tiny crucial detail. His father was in the dining room, and his father had no idea of his son’s choice of lover.

Scorpius stopped abruptly, quickly let go of Albus’ hand, and stared at his father’s unreadable facial expression.

There was a long moment of silence as all the occupants in the room held their breath to see how the elder Malfoy would react to the younger Malfoy’s preference. Scorpius saw Lily’s small, pale hands wringing with worry. Teddy and James shared a knowing look. Lord Potter had an unreadable expression as well, just like his father’s. The only face he couldn’t see was Albus’, who stood behind him, a good thing, too, since if Albus wasn’t there, Scorpius would have surely bolted from this unplanned and dangerous situation.

In a forced voice, Scorpius said, “Father . . . ”

Draco interrupted him. “So this is the end of the Malfoy line, at least in a biological sense.”

“What?” Scorpius gaped, unattractively, at his father. He was sure that if his eyes weren’t attached by those muscles, they would have fallen out and landed with a splat from his shock.

“Close your mouth, Scorpius.”

He automatically obeyed his father’s order.

“Now come sit down. We’ll talk about this later. And just to ease you a bit, I am not angry at you.”

Albus’ hand rested against the small of his back, and that gave Scorpius back some of his courage and calmness. Relieved to hear that his father wasn’t angry, he and Albus sat down, and dinner proceeded as if the last few minutes had never happened.

After dinner, Scorpius was in the sitting room, alone with his father. Scorpius had his usual cup of tea. His father opted for a cup of coffee. The two sipped at their drinks in silence until Draco broke it.

“One materialistic thing I’ve missed was coffee. You know your mother and I loved it.”

“Yes, I remember,” Scorpius stared at the milky brown liquid in his own cup.

“When I sent you away, I did it to protect you, did it to at least save you from the horrors that came to Germany.”

“I know,” he nodded and took another sip.

“I just wanted you to know that, though, I didn’t want to have you separated from us, your mother and I did it because it was the best option.”

Scorpius nodded again, “I understand. I was sad to be away from both of you and always wished we could have stayed together, but I have learned that it was the only option.”

“I am glad you understand,” his father replied simply before drinking more of his coffee.

Scorpius looked up at the man as they sat in silence. Whatever sleep his father had received managed to get rid of the tired and lazy posture of before. He sat upright with shoulders back, the same way Scorpius remembered from childhood. The rest hadn’t fixed the signs of age or evidence of what he’d gone through. The wrinkles, the scars, and the receding hairline his father probably preferred never to be brought up were still there and would be for the rest of his life. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever get used to these new features on his father.

“Every night I would wish I had never sent you away so I could have you with me,” his father spoke again, breaking the silence. His face shifted to a look of sadness and gloom as he continued. “I knew that what I did was right, but that never stopped me from missing you; the same with your mother. I didn’t really get to see her much after we were segregated in the camps, but I know she missed you just the same.”

Shocked wasn’t the word for how Scorpius felt listening to his father’s words. Yes, he knew they must have missed him because he missed them too, but to hear his father speak about anything involving what happened was amazing. Teddy and James avoided war talk like the plague, but here his father was even talking a bit about the camps, which Scorpius thought of as a million times worse.

“Does it really surprise you that we missed you?” his father asked in disbelief with a tone of being offended, obviously noticing his expression on his son’s face. “I know we were strict, but we always showed that we loved you.”

“I–” Scorpius began as he shook his head frantically, caught off guard by his father’s accusations. “I know that. I was just shocked that you were talking about that. Most people get all tense and silent.”

“Ah,” he nodded grimly, in understanding. “Most do and I completely comprehend why. For a while I tried to forget it all, but realised I never would and that when — if — I ever saw you again that I’d have to talk at least a bit about it. I can’t promise to say everything now or ever, but if you ever want to know something, I will try to tell you what I can.”

Scorpius sat there in silence again. He wondered if he ever would want to know something about his father’s experience bad enough to force him to remember something terrible. It didn’t take long for him to come with an answer; the one he knew would probably be the hardest one to ask and have answered. A frown crossed his face in thought of it.

“You have a question, don’t you?” his father asked. Scorpius bit his lip nervously, wondering if he even dare ask. The older man let out a sigh, as if realising the question. “You want to know about what happened to her, I assume?”

He reluctantly nodded before adding, “But I can wait if you don’t want to tell me right now.”

Scorpius watched as his father sighed heavily before he continued. “I haven’t received the full details of your mother passing — simply because there weren’t any written documentations. But from what I heard from the survivors in the women’s camp, she did fight to survive. Luckily, she never was chosen as one of the ones who had to perish in the chambers. Then again, that’s your mother. She may look frail, but she still managed to look sturdy and determined, and she somehow must have managed that when she was in Auschwitz.

“However, towards the end, around the end of December, she was diagnosed with typhoid. Without the proper nutrients and medical care, it wasn’t long until she succumbed to that disease. According to one woman, she told me that Astoria passed away on January 2, 1945. That’s all I know, all I’ve been told.”

By the time Draco finished the story, Scorpius’ eyes grew wet. As he tried to blink the tears away, he said, “At least she didn’t . . . ” He wanted to say it was good that his mother didn’t die in that horrible gas chamber, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes. At least she didn’t go in the chambers.”

Scorpius could only nod, his throat too tight with grief and sadness.

“Cry, my son. Don’t keep it in. It’s not worth it. I have taught you that we Malfoys do not show any weakness, but sometimes you just need to let it out.”

That did it. That broke Scorpius’ barriers, and he found himself weeping for his mother he will never get to see again, in his father’s thin and frail arm, yet they were still strong and protective.

When Scorpius finished, he sat back and tried to regain his composure. “Thank you for telling me, Father.”

“You deserve to know.” Right then, a wry and knowing smile came onto his father’s face. “Much like I deserve to know who my son is — for the better lack of word — courting.”

This time Scorpius face turned pink from embarrassment. “I . . . I didn’t want you to find out this way, Father. I didn’t mean for you to find out so soon.”

“Well, I know now.”

Swallowing hard, Scorpius cautiously asked the next question. “Do . . . do you disapprove?”

“What would you do if I did disapprove of this predicament?”

“Well . . . ” Scorpius was taken aback by that response. “I would not be able to give him up, Father.”

A soft look came onto his father’s face. “Scorpius. You left as a child, and now you’ve returned back to me as an adult. You’re your own man, now. While I always had hoped to see you settling down with a nice lady, I can accept who you choose to be with. Besides, this war, this persecution against us Jews and other groups the Nazis found lesser to their superior Aryan races, it taught me just how dangerous it is to be prejudiced to anybody.”

“Father . . . ” Scorpius studied his father once again. In front of him sat a man who not only survived the worse horrors any human can go through, but a man who became much wiser, the kind of wisdom only one can gain from such an experience.

“You have my approval, Scorpius. I don’t know anything about that young Albus Severus, but if he’s anything like his father . . . I trust and respect your choices.”

“Thank you, Father,” Scorpius smiled softly.

“Just don’t let me see you flaunting it about,” Draco continued sternly. “I know how the law regards these sort of things, and I do not want you or him sent to prison for it.” He then scrunched his nose up in distaste before adding, “Nor do I really care to see it. I don’t mind the holding of hands, but I don’t want to see anything else. You understand?” He asked the last part with firm eyes towards his son.

Scorpius nodded quickly, feeling that wouldn’t be an issue given he didn’t really want to be seen with Albus kissing, or anything more, by his father.

“Good,” he spoke and gave a nod of his head in satisfaction. “Now that that has been cleared up, I think I shall be heading off to bed. Even this coffee doesn’t seem to ease my exhaustion.”

“Good night, Father,” Scorpius replied, nostalgia hitting him with the long-since-spoken words.

His father smiled as he answered back, “Good night, Scorpius.”

Scorpius gave his father one last look before leaving. As he walked up the stairs, he couldn’t believe how things had turned out just now. His father easily accepting his alternate lifestyle was not exactly how he envisioned. Still, though, he did feel glad it ended up like this. He’d hate to see his father all disappointed and disgusted towards him.

He soon entered his room, and he saw Albus on his bed, reading a book. He watched his lover set the book down, a worried look on Albus’ pale face. “How did it go?”

“Fine.” Scorpius smiled and joined him on the bed. “He just doesn’t want to see me doing anything with you, but he accepted it.”

He felt Albus breathed out in relief. “I’m glad.”

“And he told me how my mother passed.” In a soft voice, Scorpius retold what he had heard from his father earlier, and when he finished, he found himself in Albus’ embrace, and he rested his head against his lover’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry she didn’t make it, but I’m glad your father did. At least you have him now.” Scorpius heard the slight pause. “And you have me, of course!”

Making a face, Scorpius looked into Albus’ green eyes, finding them twinkling with mischief. “Oh, you . . . ” Without any warning, Scorpius grabbed a pillow and pelted it in Albus’ face.

Laughing, getting rid of the tension and the moment of grief, the two started a healthy pillow fight as they both tried to stifle any loud noises that would bring unwanted guests into their sanctuary.

Epilogue
May 1950

“All right there, Lily?”

James’ loud voice rang so loudly to the point that the people on the other side of the ship heard him.

“Hush, James.”

Scorpius walked over to where Lily sat, looking miserable from her seasickness. He wrapped an arm around the young girl, no lady, who had been his surrogate little sister for years now. “We’ll be there soon, Lils.”

“I hate this ship.”

“And just think, Lily-kins, we’ll be going back to England like this in a couple of weeks.”

“Shut it, James Sirius Potter! Wait until we get on solid land!”

Laughing, James grabbed Teddy’s arms, making their escape to the restaurant.

Scorpius grinned and shook his head as he looked around the deck of the ship, watching the people come and go. He let his thoughts wander as he breathed in the sea air and felt the nice cool breeze around him. More than a decade had passed since he had left Germany and came to England. Just like his journey all those years ago, he was now on a new adventure. Only, this was more pleasant. He and his family were on their way to visit the new country of Israel.

“I wish that Arab-Israeli war hadn’t delayed the trip two years ago,” Lily spoke again, disrupting him from his thoughts.

Scorpius scrunched his forehead in confusion. “Why?”

She shot daggers into the air as she held her upset stomach. “Because then I could have used school as an excuse to not go and thus not feel so terrible.”

Scorpius rubbed her arm to comfort her, “Don’t worry. It will all be better in a bit, and all the excitement of the trip will take over.” He then looked at Albus who was standing nearby and asked, “How much longer until we get there?”

“About a half hour,” Albus turned and replied.

Lily groaned, “I want to be there now!”

“That excited, are we?” He let out a laugh, earning himself a glare from his sister.

“I just want land,” she whined. “I think at this point I will be so thankful that I would marry it.”

“I know you are of age and all,” Scorpius began. “But I don’t think your dad would be all too keen on the idea of you marrying the land of Israel.”

“I don’t know,” Albus intervened. “Being the bride of the country would be quite profitable. Then she could give us some land, maybe bribe people into letting us do whatever, and we could live some pretty comfortable lives.”

She giggled at that, though her face soon turned into a smirk as she replied, “Well, I might give the family land, but if I do there will be a none-for-Albus rule instated.”

“I like that rule,” Scorpius snickered.

“So mean,” Albus jokingly pouted. “Guess I will just have to go off and marry my own country. Maybe America. Then I shall have my wife-country beat up Israel and take over all of you.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but laugh at his lover’s statement. He was about to make a remark, but his father and Lord Potter approached, the latter eyeing his son questioningly as he spoke up. “Do I want to know?”

“They plan to marry countries,” Scorpius answered simply with a small chortle.

The man blinked a few times before shaking his head, knowing he probably shouldn’t ask for further explanation. “Anyway,” he started again. “We will be arriving soon, so go make sure all your things are together.”

“Lily, are you all right?” Draco interjected, eyeing the young women in concern.

She smiled grimly and responded, “Seasick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Lily,” Lord Potter replied. “You boys go now, while Draco and I will take her to get something to ease her stomach a bit.”

“Oh, please! Don’t even mention the word ‘food’!” Lily begged, her face turning green as the ship chose at that moment to rock a bit harder than necessary.

After making sure Lily wasn’t going to faint from her ailment, Albus and Scorpius walked off towards their room. Once out of earshot, Albus started laughing.

“I don’t think it’s nice to laugh at your sister’s condition,” Scorpius admonished.

“You’re right, but her antics were humorous!”

Inside their room, Scorpius shook his head as he took a seat on the large bed, easily able to accommodate two grown men. “Yes, she does have the flair for dramatics.”

“Absolutely. Hence why she’d be a great actress — if she can ever memorise her lines.” Albus sat next to him and entwined their hands together. “Are you excited that we’re almost there?”

“Hmmm?” Scorpius looked sideways at Albus and smiled. “It is always exciting to visit a new country, especially with the people I love.”

“Would you ever want to move to Israel permanently?”

“No, I don’t. England’s my home now. And while I do believe in some of the Zionist’s beliefs on how the Jews needed a homeland . . . it’s not for me.”

“Yeah, I would miss jolly old England if I had to move to Israel with you. Or anywhere else in the world,” Albus said gently, leaning over to peck Scorpius’ cheek. “Though, I do want to travel more with you.”

“We could go to United States next. I hear San Francisco would be lovely. I think I heard words about that city becoming the next west coast Harlem, heard all sorts of writers and artists trickling in there.” Many years ago, Scorpius had fallen in love with English poetry. Along with the poems, he also discovered he enjoyed reading prose from the modern writers of 1910s and 1920s, and this allowed him to explore literature with unrelenting passion. He also tried to write his own prose, and currently he only shared them with Albus.

“Hmmm. Not a bad idea. You can pursue your strange writing ideas, and I could look into starting an interior designing business there.”

Scorpius poked Albus in the side and pretended to scowl angrily. “My writings are not weird.”

“Oh, spare me. Your writings are just like James Joyce’s! All that stream-of-consciousness stuff? I think F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway are more my style.”

“That’s because you don’t have the brain to comprehend such beautiful and complex works Joyce is known for,” Scorpius delivered seriously. “Hemingway uses simple, declarative sentences, same as Fitzgerald, though he focused more on symbolism, I think. Joyce is a whole different level from those two.”

“You know, instead of writing, you should just teach literature and poetry.”

“Maybe,” Scorpius grinned. “If I get my own classroom, you can decorate it.”

“Then may I decorate it with elaborate phallic symbols here and there?”

A long silence passed between them as Scorpius finally said, “No.”

“Aw, come on.”

“No, Albus. Decorate your own office like that, not mine!”

“Tsk. You’re no fun.”

“Your definition of fun is quite questionable.”

“Hush.” Albus slung an arm around Scorpius, and Scorpius automatically leaned into the warmth. “I have to say, walking into our fathers was quite interesting.”

“Albus!” Scorpius closed his eyes, trying to erase the image that came uninvited in his head.

“What? Are you that traumatised by seeing your father and mine in that predicament in the manor’s library?”

Scorpius grimaced at the memory, “That was extremely scarring.”

“You didn’t seem this disturbed when we caught Teddy and James,” Albus noted amusedly.

“True, but this time was different. First of all, it was our fathers. Second, I personally found our fathers together a bit more shocking. And third, that was way more than I ever wanted to see my father doing with anyone — man, woman, or whomever. And you have to admit it was a lot more traumatising.”

It was Albus’ turn to scrunch his face at the thought. “It really was terrifying to see that,” he answered. He then grinned and added, “But the facial expressions when they saw us catch them were priceless.”

“Mine probably wasn’t much better,” Scorpius muttered glumly.

“It was perfect,” Albus snickered. “Jaw to the floor and eyes as big as plates.”

“I’m glad my horror bemuses you,” He glared at his lover.

Albus lifted an eyebrow in question, “Are you going to lecture me on laughing at other people’s pain? After all the laughing you had at my expense when that sinister woman tried molesting me earlier today?”

Scorpius let out a burst of laughter, “That was so great! You look so mortified when she was hanging on your shoulder and asking if you wanted to go to her room.”

“And you got onto me about laughing at your pain,” Albus commented and shook his head.

Scorpius let out an amused snort before giving Albus a sweet smile, “You know I still love you.”

“You better,” Albus smiled and kissed Scorpius on the lips. A horn signalling the ships arrival then sounded and he let out a deep sigh. “I guess we should grab our bags and go now.”

The two then stood up and gathered their things before leaving their room and heading to the deck. They eventually found their fathers through the crowd with Lily, who seemed to be jumping up in down in excitement.

“Almost there, almost there, almost there,” she chanted eagerly.

Scorpius saw Teddy and James make their way through the mass of people, the dark-haired one laughing at his sister as he said, “That isn’t going to make things go any faster.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, as she stopped hopping. “I am just excited that I will soon be off this bloody ship.”

“Just wait till you get to go on it again!” James joked with enthusiasm.

She narrowed her eyes, “As if. I plan to fly back.”

“You think Dad is going to pay for you to be flown back?”

“I will find a way back that doesn’t involve going on a ship again,” she answered determinedly.

“You could always walk back. By the time you arrive in England, you’ll look like an old hag!” James winked at her.

Scorpius looked to Albus then and asked, “Do you think the two of them will ever be able to go ten minutes around each other without bantering?”

Albus thought for a moment and replied, “Probably not.”

The two shared a small laugh before Lord Potter and Draco ordered them to get moving. With Teddy, James, and Lily in front of them, and their fathers following in the back, they safely held each other’s hands, out of witnesses’ sights, as they began to leave the ship to step onto the land of the new country Israel. As they walked, Scorpius couldn’t help but think how perfect all of this was. He had a loving family and someone to be by his side forever. Their future awaited them, and Scorpius knew that no matter what other hardships they faced, all would be well.