31st October, 1981.

I looked at him, my beautiful love. We had searched everywhere, and had finally found this piece of dark blood magic that would solve our problems. 'Five drips of blood from your right index finger first, then your right pinky, then your left index, and finally your left pinky.'

He complied, dripping them in the shape of a star. The blood was glowing. I placed my hands around his, holding them tight, as we begin to chant.

Whisps of light begin to float around us. Finally, as we stop chanting, they come together in a single form. A replica. Almost perfect, except I can feel it has practically no soul.

'It's like it's already been through Azkaban.' I say.

The one holding my hands nods. 'It's scary. It is literally me with no soul…'

'Come on, love. We need to give it your memories.'

This time they both nod. They look at each other, then laugh slightly.

I smile. 'Well, you are clones. Or minions. Depending how you prefer to see it.'

My love puts his wand to his temple, and brings it to the pensieve. We all watch as the memories trail down into the pensieve. I copy them into another pensieve, and put all the memories back into my love's mind.

He smiles lightly. Both of them look nervous.

I repeat the process for the not-quite. 'Oh,' He says. 'Well, I didn't expect this.'

I smirk, as my Love realises that his copy knows everything.

Then the not-quite says, 'You are going to have to obliviate some things from my mind, ain't you?' The not-quite is rather sad.

'Yes.' I say. 'Thank you for saving us.'

He nods. 'I'd do it again, whenever, until the day I die.'

We nod. Sad day, happy day. Good bye day.

'Sorry. I have to do this.' I say. The not-quite nods. 'Obliviate.' I search his memories, and literally destroy the ones with me in them. I annihilate this final meeting between us.

The not-quite blacks out.

'That's all,' I say. I clean up around the ritual, removing every trace of what we've done.

I give myself and my love new looks. I love glamours.

'Rennervate.' I say.

The not-quite wakes up.

'Who are you two?'

We say nothing.

He waves his wand, which my boyfriend now lacks, and turns both of our glamoured locks a bright pink-purple.

'I repeat. Who the hell are you?'

'Ahh.' I say. 'But that is not a repeat, is it? Merely a comment with similar intentions, with mild threatening abilities.'

Even the not-quite falls silent.

After a few minutes, I say, 'Well, we'd better get going.' My boyfriend nods.

The not-quite looks frightened.

'And you're just going to leave me here?' He manages to say this with all of the royalty expected from someone of his birth – not that he believes it himself.

I shake my head. 'The door is open, and you are free to go when you wish.'

I look at my boyfriend in amusement. Is this really how he acts around strangers?

I take his hand, and we leave together.

Once we are outside, we cast disillusioning charms on each other. We wait, watching for when the not-quite will leave.

Eventually, he exits the building. The not-quite uses my boyfriend's flying motorbike, heading to James' house. Good. Sad, yes, but good. It's what needs to happen. It already has happened.

I dispel the disillusioning charms and the glamours.

I look at my boyfriend. 'I love you more than life itself.' I kneel in front of him taking his hand. 'Will you make me the happiest man alive?' I have pulled out a ring I took from a vault eleven, almost twelve years ago. On my timeline. To be more honest, I will take it from the vault in about sixteen years.

My boyfriend looks at me. 'Of course I will. You know I will stay by your side for eternity?' He is quiet for a moment, as he slips the on the simple flat emerald-coated ring. 'You should have just pulled a surprise wedding, I think, Harry. It would have been the best prank ever – hiding the wedding from one of those who is getting married.'

I look again at my fiancé. 'You are such a marauder.' I say. 'I love you, Sirius Orion Black.' I twist him until he is facing me. I back him against the nearest wall, and wrap my arms around the man. He stands on his toes, and pulls me down into a kiss.

It's a harsh, needy kiss. One that I give my everything. My hands are everywhere at once; pulling into his hair; forcing him closer to me (actually, I'm forcing myself closer to him, he is the one against the wall, after all); running my hands along the sides of his beautiful body; clenching his shirt in an effort to pull him closer again; sliding into his shirt, along his abs, his smooth chest; up the back of his shirt.

Where our skin touches, I can feel the magical cores residing within the two of us merge, trying to become one. They know us, they can feel us. Our cores think we're perfect together. I can't say I disagree.

His shirt rips off. Not off, really. Open. The buttons on the front are spread across the road we're standing next to.

Our lips separate. I don't like it, but we need to breathe. Breathe. We're panting hard.

We need to be somewhere else. I apparate us away. Now Sirius is backed up against the golden wall of my room.

Sirius pushes me backward, and I happily fall over, onto my bed. He leaps on top of me, and removes my clothes before I can say a word. I pull him down on top of me, both of us grinning.

I look him in the eyes, I can't hold it in; I growl, kiss him more forcefully than before. This time it's also soft. Forceful, yet soft. Bloody flipping amazing.

October 29th, 1998.

I'm 18. I'm a boy, and I have just broken up with my girlfriend. Thankfully, she is supportive of the fact that I broke up with her - because I'm gay. She realises that I need the people I love around me. I think she knew I was gay before I did. She was sad, of course. But she is intelligent. I'm proud, to now call her my sister.

But I can't take it. They all think I'm supposed to be perfect. Hello? I'm a human! I make mistakes! The press is killing me. I can't look outside my windows without someone taking a photo of me. I hate it. And everyone else hates me (except her, of course).

I've had enough. I'm going to meet mum and dad. While they are dead now, I'm not going to kill myself. I am a wizard. I'm going back in time.

Everyone calls me either The-Boy-Who-Lived, or The-Boy-Who-Won. Even my best friends have forgotten my name.

If you're reading this, tell Ginny I love her (in a sisterly way. I explained that in the first paragraph).

My name is Harry Potter. Good bye.

Ron Weasley picked up the note, glancing at it a few times. 'Hermione! It's written by The-Boy-Who-Lived!'

'Really?' Hermione said, playing with a ring on her finger.

'Yeah. Says something about telling Ginny he loved her. He's going apparently, 'cause even his friends forgot his name.'

'Ron, does it say his name?' Hermione looked at her husband sharply.

'Yeah… says it was Harry Potter.' Ron looked at Hermione. 'Oh.' Realization ran deeply across their now-haunted faces.

Hermione looked back at Ron. 'What the hell have we done?'