Author's Note: FOUR DIFFERENT DRAFTS! Four times I wrote this damn chapter before I felt satisfied with it. I wrote the equivalent of over 40 pages of text. Ugh! I'm sorry it took so long, just know I haven't stopped writing. Sometimes I have to go through a whole lot of junk before finding the good stuff.

Lover Mine: Chapter Eleven

Sometimes people put up walls,

Not to keep others out,

But to see who cares enough to break them down.

- Banana Yoshimoto

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Marla asked for the third time that morning. "Give up control like this?"

"Yes." Sofia nodded, reassuring herself that this decision was the correct one, even if it was daunting. "Trying to hold on to control is what got me into this mess in the first place."

"Well," the older witch's lips twisted into a wry smirk as she bent over the parchment on the table, quill scratching, "I believe my wayward daughter also had something to do with it."

Lucinda crossed her arms over her night dress, hair still a mess from being dragged from bed at the unforgivable hour of mid-morning. "Hey, I thought you were proud."

Marla put down the quill, assessing her writing. "I was," she muttered, "Until you two had this bright idea to copy down one of MY spells. And to hand over to a sorcerer, of all people."

Sofia cringed, knowing that her request was not only unorthodox but down-right taboo in the magic handling community. "I know, and I am very grateful."

"Besides," Lucinda added, pausing to yawn, "It's not like he's going to use it. Sofia just needs it to help him understand what's been happening. If someone cast a spell on you, wouldn't you want to see it?"

"Point taken. But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. And, Sofia, dear, you promise-"

"That I'll destroy the copy as soon as soon as he's read it, yes." She put out her hand for the parchment. Marla hesitated before handing it over reluctantly. "And the other spell? The one to stop the dreams, will it work for him?"

"I had to make some modifications," the older witch passed over the same bundle of herbs she'd given the princess two days ago, but with an addition of some pungent leaf Sofia couldn't identify. The white candle still had the red marking, but now the other side bore a new carving filled in with black. Marla sighed dramatically, waving a hand over a second sheet of paper. "I wrote those instructions down as well. You know, Granny Margretta is probably spinning in her grave right now."

Lucinda snickered. "Great-Gran never trusted any magic handler that wasn't blood related. And sometimes not even then. She always said she'd rather die before handing over any of her secrets."

"Yes," Marla's eyes crinkled with mischief, "She barely added to the family grimorie, preferring to let her spells die with her. In fact, I hope she is spinning in her grave, greedy old bat."

Sofia packed away her parchments and the parts for the spell. "Again, thank you for this. I'll make sure your secrets are safe. I'm through breaking promises."

Lucinda paused mid-stretch, eyebrow lifting with sudden interest. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

Sofia shook her head, silently cursing the telltale flush that colored her face. "Nothing."

"Nothing as in you'll tell me later?"

"Nope," the princess replied, latching the clasp on her satchel before standing up to take her leave.

"You're no fun," the young witch pouted. Marla chuckled into her cup of coffee, rolling her eyes at her daughter's dramatics.

"Sorry, Luce," Sofia frowned in earnest, fiddling with the leather strap on her bag. "It was fun at first, but it's not so funny anymore. Not when I feel like I've betrayed the trust of the person I care for the most."

Lucinda got up from the table, coming around to place gentle hands on her friend's shoulders. "Hey, you didn't mean for any of this to happen. You've been thrown for as much of a ride as he has. Probably more so."

"I guess. But he'd about to get a rude awakening." Sofia chanced a glance up at her dark-haired friend. Her voice sounded small when she asked, "You don't think he'll hate me for this, do you?"

"Of course not." The witch hugged her tightly, fairly squeezing the breath from her. Lucinda hated to see someone as assured as Sofia doubt herself.

"I agree," Marla interjected, "I don't think he'll have cause to hate you, but you can probably expect that his initial reaction will not be a good one. I won't sugar coat it, Dearie, this spell turned into a doozy. Much stranger than I've seen in the past. You should have told him when you found out who he was."

"Mom," Lucinda whined, "There's no need to make her feel any worse."

"On the contrary, you two thought you were big enough to perform unsanctioned magic without a supervising witch, you're lucky all I do it chastise. Honestly, I should have gone to this sorcerer of yours myself, Sofia, but I trusted your judgment. Sometimes trial by fire is the only way to learn."

"Thank you for that, Miss Marla. I would not have wanted anyone to take responsibility for my actions. I did this, now I need to face the consequences."

Lucinda gave her one last quick squeeze before saying good-bye. On her way out Sofia could hear mother telling daughter, "And don't think you're off the hook, Missy. You get to replenish my stores of pickled newt entrails, by hand."

Sofia cringed, wondering if she'd perhaps gotten off easy after all. All she need do now was confront Cedric with the truth-

-and hope he wasn't too horrified by her flagrant misuse of his subconscious that he never wished to speak to or see her again.

Pulling her cloak tighter against the wind, she started for the castle. After the sunny weather of yesterday a cold front had moved in overnight. Her breath wafted out in a chill cloud as she made the long trek back to the castle. She could have ridden, or taken a carriage to make the trip shorter, but she desired the time to collect her thoughts.

She'd never felt so disappointed and ashamed of herself before, and the unaccustomed feelings made her stomach jump with nerves. Yesterday she thought she'd felt guilty, but that was nothing compared to today. And making her confession was now magnitudes more difficult than it would have been had she just told him the truth last night.

She'd gone to bed with the best of intentions, determined to follow Marla's instruction and take control of her dreams. She'd thought long and hard about Lucinda's plea, about severing the supernatural connection forged by ill-used magic. But what she'd told the witch was true: she couldn't. As unnerving as her dreams were, to end this fragile new discovery so abruptly felt wrong. As did revealing herself. If she couldn't admit the truth to Cedric in real life, she shuttered to imagine doing so in a dream, where they could possibly find themselves in bed together, naked. She cringed, imagining Cedric's reaction to that. Lying in bed last night, waiting for sleep to come, she'd concentrated hard on her promise. Cedric looked so worn, so tired in his workshop, and the guilt pressed hard upon her. She'd meant it when she'd vowed to let him rest. She could control these dreams. She would temper her curiosity and lust and leave him be to sleep in peace.

Picking her way over the frosted patches of grass and slick cobblestones, she left the village boundaries, nearing the bridge that connected Dunwhitty to Enchancia castle. Cedric's tower was easy to pick out from the skyline. His tower, such a poignant metaphor for how he guarded himself against the world. She felt a maligned pang squeeze her heart. Cedric tried so hard to keep order and predictability in his life, but despite his careful efforts, chaos always found its way in. And she was often the cause. Pressing a hand to her fluttering stomach, the memory of last night's dream washed over her. Her plan hadn't worked quite as she'd expected, when she'd woke in a bed, lying half way across his body:

His arms held her loosely, and she lay frozen for a moment listening to the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. Assured he was indeed asleep, she lifted her head cautiously. The sight of his face, relaxed in repose, captured her attention at once. Her eyes darted over every familiar feature, confirming the truth.

Her curious gaze lowered, finding his chest bare, the rest of him dressed in a pair of dark sleep pants. She wore a nightgown, to her relief. A quick exploration of his skin revealed not only the tattoos she'd already seen, but several more. Moving cautiously so as not to disturb him, she delicately traced part of the intricate circle at his shoulder before touching the band on his arm. The contrast between his staid daytime attire and the raw sensuality of his bare, tattooed skin kindled the flame of desire in her belly. She tamped it down, remembering her promise.

When she combed her fingers lovingly through his bangs, unable to deny herself a tender caress of his most telling feature, she hadn't expected he'd turn into her touch.

She drew back, startled. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"'S okay," he mumbled, obviously less than awake.

She smiled fondly, hearing his voice, recognizing it clearly now. Control, she remembered, she was in control.

"I know you're tired," she whispered, hoping to lull him back to sleep. Laying her head down on his chest, she could be content just lying here in his embrace. "Go back to sleep."

A delighted shiver ran through her when he kissed the top of her head before settling down with a happy sigh. Love surged through her. Love and longing and sadness that this wasn't real. She swallowed down the lump at the back of her throat. "Good night, Cedric," she whispered.

"Mmm," the chest beneath her cheek rumbled. "Oíche mhaith, Sóifia."

An involuntary gasp tore from her lips and she froze. Sóifia. While it was said in a strange undulation that matched his language, it was undoubtedly her name.

"Cad atá mícheart, a ghrá? What's wrong, love?"

Sofia picked her head up, finding a pair of familiar golden green eyes looking back at her with tender concern. "You ... You know who I am?"

"I know who I want you to be."

His answer proved conflicting. She thrilled, realizing he wanted her. Her. But to him this wasn't real. A fantasy. "This is still a dream to you."

"Of course," his tilted her chin up with his knuckle, leaning forward, "What else would it be?"

Sofia knew she shouldn't allow it, but when he kissed her she couldn't help the small noise of desire that rose from the back of her throat. And it was the catalyst that blew her carefully laid plan all to Hell. His fingers slid around from her chin to the back of her neck, angling her up to deepen their kiss with a confidence she hadn't seen in their waking interactions. When his fingers trailed down her neck and shoulder, touching over her bare waist, she gasped in honest surprise. Both of their clothes were gone, and she hadn't done that. Marla had warned her. He could take control, she'd said, he had the power to do so. And as his hands ghosted over her bare skin, curling over her hip and around her thigh to tease the curls between her legs, Sofia realized that while she wanted his touch, this wasn't entirely her doing. This was Cedric's.

"We shouldn't ... I shouldn't t-take advantage like this. You don't know what's going on."

"Mmm," he hummed in a noise of male satisfaction that made her thighs clench. "Then allow me to be the one taking advantage."

His assured smirk made her weak with its dark promises. But his fingers had strayed no further. "Do you want me to stop?"

His fingertips stayed just beyond reach of the place that wanted him the most. Her eyes slid close in guilty surrender. "No."

He touched her them, caressing and coaxing her body to heights of pleasure that left her clinging to him. She submitted completely to his touch. When he rolled her onto her back, her eyes flew open at the shocking intimacy of his fingers inside her. She hadn't thought there could be anything more erotic than the anonymity of being taken in the dark by a stranger. She'd been so very wrong in that regard. Knowing who was pleasuring her with his hands and mouth, whispering that she was beautiful, commanding she come for him, was magnitudes more arousing. Instead of shying from his unfamiliar demeanor, she thrilled to see a side of Cedric that others didn't. A side that belonged to her alone.

They'd been together in other dreams, but this one was by far the most intimate. Every touch, every kiss, every throaty word and every gaze told her that he adored her. He loved her. He wanted her. He was no longer a dark stranger of mystery and moonlight. He was hers. Her friend. Her sorcerer. And now her lover.

When he climbed over her body, and she felt the heat of his manhood positioned at her entrance, she panicked, making him back away. She wanted to, but couldn't, not like this. Not anymore. As badly as she wanted to take him inside her and let him make love to her, to do so like this felt all wrong.

"Let me please you," She'd offered, wanting to make him feel some of the pleasure he gave to her.

He rose both eyebrows at that. "Alright. If you insist."

She offered him a nervous smile, watching as his eyes dilated with desire. She kissed him, mimicking what he'd done to her, truly without a clue what she was attempting. She settled between his legs, tracing the veins and ridges of his flesh with her eyes before flicking her tongue out to taste him. He groaned deeply, encouraging her to try for more. His flesh was surprisingly soft and warm against her lips when she carefully enveloped him. His throaty groans, and clenched hands told her she was doing something right as she memorized him with her tongue, finding each little part that made him twist and pant beneath her.

"If you keep that up," he growled, fingers tightening against her scalp, "I'm going to-"

His words cut off on a moan when she sucked, flicking her tongue against the spot just below the head of his member that made him tense. She moved her head up and down in an imitation of their lovemaking. When he came, pulsing jets of warm, salty liquid into her mouth, she nearly pulled away in surprise. But she held still, prolonging his pleasure until his grip fell limp. She swallowed because really it seemed the thing to do, but when he stared at her in shock, she thought she may have done something wrong.

"Was that alright?"

He laughed shortly, smiling as he waved a tired hand at her. "Come here."

She climbed back up the bed, nestling against his side. He gathered her to him, kissing the top of her head. "De réir an bandia, I love you."

She peered up at him, amazed to hear him stay it first. "Do you really?"

He cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her cheek. "Yes."

"How did you say it before? In your language?"

"Before?" He smiled that lopsided grin at her. "Is breá liom tú."

" Is breá ... liom ... tú ?" She paused, looking to him for confirmation that she was saying it right. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. She raised up on her elbow to look into his face. "Is breá liom tú, Cedric."

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, bending her forward for a kiss."Is breá liom tú, Sóifia."

That last kiss had been soft and sweet and achingly tender. She woke from the dream, not with a shock or a gasp, but slowly blinking her eyes open to the morning sun. Physically she felt rested and refreshed, but mentally, everything was in turmoil. This dream had been different from the others. She'd been more aware, and she wondered at the instinct that encouraged her to surrender so completely to his control. Everything they'd shared had been to her liking, and he certainly seemed willing and eager. His subconscious wanted her, but she had no way to know how Cedric would feel about being so completely exposed, stripped bare in every sense of the phrase. In their dreams she'd seen a side of him he didn't show. A side he hid, even from her. She'd exposed him without warning or restraint.

She refused to contemplate his admission of love. Too cautious to hope it real, and too pragmatic to ignore the mitigating factors behind it, thinking on his easy admission of feelings in their dream only confused her, muddying the waters of her determination. She wouldn't hold him to those words, not until he hopefully, maybe, someday said them in person.

Entering the castle, she only paused at her room long enough to remove her cloak. If she dallied, she'd find an excuse not to go, and she'd wasted enough time. Waking that morning, as much as she didn't wish to bother Lucinda yet again with an early morning visit, she knew she needed to give up her foolish pursuit of independence and ask for assistance. Not seek out a friendly ear to gossip, whine and bemoan to, but an ally to help mend the damage she'd caused. She only hoped her planned olive branch was enough to build back some of the fragile trust she was about to break.

She tried not think too far ahead, as all her theories seemed to end in the worst scenarios imaginable. She gathered her little satchel of evidence and offerings tight to her chest, feeling woefully unprepared for battle ahead. But she tried to hold her head high as she marched off to his tower, but her chin trembled despite herself. She never suspecting love would make such a coward of her.

Last night he'd dreamed of her.

Not a nameless, faceless fantasy, but her. Sóifia, he'd called her.

This dream last dream had been startlingly vivid; so real he could still hear her breathy moans, still taste the sweetness of her lips, and still feel warmth of her skin. Which was to say nothing of the other palpable memories of touch and taste. He whimpered, feeling a treacherous twitch of lust low in his gut.

How could he possibly look her in the eye after this? Knowing what dark fantasies he harbored?

As if the universe were playing some perverse joke with him, which it often did, a knock rattled his door. He suspected he knew who stood on the other side. For a moment he considered options, wondering if it wasn't best to send her away. But, no, of course that would never do. It wasn't Sofia's fault that he dreamed of doing indecent things to her. And of her eagerly returning the favor.

He got up with a weary sigh, crossing the room to let her in. The sight of her in the flesh was like a slap to the face. Her flushed cheeks, bright eyes and cherry red lips grabbed his attention at once. Hastily, he looked away trying not to remember what those lips had done in his dream.

"Sofia," he cleared his throat as his voice cracked around her name, "I didn't expect you."

Her heart tried to beat its way out her sternum at the sight of him. In all her years she'd never had such a reaction to his presence, not even yesterday once she knew. Her eyes darted over his face, less tired but still worn, and all the soft, needy places on her body tightened. "M-may I come in?"

"Now is not the best time," he hedged, hoping she'd take the hint.

"Are you busy?" She didn't think she could rally her courage a second time to come back if he sent her away. "It's rather important that we talk."

"I suppose I could spare a moment." He stepped aside, allowing her entrance. Walking back to his worktable, he examined it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "Was there something I could help you with?"

"That thing I wanted to tell you yesterday," she began, trying to steel her nerves, "Well ,now I need to tell you. In fact, I see now that I should not have waited."

"I am sorry." He rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "I know you are facing some problem of late, but I fear I can't be of assistance to you just now." Even her presence, the subtle scent of her lavender perfume, made his body want to react. He feared he was losing proper perception, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring hopelessly together.

She was quiet so long, he began to worry that he'd hurt her feelings. Quietly, she walked up beside him, setting a small bag of worn leather on the table. He squinted at it before looking up at her in question. "I'm sorry," she breathed, her eyes bright and glossy, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"For what to happen?"

Instead of answering, she raised her hand to touch his cheek. It wasn't the caress of a friend, but a woman who understood his confusion and pain because she felt the same. He quickly told himself that such a notion was insane. But then perhaps he was going crazy, the wicked tempting phantom of his Dream-Sofia driving him slowly mad. The real Sofia looked at him, really looked into his face and his eyes, the corners of her own crinkling in a subtle pain. When she leaned up towards him, he was helpless to resist.

Sofia knew she shouldn't. But he looked so vulnerable and confused, and he'd become so dear to her. She wanted to comfort him, the way he had done in her dreams with affectionate kisses. And though it was greedy and selfish, she wanted one kiss. One real kiss, in case it was the only one she got. Rather than just a quick press , like her farewell kiss last night, she molded her lips against his mouth, rising up on her toes to better reach him. He grasped her waist firmly, and the strength in his hands sent a jolt of heat streaking through her. She snaked her arms around his neck, tugged his closer as one kiss became another and another. He tilted his head to a better angle, slanting his lips fully across mouth.

Cedric struggled against the instinct that told him to turn her round, to set her up on the table and burying his hands beneath her skirt. He fought against that instinct, trying to remember that this wasn't the Sofia from his dreams. She wasn't an wanton temptress who moaned for his touch, taking all he gave and begging for more. But when she parted her lips in shy invitation, he wasn't strong enough to resist the temptation of tasting her.

Images exploded across Cedric's mind: a barrage of kisses, some soft and innocent, most deep and intoxicating, all the ways he'd kissed her in his dreams. They didn't compare to the sweet realty of her soft lips and warm curves pressed up against him. A little moan of pleasure rose out of the back of her throat when she touched her tongue to his and his treacherous body reacted favorably to the sounds of approval and encouragement. His hands on her hips held her back from feeling the full measure of his desire and he chastised himself; she was an innocent, probably thinking this all terribly romantic, when all he could think about was easing her skirts up and her pantelettes down and showing her exactly how badly he wanted her. These delicious little torments were prizing him apart, dismantling his resistance.

He pulled back, easing her away at the same time. She tried to follow at first, flustered by her eagerness. She'd come here to confess her sins against him, not commit fresh ones.

She was breathing hard, her lips swollen and glossy, and it took everything in him not to dive back in for more. He grasped for some means of distraction. Anything. "Was- was there something you meant to tell me?"

"It's my fault, you see," she confessed in a hush, as if saying the words any louder would draw ruin down on her head. "The dreams of us, together, as- as lovers. I've been having them since Samhain, and I know-" she made herself continue, to speak the words, "I know you've had them too."

He stilled, an array of emotions crossing his face, flicking quickly from one to the next, never settling for long: Confusion, doubt, just a hint of fear. "Wha- how?"

She reached for her satchel, fumbling with the clasp with shaking hands. As she brought out Marla's handwritten copy, she said the only words she could think of that would encompass all the chaos of the past four nights, "A spell."

When she pressed the paper into his hand, he stared at it as if he'd never seen such a thing before. "Proffwydoliaeth spell ...," he muttered, eyes skimming over the words written before him.

She twisted her hands together, fighting the urge babble, to say anything and everything she could think to explain her behavior and actions. But she keep quiet, awaiting his reaction. As he read, he moved away, pacing about the room. He thought best on the move and she tried not to take it as a bad sign.

As he paced, he spouted out half-formed ideas. "But this is- That means- Great Goddess!"

His eyes continued to roam over the page and she suspected he was reading the spell over again, still not quite able to take it in. "I know you're probably confused-" He glanced up long enough to favor her with a withering look. "Very confused," she amended. "Feeling hurt and most likely betrayed, but I want you to know I didn't intend for any of this to happen."

He finally stopped, lowering the paper and closing his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose. "You are telling me, that these dreams that have been plauging me for four days, driving me to the brink of my sanity, are the result of, what, a Halloween prank?"

"No," she all but shouted. "Not that at all. When we cast the spell I thought only I would be affected. I was merely curious what my future held. Now I see I should not have dabbled as I did.

"No, you should not have."

She tried not to shrink back from his harsh tone. "I wanted to tell you, but I-," her cheeks flushed. She wished she hadn't worn such a thick brocade gown. It kept her warm in the chill autumn air, but now she began to sweat. "I tried last night, but I'd only just discovered that it was you. I suspected, I even hoped, but to know was a different matter.

I didn't mean to for last night to happen. The dream, that is. I thought I could control them. But the spell was more powerful than I-" She stopped, because, no, she wouldn't make excuses. "I know I shouldn't have let anything happen."

"I think 'let' is a subjective term," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her flush darkened, remembering his murmured words from her dream. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his body language gave every indication that he was not please, but his tone suggested that he at least recognized in part that she was not solely at fault.

His throat bobbed when he swallowed. "This spell, exactly how powerful is it? Have we actually been ..."

He couldn't seem to finish a thought, but she understood what he was implying, asking much the same as she had. "No, Marla, Lucinda's mom, said we were meeting in one of the dream worlds between the realms. That is to say, we haven't actually ... I mean, I'm still a-" She cut off abruptly, her cheeks flaming as she realized what she'd just alluded to.

He was looking at her rather intensely and she burned with more than embarrassment. "So that first dream, that's the first time you've ever ... experienced anything, like that?"

She lowered her lashes, offering a shy, "Yes."

"Merlin's Mushrooms," he muttered, rubbing his free hand over his face, "What an introduction."

"Merlin's mushrooms," she mused, laughing lightly, "is that what ifreann diabhal means?"

He paled, patched of red brightening his cheeks. "No," he said firmly, "That is not what it means."

"What does it mean, then?"

"Something entirely more profane."

"Oh," she chewed on her lip, worried she'd offended him. "That's funny, I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Yes, well you hadn't been exposed to a lot of things before this spell of yours," he grumbled, making her flush all over again. She didn't doubt that he'd quickly grasp the nature of the situation, but to be suddenly of equal awareness was dizzying.

"So, you understand," perhaps if she could get him to talk to her, "What has been happening?"

"I understand I've been under the impression that I was losing my damn mind, and now I find its only my student playing at magic she doesn't understand and didn't bother to stop and think about the consequences of."

She cringed, stung by his harsh words. "But, do you understand what this means?"

His eyes bore down on her, their normally warm golden tones going flat and cool. The parchment crinkled in his hand, but he didn't say a thing.

Sofia licked her dry lips, finding her voice. "It's not just a spell meant to create the illusion of a dream, or even a connection. Its purpose is to prophesize the future. It means you're meant to be ... We're to be-"

"Married," he finished hoarsely. "How can that be me? I am entirely unsuitable for you. Surely, your parents would never-"

"Whomever I wish to marry, remember? That's what my mother and father said."

"Surely, their ideas of 'whomever' did not include me."

"Actually," she smiled and he looked at her like she'd lost her senses completely, "They had you in mind exactly. Lucinda assures me that it has been quite obvious to anyone with eyes that we were rather taken with each other long before this." She ducked her head. "That is, if you are, in fact, taken with me."

"I think that should be obvious by now," he grumbled, and his gruff confession sent her heart soaring. He raked a hand through his hair, unable to shake a strong feeling of discomfort. He didn't know why he was so angry, expect that it felt as if someone had cut open his chest and put his heart on display. His breath came out hard and short as he bit back the words he wanted to say, before realizing that apparently it didn't matter.

"Ifreann diabhal!" He snarled loudly, slamming the parchment down on the table. He bent over it, hands braced against the wooden surface. He discharged a few more choice profanities, if only because it felt good to loosen his control for a moment. "Máthair mac ifreann ar bastaird soith!"

Silent minutes ticked by before Sofia chanced a tentative, "There is one other thing ..."

"Of course there is," he laughed bitterly, making her fear she had done something irreversible to his sanity after all. Cautiously she retrieved her bag, drawing the remaining items.

"I had Marla copy down the counter spell. Originally she said it was up to me to decided whether to severe the connection between us, or use these items to reveal my identity to you and you to me."

"Why didn't you?" He wouldn't look at her though she standing right beside him.

"I couldn't." She dropped her head in shame. "I didn't know what I wanted. Then before I knew it, it was too late. The damage had been done." She set the candle and herbs down a top the second parchment. "I obviously can't be trusted to make the right decision. That's why, I'm leaving that to you."

His head jerked up, a look of bewildered shock on his face. "What?"

"I asked Marla to do whatever modifications were necessary so that you could be the one to work the counter spell. I may have betrayed your trust, Cedric, but want you to know that I do trust you."

He picked up the candle, running his thumb over the black craving. "Why do I get the feeling that you don't fully understand what this means?"

She frowned at that. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes."

Cautiously, she placed her hand over his. "Then I trust you."

If she'd been the one to betray him, to withhold secrets, then why did he feel as if he didn't deserve her trust. Somewhere he knew that while he might be upset with her now, he didn't think he could ever truly condemn her. If she said she didn't know the spell would affect him, then he knew it to be the truth. If she said she wanted to tell him but couldn't, that too was real. Her admission of trust left him torn between feelings of maligned dignity and sympathy for her obvious distress. She was as innocent as he suspected. She hadn't seemed virginal or unskilled in their shared dreams, but then dreams lent themselves to the loss of inhibitions. Some parts of their shared dreams would shock the most seasoned paramour; he could only imagine how she felt these past morning if she, like him, woke shivering and quaking with ecstasy

Thinking of her writhing in her bed, shocked awake by the intensity of the orgasms his dream-self had provided was not a good idea at the moment, and he tried to tell his treacherous member to stand down. Now was not the time.

"I know neither of us were ready for this," she sighed, "But here was are. If you find you cannot forgive me, then severe the link between us and end these dreams. And I promise we never need speak of it again. But if you want to give this, give us a chance, as imperfect as the situation is, then come to me tonight, as yourself."

She didn't mean it to sound like a proposition, he knew, but that didn't stop his memory from recalling all the other ways he's come to her in her dreams.

"Fine," he nodded, not quite meeting her eye. "Now I think it is time for you to go and let me think on all this."

Though she nodded in understanding, he could almost feel her reluctance. She released his hand, gesturing timidly to the paper on his desk. "I promised Marla I'd-"

He picked up his wand and pointed. "Dóiteáin." The paper caught fire at once, the edges curling up and in on themselves. In moments there was nothing left but soot. A dramatic display, but not nearly enough destruction to sooth his agitation. "Happy?"

She wanted to tell him that no, she wasn't happy at all. But she knew that wasn't what he meant, so she simply nodded. She didn't want to leave, but nor did she want to push him any further. Not when they seemed to have reached some tentative accord. She was almost to the door when the last nagging notion finally won over. Now was not the best time, but she felt it couldn't- shouldn't- wait. She turned back to see him leaning on his hands, staring down at the second spell. "Just one thing more."

"What now?"

Those two bitten off words were nearly enough to send her scurrying away. But then she recalled yesterday in the graveyard. Cedric could have let her leave, walking off in an angry huff, but he didn't. He'd grabbed her by the arm, wrapping her in the comfort she needed in a moment of raw emotion. That's what love was, doing what was hard, not what was easy. Love was being brave. She approached him carefully, slipping her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. He stiffened, but didn't pull away. Encouraged, she rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"I meant what I said," she closed her eyes, willing herself to keep talking. She took a moment to make sure she got it right. "Is breá liom tú, Cedric."

She felt a shiver run through him. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect. The seconds ticked on, feeling like torture to her tender nerves. Finally he lifted his arm, placing his hand over one of hers. There he threaded his fingers between the spaces of hers, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I just need some time."

She pressed her forehead into his back, trying to understand, to not feel hurt. Her voice only broke a little, "I know."

He lifted their joined hands, hesitating a moment before pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. She gasped, then shivered. Of course she knew Cedric was her lover from her dreams, but until that moment there had still been a divide between them. The austere, reserved mentor had yet to fully resembled the passionate, tender man at night. Now they meshed, making her feel weak with longing for more. But he needed time, space, and she was finally ready to give that to him. She had released control of the situation. The rest was for him to decide.

Reluctantly she slipped away, leaving him standing with his head bowed over the parchment, the herbs, and the twice carved candle.

Author's Note: I wish I could keep my promises about updates, but I've proven I can't be trusted. Sorry. :( I will try to get the next chapter out asap. Only two chapters left.

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