Hello everyone. First, thanks for all those wonderful reviews! And second, I'm sorry, I'm very very sorry for the late chapter, my muse decided she needed vacations at the worst possible time, she's back now, a bit lazy and slow but back. I hope I can publish the next chapter this Sunday. This chapter is a bit weird, perhaps too long and could be a bit boring, I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

If you see any mistakes please let me know and I'll correct it.

Warnings: Explicit language, drug use, bi-sexuality, angst

Chapter 2: Your Possible Pasts

Blaise had once told him that after sleeping only three hours several nights in a row his body would stop needing so much sleep. It wasn't true. He felt like shit. His muscles hurt. His back was killing him. He was cranky. He desperately needed a massage. He had even started to watch muggle films now. He was really going crazy. Books, that was alright, music, well muggles did have more talent for it than wizards, paintings, well, there was some charm to the whole still picture thing. But movies? They were like repetitive wizard paintings. At least the portraits could talk back. Movies were made for people who have no one to talk to so they need some sort of illusion that someone is talking to them. But it didn't matter anymore. He didn't want to talk to anyone so movies were just fine now.

His thoughts collided in contradiction. He was trying to follow his super ego but his id was clearly pulling him down with all kinds of plots (1). Really, selfishness is not that bad, only deluded people believe it is. Everyone is selfish, why can't you be? Are you really trying to do the good thing or are you just scared? How can it be the right thing when you know you are hurting him? You see it everyday, the girl who always comes back to the bastard who hits her; the fat, ugly and poor woman who got an eighteen year old as a lover; the tortured artist that fell in love with an ignorant bint who crushes his ego and ruins his work. They don't deserve what they have but they have it anyway. Why should you be any different? But of course he knew those were thoughts that came from the unconscious need to get laid and hurt people. And there was that nagging little thought… Don't think about it.

He even thought for a moment that he was idolising a Gryffindor sort of moral because his parents were no real models to follow. So he followed now the morals of the only person he thought actually had and followed morals: Harry bloody Potter. But what else could he do? It was a paradox actually because to deserve Harry he had to give up on him. He felt like Valmont (2), falling in love of the most prude and religious woman and having to live up to her standards. Two weeks. Two weeks locked up in his room reading muggle books, watching muggle movies, and listening to muggle music. Why? Because he had already read and listened everything of value in the wizarding world. And somehow it felt good to do something his father would disapprove completely, probably that was the only thing that felt good. The fact was that wizards had the horrible idea that books were only valuable if they had academic information. That lead to a population that was normally aware of almost all that was possible with magic but it killed the imagination and creativity. And Draco was in no mood to read about anything remotely related to study.

Two weeks. Narcissa had noticed something was wrong at once, obviously because she knew him so well. But she didn't say anything and Draco was grateful for it. He didn't want her to force him to look at things he didn't want to see.

His mind was fuzzy and nonsensical. Flashes of green eyes, sexy abs… The feeling of wild curly hair between his fingers. How long could those remaining impressions last on his skin and on his mind? How long could he stand it? In the dead of night the high windows seemed awfully attractive, his wand itched in his hand, the fear consumed him. Oh, yes, he had to accept a large part of it all was fear. How could he expose himself like that to anyone? Would Harry love him if he knew his soul? If he saw this pathetic excuse of a human being, hiding in a room, having suicidal thoughts, would he still love him? No, he would pity him. His lips curled in disgust. He was doing the right thing, for Harry and for himself. He wouldn't survive if Harry rejected him after showing him his soul without any make-up. And Harry would probably reject him. He, Draco, rejected his own thoughts… Don't think about it. And he would hurt Harry. He had to keep himself convinced of that.

The lights changed as the movie continued. The actor looked like Draco felt, like shit. "When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake." (3) Haha… now the movie was talking about him. Sometimes it really seemed like a magical painting making fun of him.

A knock on the door. Damn it. He didn't want to see his mother. He didn't want his mother to see him. That way she would stay in the dark longer, she will not intervene. He knew what she would say and he didn't want to hear it, he was trying not to listen to his mother's voice in his head. He couldn't handle the real thing.

"Draco? Are you awake?" No mother I am not. It wouldn't even be a lie. She would leave. Lately she spent a lot of time out. Perhaps she had a lover now. Not that Draco would care about such things. He heard the steps going away and sighed in relief. He was safe for another few hours.

He didn't want it anymore. He didn't like his mind very much now. It was like a freaking battlefield that was only slightly subdued by movies, music and books. No, he needed something else. Something that could silence the war, even if it was only for a little while.

The atmosphere was dark and evil as he walked through Knockturn Alley. People lay on the side, each one victim of their own addiction or mental disease. A young man with no teeth was looking at him with such lust and bliss in his face Draco had to pause to see if his hood still covered his face. But as he went by the guy continued looking at the place where he had been before. A girl dressed only with a miniature skirt and torn stocking with her big breasts on display came to him and placed a hand on his chest pressing her boobs to his arm. He could feel her hard nipples.

"Oh! We have a body under that big cloak of yours!" she giggled making her dark curls bounce slightly. He pressed his wand to her neck and she stepped back with her hands on display. "We have beautiful boys too if you want." She said and her face had changed completely. No longer the stupid girl, she was a woman who had seen too much. Draco swept the group of young man leaning against the wall with his eyes, they hadn't been there a minute ago, he was sure of it. He took a deep breath and took a step nearer. Blond boy, no. Tall dark boy, no. Hmmm… curly black hair. He raised a hand to cup the boy's chin and lift his head. He had a sweet face with full red heart-shaped lips and light brown eyes. He cupped his cheek with his palm, his lips parted as he leaned into the touch, inviting Draco to kiss him. And Draco leaned in pressing his lips lightly to his.

"You're beautiful!" the boy breathed as they parted. Draco startled, his hood hadn't fallen but it had drawn back enough to show his face in the dim lamplight. He curled up his lip in disgust and roughly ran his hand through the boy's hair. It was soft but not nearly as wild has Potter's.

"You're sweet" he spat to the boy and walked away ignoring the bare-chested girl trying to lure him back and adjusting his hood.

There she was. The woman rumoured to rule the night of Knockturn Alley. They called her Granny, as if that wasn't totally clichéd. She was a little woman well on her hundred and something with long, white and dried up hair and milky blue eyes. Her face was so wrinkled it had lost all resemblance to a human face. Draco leaned against the wall on the corner next to her spot. Every five minutes someone came and talked to her in shushed voiced. He waited there for half an hour. He couldn't do that anywhere else in the Alley after dark but there was no place safer than here next to Granny.

He had always followed his father's advice never to go to Knockturn Alley at night but he knew how things worked around here, how he could get what he wanted without risking his life or his money. Here he would get exactly what he came for, not some diluted shit. Not that he would really know the difference, but living with Death

Eaters did a lot for one's urban culture.

"What do you want?" Asked Granny out loud not looking up from her old little trolley.

"Ten of red." The Mauma potion was indeed fiery red. Not a very strong recreational potion, it was in fact one of the most popular because they said it wasn't addictive. Every respectable partying young wizard had taken it at least once. But the people that sold it around only sold it mixed with all sorts of disgusting things. Granny had the real source, brought all the way from Australia, the only place where its main ingredient, whatever it was, could be found.

"Ten? Are you selling?"

"No"

"180."

Draco pushed off the wall and walked up to her with a leather pouch full of galleons. She pulled out a wooden box of the trolley and gave him ten small vials of red potion that he quickly stored in his pockets. Without another word he turned around and began to walk away. He heard her chuckle.

"How dark is the blood on your veins." He walked faster knowing he didn't have the upper hand around here. Yes, his blood was dark, almost Black. And he didn't want to do anything to make her use that information against him.

It was bliss. Suddenly all his perceptions of the world around him changed. Draco started laughing. He was completely aware of everything around him. How the colour of the bed contrasted beautifully with the carpet. How the light entering by the window gave the objects a life of their own. When light enters an object it is white but the object keeps a part of it and we only see what it rejects. Every object around him was full of light, of energy.

The clothes he was wearing felt so uncomfortable, so useless. He was alone anyway. He took everything off. Music. He needed music. Some muggle stuff perhaps, something not too aggressive. Selecting music was quite an adventure, Draco discovered as he went through the muggle CD's but in the end it was worth it. That's when he discovered music was the most sexual thing in the world. The guitar notes slipped through his spine sending shivers all over his body.

It felt like he was in a little cocoon of pleasure. Oh! Now the guitar was like great bolts of light turning and turning. It was a woman flying through the air with her water-like dress floating around her. Ophelia covered with flowers (4). The water caressed his skin, soft hands, soft but definitely masculine. A man was singing, no words, just one note held while the guitar did its magic. It was so incredible sensual. Those lips barely moved but the sound was like a moan of perfect pleasure. The green eyes bore it to him, telling him he would always be away. Away from home. Forever away, forever away from home (5). It was beautiful and so sad. He wanted those arms around him, those lips on him, caressing like the guitar, those eyes looking at him, that hair between his fingers. A flash of a vision, fire, fire… don't think about it. He fell deeper in the little cocoon, he wanted to fell safe, safe in his arms. It was warm. He closed his eyes and he could feel Harry's arms around him. The guitar was still sending shivers down his spine but he was very deep in the warmth, the infinite warmth. His last thought before losing all consciousness was 'Finally I can sleep'.

"Draco. Are you feeling ok? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine mother, just a bit tired." Draco said, avoiding his mother's eyes. She was no Legilimens but she knew him well enough to see the shadow in his soul. She was spending a lot of time out so that gave him time to take a bit of his red potion and sometimes he was well enough to have dinner with her. But he still had some remaining impressions and he couldn't always control his reactions.

John, John, John you did this just so I could come listening to your guitar didn't you? Oh, right, you're a muggle, you know nothing of this.

The water was falling down his body. The smoke danced to the rhythm of John's guitar. Oh, yes, they were on first name basis now, how could they not be. Harry was everywhere. Sometimes John's voice was Harry's. His smell was on Draco's skin, almost as if it had been planted there a few minutes before. The remaining shivers after he whispered something on Draco's ear still rocked Draco slightly. The ghosts of his hands still haunted his chest, his back, his face… Just a bit more of Mauma and it would be like he was really there. As soon as he had enough strength to move he would take another little sip.

"Draco, Draco! Are you listening to me? What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing is the matter. I'm sorry I just got a bit lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?"

Reach into the darkness for what you can't find. Travel great distance in your mind. (6)

Harry. Harry. Sometimes I think this is all just a dream. It feels like a dream. Everything is quite surreal. But then for a second I realise that it's not. That I am a fool for behaving like this. I am flying very high on John's guitar. It doesn't matter; there is no one here to see. You're not here to see. I am glad you're not here even if my body demands your presence.

The fresh air was good. He hadn't noticed how much he missed it. The sun pierced though the leaves. Streaks of gold like fairy dust in the morning breeze.

He had to move on. He couldn't stay in this pathetic Harry mourning. He couldn't go back to him now, he was better off without him. No one had the right to see his soul. He was free to be who ever he wanted, it was all right, and there was no need for anyone judging him. If Harry got to see his soul he was sure to judge and he would find it ugly and broken beyond repair. It wasn't, but that's how Harry would see it. Why would he go through all that trouble? And Harry himself was better off without Draco.

He loved the light. He absolutely loved it. He wanted to capture it. To have it forever. It had been dark in the Manor while the Dark Lord was there. A sort of fashion statement really, he was the Dark Lord after all, it was to be expected he was always dressed in black and moved around dark and slimy corridors. And for Draco it had been awful because he really loved to see the Manor lit by the sun like some heavenly palace you see on close-death experiences.

It had been a bit stupid to go around fucking everybody. Fun, but stupid. He now realised that the time he was supposed to spend finding himself and deciding what to do with the rest of his life he had spend it fucking around and hurting people. He had no idea what to do, what to study. He had always thought Potions was a good choice. Working for the Ministry perhaps. He had thought that because in Hogwarts everyone loved him it was the same with the whole wizarding world. But talking with his mother had taught him otherwise. His father was still wanted for his crimes and even if they had decided that he and his mother were innocent, the name Malfoy was associated with Lucius' crimes.

He lay back, caressing the grass around him and enjoying the contrast of the green of the leaves with the blue sky. He was surprised to notice how much he enjoyed the image.

He had to claim some honour for his family. He had to do something that would be big enough to erase Lucius from everyone's memory and show them that he, Draco, was now the head of the family. But what could he do? He wasn't especially talented in anything. Perhaps potions. It had always been easy for him to do it and he liked it but to dedicate himself to it was perhaps too much. He wanted to do something different. Something that he would find completely fulfilling. But the only thing he could think of as fulfilling was the image of Harry lying in bed with the sunlight illuminating his face. That was certainly not a clue as to what to do with his life.

Speak my last words and then remember it might never end. (7)

You're right as always John. Harry, if I die one of this days, don't think it was your fault. Don't feel guilty. You always feel guilty about everything. But this one is on me, completely on me.

I know I'm lying to myself. I just don't want to think of the real reasons why I don't want to be with Harry. Pascal said humans are always contradictory and I know I am. I don't make sense at all. But if I try to say it clearly, if I even think of it clearly I wont be able to live with myself.

'The human body is quite amazing' thought Draco as he moved in front of the mirror. Humans never really know it completely. He mapped his entire body, comparing it in his mind with the only other body he knew perfectly: Harry's. He bent his back trying to reach his ankles with his hands from behind. He wanted to be able to reproduce it on paper. It was so complicated.

John's guitar was calming and not too crazy. This way he could concentrate in the way his muscles moved underneath his skin as he danced. Quite amazing.

"Have you considered what you would like to study now that you're out of Hogwarts? You had good results in you NEWTS, many would want to have you working with them." She was standing next to the fireplace and her whole face seemed alive with the flames. Her hair, falling in delicate curls down her back, shone like it was full of diamonds. Draco was lounging in an armchair with his legs falling out one side and his head resting on the other arm.

"I have given it a lot of thought, but I don't know yet what I would like to do." He took a sip of the red wine and smiled at the image he must have made there on the couch. Quite an image of decadence. His mother looked at him reproachfully once more, obviously not so amused with his lack of decorum but knowing that there was nobody in the Manor apart from them. Draco felt a bit guilty he had neglected his mother so much. He had reduced the times he took Mauma to once a day, on the mornings before going out to walk in the gardens or in his room. His mother was never in the Manor before four o'clock so he had time to enjoy a full gulp of it. He would spend the evenings with his mother, he decided, he was well enough not to show her he was dying inside from not seeing Harry. The potion helped a lot. He sighed and turned so he was in an appropriate position on the armchair. "I have a feeling but it's too early to tell."

She smiled softly and looked at him like a loving mother. His insides warmed at the sight and he breathed her perfume as she came closer to place a kiss on his cheek. The smell triggered all sort of memories in his brain, some as old as he was. A comforting smell, that was sure.

"Take your time, there is no hurry." She said and sat beside him on another armchair taking her own wineglass.

Who would've thought drawing could feel this good? He practiced for hours, high on Mauma, trying to draw everything that surrounded him. Trying to draw his own body. Every time he picked up the pencil he felt he could capture what he wanted a little bit better. Perhaps someday he would be able to draw Harry.

He felt trapped now. He wanted to see the sunlight in other objects than those he saw everyday and knew perfectly. He went out of the Manor. It occurred to him it was perhaps a bit reckless to go out when he was high on Mauma but he discarded the thought deciding he would keep to muggle London.

"Hey, this is going to sound insane but could you please model for some pictures?" Draco turned towards the voice. Handsome muggle. He had long straight black hair shining in the light with blue sparkles, it was long enough to touch the hem of the low cut jeans. He looked indigenous, with high cheekbones, pointy chin, big, black eyes and olive skin but he was very tall, taller than Draco.

Later, Draco would blame his recklessness to the potion but the real reason why he went with the guy was because he looked like a nice person and Draco wanted to talk to someone. Plus, he was a muggle; he couldn't possibly be dangerous to a wizard.

"It does sounds crazy, what kind of pictures do you take?" He smiled and the guy grinned back.

"It depends on the moment. I can do portraits or nudes or whatever comes to me and depending on the model of course." Draco chuckled.

"Hello, pleased to meet you, will you undress for me?" The guy had the decency to look ashamed. His cheeks darkened a bit. Draco was only teasing him, he already knew he was going to follow him. To get some adventure.

"You don't have to if you don't want to… Look, I'm sorry, I didn't want to offend you. This is the first time I ask someone I don't know to do this but you have this look on your face…" he gestured with his hands nervously as if trying to convey the enormity of what he saw in Draco. "Please, I really want to take your picture."

Draco sighed.

"All right, what the hell, I've got nothing to loose." The guy smiled like a child given a very big candy. Draco couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him when he saw that smile. "What's your name?"

"Santiago and yours?"

"Draco. Where are we going?" He followed Santiago through the crowded street.

"To my study, it's not too far." I'm insane but he followed anyway.

They arrived five minutes later to a small flat full of all kind of muggle equipments. Draco knew some of them were cameras, there was also a drawing table and a corner completely dedicated to painting, but most of it had him baffled. But what was wonderful about the flat was the amount of light that poured through the windows and a small terrace full of plants.

"Nice place you got here." He commented looking around.

"Yes, I love it. We bought it with some friends. I don't paint, that's all Brian's and we have another friend who is an acting teacher, she uses the bedroom. Do you want something to drink?" Draco snorted.

"I'm already thinking this is too reckless, accepting a drink or something to eat would be downright crazy." Santiago looked a bit hurt but didn't insist. "You want me to strip? Or where do you want me?"

"We'll see how it goes and what you are comfortable with. Just talk to me for a while, I'll take the photos." He said as he prepared the camera in front a red divan. "Just sit there and talk to me." Muggles are insane Draco thought as he sat down on the divan.

"Where's your name from?"

"It was the name I had when my parent adopted me but they don't know where it came from. Probably Spain. A lot of people ran away from the dictatorship."

"I see." Draco sighed. Still no picture taken.

"If you want you can walk around, I'll follow you with the camera."

"All right." He took a turn around the room and spotted the CD collection. A lot of rock that Draco knew, even a bit of his beloved John Frusciante but also a lot of artists he didn't know.

"Can we listen to some music?" he turned and realised that Santiago was finally taking the photos. He smiled. He felt completely out of place but it was fun, the Mauma potion was sending shivers down his spine and he felt flattered by the camera's attention. With one hand Santiago selected a CD and with some difficulty he placed it in the CD player. Some kind of soft and sensual Latin music.

"That's nice." He swayed his hips following the slow bit of the song. A woman's voice singing in Spanish multiplied the pleasure he was feeling. His skin was incredibly sensitive and the music felt like a sensual caress all over his body.

"Where are you from?" asked Santiago, the camera clicking once more. Draco laughed, delighted at the renewed feeling of his potion.

"I guess I am from here, though I don't think it means the same to you as it does to me."

"Why?"

"Because I live in a very small bubble."

"Do you like it?"

"I used to love it. I felt superior and proud of it." Click. The camera followed his movements.

"What happened?"

"A madman came and ruined it all." Click. "My father thought he was doing the best for his family when he decided to follow him."

"What happened?" Draco laughed dryly.

"The only thing that could happen. It's impossible to live up to the expectations of a madman. My father fucked up. Then it was up to me and I couldn't do it. I thought I was going to die." Click, click.

"He turned everything I loved about my bubble insignificant and even ugly. Well, almost everything." Click.

"What remained?"

"My mother, the sun, him." Click. The music turned to a tango. Draco continued to walk around the room, dancing and opening his soul to a stranger. He didn't know why the words were flowing out of his mouth but something about this guy just lade him tell him everything.

"Who's him?"

"A hero." Click. He smiled remembering the old times. "He was always so infuriating. I thought I hated him more than anything." Click. "He was always better than me. I tried and tried to beat him and I never could. I still can't. And I was no more than a little stain on his life." He remembered Harry, all the petty fights they had. "He was beyond everything we did at school, we were all so small and yet he treated everyone like they were equals." Click. "I only wanted to be his equal for real. I wanted to be the person he most wanted to defeat. But it wasn't me; it was that megalomaniac, that murderer. He did, in the end."

"He did what?"

"Defeat him. He was the hero who saved us all. He saved me, he took me out of the flames when I was trying to bring him to my father's master. I would've left him there. That's the most horrible part. I would've left him there to save myself." Don't think about it… But it was too late. Click, click.

Draco felt suffocated as he remembered the Fiend Fire. He couldn't breath. He took off his shirt. "I'm so stupid!"

"Why?"

"Because I always refuse to see the truth."

"What's the truth?"

"That he is the best person I have ever met. The most beautiful, the bravest, the kindest. He has his flaws but he is certainly more perfect than anyone I know." Click.

"You love him."

"Yes, but that's not too strange, everyone loves him. The question is why does he love me?" Click, click.

"He loves you?"

"At least he thinks he does. I could see it in his eyes. But how can someone like him love someone like me? It doesn't make any sense." He tried to stop the confessions from flowing out him but it was impossible, he couldn't not think about it anymore.

"Then why do you think he loves you? What's your theory?"

"I think he's fooling himself. He is seeing someone who's not me, some ideal he has, I don't know. The moment he sees the real me, he will hate me again." Click, click. It was going out, the wound was opened again. It was an infected wound and the putrid pus leaked out of it and Draco couldn't stop it. "It all comes down to that day. I would've left him in the flames! And it kills me. It kills me to know that. I know him now and I know what could have been lost! How selfish can I be? I didn't care for all the lives lost, for all the students who died that day except for the ones who were my friends. How many of them could have been great persons? How many of them could've brought more to the world or to him than me?" Click, click. "I didn't deserve to live that day. I didn't. Damn it. I just don't deserve to have him. Of all the people who want him I am the one who would've left him in the flames." Click. He could almost smell the rotting flesh of the wound, so long covered by perfume. Tears escaped him as the words had and there was no stopping it.

Santiago sighed dramatically and lowered his camera.

"That was beautiful." He was breathing heavily like he had been running for miles. Draco was crying, crying for all the time he hadn't cried since he forced Harry to leave his room. Santiago went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water. He gave one to Draco and he took it, he had already shown everything to this man, why not accept a glass of water? Besides, it calmed him. He fell down on the divan. He hadn't wanted to say it, to think it. But that was it. That was his horrible secret and he felt awful to have acknowledged it.

Santiago held him for a long time but there was no comfort. Not for him.

It was probably a bad idea to take Mauma before going out, Draco concluded as he fell face down on his bed. He was completely exhausted. He wanted to see Harry. He wanted to hold him so bad. He started crying again and felt stupid for doing so. What was he? Some four year old crying because he doesn't get a hug? Why had he talked that much to a man he didn't know? Was he so desperate? What would Santiago think about all he had said? Probably that he was insane but Draco had said more things to a muggle than wizards were normally allowed. How stupid of him.

He saw the flames. The Room of Lost Things on fire. He had trained himself not to think about it, not to think about its implications. Now it was like someone had lifted a lid so Draco could peer inside his soul. He cringed. He really didn't like to see his soul at all. The guilt. He had never known the meaning of the word until that terrible day. He had trained and trained his mind not to think about it, he had forced Harry to stay away because he didn't want to acknowledge its existence. But now he couldn't deny it anymore. It had been a three layered protection, the outer layer was selfishness and pretending not to care about the world, forcing himself not to care about it, Harry had ripped it away from him violently that afternoon. The second layer was pretending he was doing the right thing, forcing himself to believe it but even if he knew there was a little truth in that idea he couldn't deny it had all been driven by the fear of seeing what he was seeing now.

Loving Harry meant opening his soul to Harry and in the process opening his soul to himself and it scarred the hell out of him. First because he didn't know how to handle the Guilt and second because Harry would never be able to love something like that. How could he? Draco couldn't stand it and he was good at self-indulgence, Harry, with all his high morals would hate it, he would hate him. And that would destroy Draco completely. He couldn't live with the Guilt and Harry's rejection, he wouldn't.

The next day he woke up and he was trembling all over. His eyelids were glued together with dried up tears and he grimaced at the awful taste in his mouth. He took the Mauma before taking a shower and the trembling stopped after a while. He turned to John, there was still no comfort, there would never be comfort for him but John made the pain a little less unbearable.

He visited every corner of the Manor with the music amplified with a Sonorus. He didn't know what he was searching or even if he was searching anything in particular. He even went to his father study, to the cellar where Harry had once been imprisoned, to the rooms the Dark Lord used during his stay, to the pool he hadn't used since someone dropped the body of a junior Death Eater Draco had never talked to, he wasn't seventeen when they killed him. He touched all the robes his father had left behind, the books, the quills. He lay on his father's bed. It wasn't dusty but it did have a certain smell that things get after a long time of not being used.

So many memories he had ignored. He had blocked his father's voice in his head. He had blocked out the tortures, the fear, his mother's face when she was tortured. He lay there and let all the memories, all the pain, all the guilt, all the fear, all the hopelessness, all the anxiety wash over him. He missed his father, after all that had happened he still missed him. He was good at Occlumency, so good he had blocked it all out, but that had to stop.

One, two, three… And then the past recedes. (8)

He cried again and wanted nothing more than Harry's arms around him. But he was alone in this. He had to get through this alone. The sun was already setting down and he was sure his mother would be unnerved to hear the loud music reverberating in the Manor when she arrived. But he couldn't get up just yet, he had to see this to the end.

Several hours passed and he still couldn't get up. He felt a soft hand petting his hair and he sighed.

"I didn't know you were so fond of muggle music." His mother's voice came from behind and he felt the bed sink a little as she sat next to him.

"He's exceptionally good. Better than any wizards musicians I know." He winced a little at the roughness of his voice.

"Yes, he is quite good, isn't he?" the bed shifted again and he saw a curtain of curly, silky golden hair block his vision a second before he felt her lips on his temple. He inhaled her scent and found a bit of comfort in it. It reminded him of all the good things in his life, before everything happened. He sobbed again and she held him. He felt childish but he needed her so much. He turned around buried his face in the crook of her neck, just relishing the simple familiarity of her.

This is stupid Draco thought as he waited outside the door. The stairs were just as he remembered them, dirty and dark but he knew the darkness would disappear the moment he stepped into the little flat. That was, obviously, if someone opened the door. He pressed the doorbell once more and waited. After a few minutes he decided that obviously no one was there and he turned to leave feeling a bit relieved he didn't had to go in. But then he heard the door open and the corridor filled with light.

He turned to see a young man with a nose that could compete with Severus Snape's, looking at him curiously. He wasn't horrible, it just took a moment to look at his face and not only his nose.

"Er… Hi." Draco kicked himself for sounding so nervous and like he had no idea what he was doing there. But the fact was, he really had no idea what he was doing there. The man smiled at him indulgently and Draco felt a bit insulted.

"You're here to see Santiago right?" he had a deep, sensual voice that startled him because he didn't look like someone who could own a voice like that.

"Yes…" he bit his lip and wondered once more what the hell he was doing there.

"Come on in." The man said with his deep voice as he stepped aside to allow Draco to enter. "He's in his dark room right now but I don't think he'll take too long. Do you want something to drink?" Draco looked around as he entered the flat and noticed that several things had changed. First there was a big canvas obviously left only a few seconds before showing the outlines of a forest scene. And there were pictures of him covering a whole wall. He stared at them in disbelief and took a few steps closer. Merlin. One thing was for certain: Santiago was one hell of a photographer. Each photo seemed to have a life of its own and they were even more beautiful because of their stillness. He saw in the photos more of himself he had ever known in his life.

There was the arrogance, the high breeding and so much sensuality he was a bit embarrassed. Now he understood why Pansy thought it would be indecent to marry him. There was also something dark and dangerous with a 'don't get too close' aura around him. But there was also pain and the impression he carried a great weight on his soul. The Guilt. It was so plain there on the black and white picture.

And then there was the biggest and central image. He knew the exact moment it had been taken, when he had talked about the fire and it was like everything in the other pictures was compressed in that single one. A tear halfway down his cheek, his bare chest with the slight scar down the middle, his hair sparkling in the sunlight. It was probably the best picture he had ever seen.

"They're good, aren't they?" Santiago's voice brought him out of the trance he had entered. He had his hair in a long braid down the centre of his back.

"They are amazing." He whispered and ghosted his fingertip along the tear in the photo.

"I didn't think I'd see you again" Draco turned to look at him and noticed the crook-nosed man was painting, completely ignoring the two of them.

"I didn't think I would come back." He said shrugging. Santiago gestured to the painter.

"That's Brian." Brian lifted his head and gave Draco a polite smile. "And this," continued Santiago gesturing at Draco now a bit dramatically "is Draco." He said the name with badly contained excitement. Brian snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I can see that." He said in his deep voice. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Er… Nice to meet you too." Draco answered a bit confused.

"I didn't told him anything about what you told me." Santiago stated conversationally.

"But he's been bragging about the pictures constantly." Draco studied Brian. He was tall but not as much as Santiago or even himself. His skin was too white, his light-brown hair was very thin and seemed delicate but it was a bit greasy and his small dark eyes were piercing and just the tiniest bit scary. He was very, very thin and his clothes were ragged and stained with paint. But there was something about him, a sort of grace and intelligence seemed to come out of every pore. Overall he was… interesting. "Will you model for me too?"

Draco snorted.

"Rabid group of artists, aren't you?" Brian shrugged and went back to his painting.

"OH!" Came a cry from the far side of the room. It was a little red-haired woman with a big grin on her face that looked a bit maniac as she ran towards Draco. "Oh! You're even more delightful in person!" She said cheerfully as she turned around him and inspected every inch.

"Thank you, I'm Draco, nice to meet you." He wanted to laugh but the urge soon went away.

"Sophie." She offered a hand that he accepted. "You wouldn't be by any chance interested in acting, would you?" This time he did laugh and noticed Santiago laughing too. He felt a sort of connection with the man now that he had opened his soul to him.

"No. I'm sorry." Behind Sophie he could see the door of a room where several shy faces peered at him. He was beginning to feel like a zoo animal. He looked imploringly at Santiago. He laughed again making his dark eyes twinkle.

"Want to go for a walk?" Draco nodded gratefully. Santiago took some keys from the windowsill and started walking to the door but as an afterthought he went back and peered into Brian's painting. "You're ruining it. Come with us." Brian sighed but followed them.

They walked silently for a long time in the fresh October wind talking about everything and nothing. Draco felt relaxed. This was his. As awful at it sounded this were his muggles, no one he knew knew them, they didn't saw him during the war. It was refreshing. Brian suddenly stopped and looked at Draco curiously as if it was the first time he saw him. The resemblance with Severus made Draco's heart ache a little.

"Do you draw or paint or something like that?"

"No, not really. I do draw a little but I don't think I am very good at it."

"Would you like to learn?" Draco stared at him. He didn't know what had triggered the question but now that he thought about it, he would very much like to learn to paint.

"Y-Yes" Santiago chuckled.

"I told you he would be perfect." Draco looked at him in confusion. "You said that you loved the sun. I interpreted that you have at least a bit of artistic sensibility."

"Okay…"

"And I just saw you looking everything with such interest. I think we can do something with you. Can you come to the study two or three times a week?" Brian smiled and it changed his whole face turning it quite handsome for a minute,

"Yeah, of course. Thank you…"

"Don't mention it. I need someone to change my perspective of things." He smiled again and them turned to Santiago, placing a hand in his shoulder. "I'm going back, I think I know what was missing."

"Alright, see you latter." And with one last look at Draco, Brian took off in the direction of the study. Draco looked at Santiago again, feeling a bit self-conscious now that they were alone.

"Thank you" the brunette whispered and then looked at Draco with such intensity he had to advert his eyes.

"For what?"

"Those were the best photos I have ever taken." He tenderly brushed Draco's hair out of his eyes with his fingertips. It was nice but he really hoped Santiago didn't try to kiss him; he wasn't ready to kiss anyone who wasn't Harry yet. "A very important art gallery agreed to show them, with other of my pictures. It's a great opportunity, every respectable critic goes there and all the great English photographers are invited to the opening."

"That's great!" What was really amazing was the look on his dark eyes, full of gratitude, excitement and… fondness. Suddenly Draco was enveloped in a tight embrace. Santiago laughed and lifted Draco from the ground, turning quickly to make him fly like a small child.

"I know!!" he shouted, ignoring Draco's attempts to free himself. He finally put him down. Draco saw in his face true happiness and he felt pride in having caused it. He rearranged his clothes and hair, more than a little embarrassed at being lifted off the floor that easily.

"You have to come to the opening, it's in a week." Draco felt again as he had the day he had met this man, he was so full of energy and a child-like excitement for life itself that he felt it was impossible to deny him anything.

"Alright, I'll be there"

Draco didn't go to take his drawing classes two times a week, he went every day for two weeks. His mother was planning this big party and he tried to stay out of the house as much as possible. Brian taught him things he would've never learned on his own. He felt he was growing, expanding. Brian said he was more talented than anyone he knew and only after three days of class Draco stopped taking the Mauma potion. At first the world seemed a bit boring but then he realised he could still feel what he felt under it if he listened to the right music or as he tried to draw something particularly difficult. After class he always went for a walk with Santiago and they talked about everything, he told him everything he could without revealing the existence of magic, he told him about Harry, about how much he missed him, about how much he would like to show him all the things he was doing thanks to Brian. As Santiago's opening came nearer he started helping at the gallery, giving his opinion on how to distribute the photos. They decided to hang the best ones on the smaller room because it made them look special, or more than they already were. He felt a bit self-conscious to have his soul revealed to so many strangers but seeing Santiago so happy about his success made it impossible for him to complain.

The day itself was quite strange, Santiago couldn't glow more or he would resemble a light bulb so great was his happiness. Almost everyone who was invited came and almost everyone who came liked the photos. They were calling it "the greatest exposition in the last five years". The gallery managers at some point announced they were leaving it for three weeks instead of one. A lot of people were very curious about Draco. "What were you crying for?" and "Are you single?" seemed to be the first questions to leave everyone's mouths. Fortunately Brian protected him with his scary eyes, which, he had discovered had nothing to do with his real personality. For some reason, even if it was impossible, he seemed to be seeing Harry everywhere, only to see a second afterwards that it was just a man with curly black hair or someone with ugly round glasses. All in all it was a great success but Draco decided he wasn't going back to the gallery after that.

One morning he was finally getting to paint something of his own choosing when for the first time Brian criticised his work.

"Why did you choose that scene?" he asked frowning at Draco's descent from the cross.

"I liked a lot what Botticelli did with it."

"But you're not Boticelli are you?"

"No, of course I'm not, but I wish I could paint like him."

"Don't."

"Why? He's one of…"

"Yeah, yeah, I love his paintings too, but you have to find what you want to paint for yourself. If everyone imitates people who died centuries ago art wouldn't change at all. And if you're just imitating someone else than why bother painting at all?" Brian got up and took Draco's brush out of his hand. "You have to find something that you really want to paint, something that means everything to you, even if it's only for the time you're holding the brush."

Draco stared at his painting, a very crass imitation of Botticelli and tried to think of something that could mean everything to him.

"Hey! How are you doing?" Came Santiago's voice from the door and Brian huffed in exasperation as he always did when Santiago interrupted them with his loud entrance. The longhaired man dropped to the divan sexily, his silky, shiny hair falling and almost touching the floor. He had a little enigmatic smile on his face. Draco stared, he wasn't very attracted to him, but he could see how beautiful he was.

"I could paint him." He told Brian, ignoring Santiago's greeting, nonetheless Santiago's head shot up in interest.

"No, you would still be imitating someone."

"Who?!" Draco demanded crossly.

"Me." Brian gestured to one of his painting on the wall that showed Santiago in that exact position. Draco huffed but he knew it was probably right.

"Something interesting happened yesterday." Santiago said in a singsong voice, his smile broadening a little.

"What happened?" Brian asked dryly not even looking at him.

"I'm not telling if you don't show some interest." Santiago pouted. Draco laughed and knelt in front of him running his fingers through the soft hair. He always felt sad when he did that because, as beautiful as Santiago's hair was, it felt boring and he longed to have Harry's to do that. But he knew Santiago loved the attention.

"Tell me." He coaxed, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. Brian had lived with Santiago too long to play his games but Draco still found them funny.

"I met someone." He said, almost purring.

"Was she cute?" Draco knew Santiago could be drawn to men too, but he loved women a lot more, he just liked to pretend he was completely bisexual because he thought it made him different from "the heterosexual idiots".

"Who said it was a she?!" he huffed in mock indignation.

"Well then, was he cute?"

"Oh yes, he was very, very cute. Even beautiful."

"Really?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Really. Great body, good style. Curly and messy black hair and these amazing, intense green eyes…"

"What?!" Draco stilled his hand and took a good look at Santiago. He had lost his smile completely and was looking directly at him. Draco heard the door behind him and knew Brian had left, probably obeying one of Santiago's looks.

"The woman he was with told me they knew you from school but weren't very close to you. He didn't say anything but the way he was looking at your photos was screaming 'I love him'." Draco has breathing harshly. Harry. He knew it. Harry had seen his photos. Harry had been in the gallery. Harry had known Santiago. The probabilities were so slim… but he had been there. What had he thought? What had he seen in those pictures? Suddenly Draco needed to know, he needed to know so badly. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to run to Harry's house immediately. He missed him so much, he didn't miss him a tiny little bit less than when he had forced him to Apparate out of the Manor, in fact he missed him a lot more than that day.

"Why don't you want to see him?" whispered Santiago cupping Draco's cheek in his palm.

"You know why."

"But why don't you tell him everything you told me? What if he accepts that and still loves you? Don't you see how great that love could be?"

"I wouldn't be able to handle his rejection."

"But isn't the possibility of his love worth the risk?" Draco shook his head. He was too afraid. He couldn't face Harry, he couldn't ask that of him. He couldn't show everything to him and expect him to love him still.

"You're just afraid." Draco turned his face, trying not to show how terrified he was, how weak but he knew it was useless.

(1)Freud

(2)The Vicomte de Valmont in Dangerous Liaisons (Chordelos de Laclos) was a libertine known for all the women he had ruined until he knew Madame de Tourvel. He tries to seduce her but falls in love in the process because she actually believes that the religion she practices and the morals she follows are right and she does follow them, unlike the rest of the women of her time.

(3)The movie is Fight Club (1999) with Edward Norton and Brad Pitt.

(4)Hamlet.

(5)Forever away by John Frusciante CD: Brown Bunny

(6)Unreachable by John Frusciante CD: The Empyrean (I know this CD was released like ten years later than the moment of this story but well, let's call it artistic license)

(7)Enough of Me by John Frusciante CD: The Empyrean.

(8)The Past Recedes by John Frusciante CD: Curtains