Title: Virtus et Iudicium

Author: Anjali Malfoy

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter or its characters.

A/N:

First of all, I'm sorry about the longer update – I'm back in college and I've been super busy. I promise to get this story done though. Promise.

Second of all, this is the penultimate chapter of this story. I'd take to say that it has been an absolute honor and pleasure to write a story that many of you have enjoyed. Yes, it has not been as successful as my other Dramione story Seeds of Seduction, but I think this has been written much better, and therefore,am proud of it. While we're on the vein of Seeds of Seduction, I am planning to rewrite it, because I love the plotline and I wrote it when I was a silly 16 year old, and want to improve it. But since I have class starting this Thursday, I doubt this will take place until December when I have a break, and very likely not until next summer.

Third of all, I was surprised to see how many people could relate to the tennis post! Man! Those reviews honestly excited the hell out of me! So being a crazy-ass fan, I had to respond to some of those reviews, but because of how long the responses ended up being, I put them at the end of the chapter:

Now on with the story….

Chapter XII: Iudicium

"Sententia est a acer knife ut cuts tersus quod rectus indecision a plumbeus unus ut hacks quod lacrima quod coma ragged ora secundum is." -- Decision is a sharp knife that cuts clean and straight; indecision, a dull one that hacks and tears and leaves ragged edges behind it.

Draco walked throughout the dark hallways of the dungeons, each step echoing in the empty hallways. His frame was hidden in the dark shadows. The flames in the candles that were attached into the chandeliers, which were suspended by chains to the curved ceiling, flickered, creating scary shadows on the stone walls.

Draco stared resolutely in front of him, paying no attention to the shadows or the completely empty halls. The magnitude of what he was about to do had not set in just yet. All he was focused on was each step towards Professor Snape's quarters. His grey eyes glittered with determination, each step exuding authority and purpose. He had no intention of turning back – he had come for business and questions and had no interest in leaving until he was satisfied.

He began to noticeably slow down as a pair of doors came into view at the end of the hall. To his displeasure, nervousness and anxiety began to pool in his stomach just as it had the last five times he had scraped enough courage come here.

But the last trip had been a week ago, and things had dramatically changed since then. He had become more resolved to become a spy for the Order, but he needed to talk to someone, and the only person he could trust was his Godfather. No one else. For all the bluntness and rudeness Snape exuded, Draco knew very well that he had a soft spot for him, and only him, and would give him sincere and blunt advice on what to do. It was Sunday, and he only had until this Friday night to decide just what he would do.

With or without Snape's alliance, at this point, he was almost sure he was going to betray his mother and father and forge a relationship with the Order as their spy. But he was on the fence right now, swaying to one side, and deep down he knew Snape could be the final gust of wind, which would push him to one side.

It was now or never. He stood in front of Snape's door, wringing his hands. He stretched out to grasp the handle but wrenched his hand back in. Breathing in deeply, he steadied himself, trying to shove aside the nervousness that was beginning to overtake him. He punched the wall next to him, relishing the feeling of pain as his knuckled collided with the jagged stone wall. This was getting ridiculous, absolutely preposterous. It was Snape he was coming to talk to for crying out loud. In the past seven years, he had walked this hall countless times to seek his advice. His godfather had never let him down then, and he knew he wouldn't let him down now.

But deep down, there was fear. Fear that he wouldn't get the answer and encouragement he wanted. If Snape told him he shouldn't become a spy for the Order, then…he was right back where he started. On the other hand, if he supported Draco's decision, then he was in good hands. But did he want to take that risk? It had taken him two weeks to decide he had in fact wanted to – the worst that could happen was him being where he was several weeks ago, unsure and tormented. But the best outcome? Peace. The potential benefits outweighed the probably downfalls and was the only reason he was standing here now in front of Snape's door.

Shaking his head in disgust at his behavior, he raised a slightly trembling hand and rapped on the door before his nerve left him. With bated breath, he waited, each ensuing second only serving to make him more and more apprehensive. Closing his eyes, he steadied himself, taking deep breaths to slow down his heart, which felt like it pounding against his chest so fast that it hurt.

With an unpleasant jolt, he realized it was now midnight and the chances of his godfather being asleep were rather high. He was about to turn heel and leave, not sure of whether to be relieved as that he no longer had to talk with him or angry that he had yet another sleepless night of stewing over this matter when he heard footsteps approaching. Realizing just how dumb he would look if he were to run away, he stood there firmly planting his feet down, and burying his hands in pockets, trying to achieve what would be an unassuming look like he always wore.

The door creaked open as Professor Snape stuck his head out, looking slightly annoyed though the look vanished when he saw Draco standing there.

"Draco," he said, rather surprised, "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I needed to talk to you," Draco said, surprised at how calm he sounded, "I didn't realize how late it had become. My business can wait until tomorrow if you're otherwise occupied. My apologies for disturbing you." He stood there with bated breath, still unsure of which response he wanted.

"Apology accepted," he said, opening the door wider, "Come in. I was merely perusing several articles."

Draco cautiously entered the room. Unlike the rest of the Slytherin quarters and the dungeons, Snape's quarters were surprisingly very comfortable. He shrugged off his cloak and gently hung the silk fabric on the hanger.

Snape coolly swept by Draco over to the fireplace. A pair of black leather armchairs was on either side of a plush sofa. The fire in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the dark brown jagged stonewalls. With a casual wave of his wand, the papers and books on the table and sofa neatly piled themselves on top of each other onto the table in front of the sofa. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed Draco still standing in the doorway, looking rather agitated and uncomfortable.

"Take a seat," he said gesturing haphazardly at the plush armchairs in front of the crackling fire." Why are you still standing there?"

"So what is this urgent matter that forced you to seek my advice so late?" Snape asked coolly as his godson took a seat across from him.

"Are you attending the Dark Lord's meeting this month?" Draco didn't know why he was starting out with this question – he wasn't entirely sure if the man sitting across from him, staring at him with beady eyes would turn him in to Voldemort if he knew he would become a spy. If there was one thing he had learned, in the world of Death Eaters, you could trust no one but yourself. The smallest sign of weakness was pounced on, like a shark sniffing out the scent of blood. Fear is their currency. Power is their game. Submission is their goal.

"Cut to the chase Draco. Do not waste my time. You do not genuinely expect me to believe that concern propelled you to come here at such a late hour, do you?" Snape said shrewdly, his eyes narrowing.

Draco swallowed nervously at his godfather's realization. He was at a loss – he wasn't sure exactly where or how to start. He opened his mouth unsure of what he was going to say but Snape beat him to it.

"Are you having second thought of serving the Lord?" he asked bluntly.

If Draco was surprised at his statement, he did an excellent job of not showing it. His face stayed impassive and his eyes blank. In fact the only sign letting him that he had indeed hit on something was Draco's sudden and small twitch.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Draco admitted, relieved for the smooth transition into what he had wanted to discuss, "though for reasons that may be difficult to understand and comprehend for you."

"Whether or not I understand these reason is left to be seen and that," paused Snape, as though to emphasize his next words, "can only be determined if you inform me."

"It is becoming impossible for me to condone what the Dark Lord has done and is presently doing. I can't find it in my heart and mind to follow him."

"How long have you harbored such feelings?" he asked, walking over to the small mini-bar and pouring himself a glass of firewhisky. "Care for a drink Draco?"

"Firewhisky, --about five or six weeks, give or take a week."

"I see," Snape commented lightly, handing Draco a small glass of the amber liquid, "Five to six weeks," he paused momentarily, seating himself back down, "Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that was approximately the time you began working with Miss Granger correct?"

Whatever response Draco had been waiting for, that was most certainly not it. He hastily covered his choke with a hacking cough, taking another sip of whisky as if to brush it off as though he had merely swallowed too much in one go.

"As a matter of fact it was, but I fail to see the relevance of Granger," he said coolly. He had no intention of bringing in Hermione just yet. Disobeying his parents and his supposed destiny for a girl was one thing in it of itself but to defy his "orders" because of a girl he had abhorred was a completely different matter.

Snape shot him a pointed and withering look. "Do I need to dignify that with a response?"

Draco downed the rest of the drink, relishing the fiery trail it burned down his throat before setting it down and leaning back against the sofa.

Snape set the entire glass vial of firewhisky in front of Draco giving him a knowing look. "Something tells me you'll be needing this."

"Thank you," he said begrudgingly, as he filled another glass. Snape was watching his expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

Sighing, Draco took a sip of his drink. "How did you know Granger was involved?" he asked, all but admitting that Hermione had in fact been responsible for his metamorphosis.

"That's not important. It's not necessary to know what she did. She finally managed to get under your skin didn't she?" Snape said, no hint of humor in his voice.

He wasn't angry or disappointed that Miss Granger had instilled in Draco a sense of empathy and humanity. And if he were right, - as he often was - it wouldn't be wrong for him to say that Miss Granger hadn't just showed him a different path, but had also attracted his attention.

"She did," Draco said simply though his voice was twisted with pain. He couldn't fight it – there just wasn't any point. No good could come out of it. "She did."

At the sound of pain in his godson's voice, he felt a sudden jolt of pity towards the boy sitting across from him. Because in that moment, he saw himself mirrored clearly in the lost and confused Slytherin.

He too had loved – loved someone with all his heart, soul, and mind, purely and genuinely. Lily Evans. He had tainted his love, blackened it and distorted it beyond repair when he formed an alliance with the Dark Lord. Every day was a reminder of her, of the reason he now worked for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Her son was the ultimate symbol of brutal realization of what could have been his had he not taken the wrong path.

But Draco had a chance; his soul, his love was not yet soiled by the dark and ugly deeds of a Death Eater. He had a choice, a choice between regret and lamentable decisions and his own desires and wishes. The punishment he had been dealt the last eighteen years of his life was for eternity like Sisyphus had been forced to roll the stone up the hill where it slipped back down forever. Like Sisyphus he had no other option, no second chances. He was cursed until his death, his knowledge that he himself had thrown away the most important person in his life was like a sharp thorn in his side, constantly pricking and slowly drawing blood from him. And he couldn't bear to see Draco follow in his steps – Draco had the answer, knew what he wanted, that much was clear to him, but there was enough uncertainty that it was holding him back.

But he had to make sure – be absolutely certain that he was indeed positive about Draco was hinting at. He as a member of the Order, a sworn spy for the Order of the Phoenix had a burden of not divulging his cover. Voldemort was a master of trickery, a born expert in silent and powerful control. He had seen the number of souls that had been tricked and coaxed to doing the Dark Lord's will. His powerful abilities sent a feeling of misplaced awe and fear through him for the majority of those souls did not know what they were doing. Even though this was his godson, he had a sworn duty to not discriminate, not unless he was damn sure that the Slytherin in front of him was for real.

Draco started in shock and surprise as a look of pure disgust and anger crossed Snape's face. It was only now that he realized exactly what the Gryffindors had to deal with only a daily basis. Exactly why was he giving him that look?

"What kind of a man are you?" Snape sneered, staring at Draco, "A woman? You're doubting the Dark Lord for a woman?"

Draco simply sat there stunned, not sure exactly why or how his godfather's behavior had suddenly changed. But this confusion was only momentary as Snape kept berating him mercilessly.

"Is this what you're father raised you to become? Love is for the weak, for the submissive, for the pathetic souls who have no willpower or strength," Snape hissed. Internally he winced, as he saw the twinge of shock coupled with pain flash like lightening across his godson's face.

At the sheer power and venom in his godfather's words, rage and humiliation like he had never felt before began building up. He could feel his ears turning red, his face flushing from suppressed emotions- rage at Snape's words and slight insinuations at his supposed weakness, and utter humiliation at himself for so easily baring his heart and emotions.

But Snape wasn't finished, the insults and words leaving his mouth like a leather whip lashing his exposed and uncovered back, the hatred and disgust in his voice leaving raw, red stripes as a memento from his words. Every word was like a salve, coating the already-smarting wounds, making the pain sink deeper and deeper, penetrating his body, mind, and soul.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that my own godson comes to be a coward. My own godson - a coward! I am ashamed to think that I had thought of you as a godson."

That was the last straw. "SHUT UP," Draco yelled, suddenly standing up and throwing his glass down on the hearth, where it shattered into small shards of delicate crystals. The fire glinted off the glass, highlighting the jagged sharp edges of the shards. Snape now stood their silent, silently realizing he had finally managed to shove Draco over the edge. " JUST SHUT UP. I love her ok? I LOVE HER, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. "Nothing," he repeated, his chest heaving, hurting from the emotion that was aching to come out, but caged inside. His chest and heart were hurting, as though someone had placed a heavy weight on it, making it impossible for him to breathe. His breath was coming out in short gasps, his eyes staring defiantly in Snape's as if daring him to mock him any further.

"You have the audacity to call me a coward?" Draco seethed, not caring that this was his godfather to whom he was speaking to so disrespectfully, "You have got it backwards. I am not the coward. You are the coward –"

"Do not ever call me coward," Snape yelled his voice completely drowning out Draco's angry voice, "Sit down boy. Sit down!" He roughly shoved Draco down on the sofa before seating himself on the chair. His black eyes flashed angrily, the light from the fireplace glinting ominously on the orbs of crushed onyx, intertwining with jagged and dangerous silver.

He had gotten his answer – he could see it in his godson' defiant and gleaming eyes, in the way he clenched his fists, in his posture. Draco Malfoy, his godson had somehow fallen in love with Miss Granger. There was no act, no pretense here, Draco had just bared his heart for him to see and nothing but true emotion could produce the look Draco was giving him now -- smoldering, angry gray eyes stared into cold black orbs. But what stood out to him the most was the fact that Draco could not and did not know that he in fact was a spy – for all he knew, there was a chance he would have told Voldemort of his love for a Muggleborn and wavering loyalties. But he had risked it, risked it all for her, and his bravery and risk spoke volumes.

"Tell me something Draco; prove to me you're not a coward. Will you be able to forgive yourself if you see her lying there motionless and lifeless in the morgue? Will you be able to live with yourself, with the guilt knowing that you could have prevented her death? Will you be strong enough to bear the knowledge that you lost the one thing you have loved more than anything else? Can you live the rest of your life knowing all those truths? Are you strong enough?"

Draco sat on the sofa, motionless and stunned at the passion and anger in the words that had just left his godfather's mouth. He stared at him in bewilderment, as though he were seeing this man for the first time, in a new light. He swallowed hard, knowing the answer to those questions but unable to say it.

"No," said Snape, the corners of his lips turning upward in a twisted smile, "No Draco. You're not strong enough."

Draco closed his eyes as the full impact of his godfather's words hit him, crashing on him like a wall of solid bricks falling to the ground in a heap, denting the cement irreparably. Only Snape could find words, which had the ability and strength to pierce him so deeply, but how could he have described the outcome in such vivid detail, the emotion so raw and heartfelt? And then it hit him. The implications of his hunch splintered in his mind, and slammed into his gut so strongly, he felt as though he had lost all his energy.

"You chose Voldemort over a girl you fancied didn't you?" Draco asked in what could be described as a mixture of awe and wonder.

Draco started as a look of pain flashed through Snape's eyes though it vanished in the blink of an eye. In that moment, Draco knew, he was certain that his godfather had gone through the same thing that he was enduring right now. And that realization lit a fire in his stomach, sending a feeling of warmth and compassion to the man sitting rigidly in front of him.

"It's late. You found your answer," Snape said dismissively, standing up sharply and turning his back to Draco before walking over to the fireplace.

He knew that tone of voice – sharp like the edge of a knife yet blunt with force. Draco knew he had hit a nerve when he had brought up this girl, whomever she may be, forcing Snape to feel emotions Draco knew he had suppressed and forced into a small corner of his heart. His question had opened the lock on that chest and he felt a small pang of regret at the storm of emotions he knew his godfather must be experiencing. But if anything, seeing Snape's reaction, made him realize just what he would turn into if he followed in his footsteps – broken, miserable, but even worse regretful. Regret was a parasite, a leech that thrives on pain and misery, lying in wait like a cunning animal for any sign of self-hatred.

He stood up slowly and walked towards the door, slowly unfastening the silk fabric from the hanger and draping it elegantly over his shoulders.

"What happened to her?" he asked softly before he could help himself, the curiosity getting the better of him.

"She's dead." Snape's voice was short and tight. Draco looked sharply up at him in horror. His godfather was still facing the fire, his back towards him.

"I'm sorry." He didn't know what more he could say. What could he say? He had barely recovered from the fact that this strict and harsh man had loved a woman and now he just realized he had gone through what he himself was enduring now. His regret turned to pity as it finally began to sink in how much it must have hurt him to lose the woman he had loved.

"Good night Draco."

"Good night," he said, recognizing from his curt and firm voice that he needed to leave. Turning around and opening the door, he paused for a brief second in the doorway, before pausing one last time. "Thank you."

Draco tore through the halls, his cloak billowing behind him. The walls rushed passed him as he swept past, his feet carrying him effortlessly and swiftly to the place where he would forge his new destiny. He finally knew what he wanted to do; he finally knew what his decision would be.

He came to an abrupt stop, nearly falling forward from the sudden stop, the momentum nearly making him fall over heels. He looked at the steel gargoyle – the only barrier that stood between him and freedom. He knew behind this ugly object was a spiraling staircase, the last obstacle to a new life. It was past one in the morning, but he was wide-awake from his talk with Snape. Adrenaline and energy were coursing through his veins like water swiftly and effortlessly moving down a river, overcoming any thorn in its journey. He could wait all night if he had to - nothing could stop him from what he was about to do. Nothing.

But what would Dumbledore put as his password? Scratching his head nervously, he wracked his brain, trying to think of anything Dumbledore had said which would shed some light on what the password could be.

"Err…Unity?" he said unconvincingly, remembering the theory the Headmaster had stressed in the welcoming speech. No movement from the gargoyle. Bullocks.

He wouldn't get anywhere randomly guessing. He might as well try and break down the gargoyle physically – he had a better chance of that than idly guessing. Propping a foot down on the knee of the statue, he pursed his lips….unity…people forgetting prejudices…becoming one with another…a new state is born from the ashes….

Ashes. Born again.

Suddenly it clicked. It couldn't be anything else. And somehow it ironically fit exactly why he was making this late night visit to the Headmaster.

"Phoenix." The animal, the bird symbolizing the death of an old regime, animal, person, thought process, to yield a new species, one of no knowledge and scars from the previous existence. It was undeniable that he would bear the deep cuts from his previous lifestyle, but like the phoenix, he would be bursting into a ball of flames, and allowing a new person to come forth. And like the newborn phoenix, there was no way he could go back to his previous life if he took that risk.

At that thought, determination and a sense of belonging and purpose ran through his veins, spreading like poison through every vessel and cell, until it hit his heart, filling him with hope and love. Bodly, he stepped on the first step, staring resolutely in front of him as the stairway began spinning, and before he knew it, his silver eyes were staring at Dumbledore door.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door, and hesitantly stepped in, fully prepared to wait here until the wee hours of the moment when the Headmaster would be present.

The portraits were asleep. Not even his cat-like steps woke them up – Draco found their inhales and exhales strangely relaxing and peaceful. As he had expected, Dumbledore was not there, though his leather armchair stood behind the desk, proudly in the moonlight that was shining in the surprisingly clear and jet-black sky and into the room. And the phoenix was sitting silent on its perch, the vibrant and bold crimson and yellow color a direct contrast to the silvers, blacks, and browns of the tables, picture frames, and chairs. Still unable to sleep, Draco looked around, marveling at the bookshelves with lines the walls, each shelf lines with books of different thicknesses and colors, of genres and authors. Overwhelmed by the sheer power and character this room exuded, he merely plucked a book about the origin of Latin names for various stars in the universe – this would be useful for Astronomy.

Interesting.

He had just become engrossed in the etymology of the star of interest that he failed to notice someone glide into the room, until the shadow fell across the desk, obscuring the moonlight falling onto his book.

"Professor Dumbledore," Draco said slightly startled, closing his book and rising from his chair, "I didn't expect your arrival until this morning. Please forgive my intrusion."

"No need to apologize my boy. Please, sit down." Sitting down into his own armchair, he fixed Draco with his twinkling yet piercing stare. "I was expecting you."

Draco raised an eyebrow at those words. "Expecting me?"

"That is right my boy. Unless I'm wrong I know why you're here," Dumbledore continued, the twinkle now gone from his voice.

"I fail to see how news of my visit reached you," he said, his mind straying to rather disturbing ideas as to how Dumbledore could have known.

"Professor Snape alerted me by Floo that you would visit."

"Professor Snape? I, in no way, led him to believe I would be paying you a visit this morning."

"I know," he said simply, his eyes smiling over the half-moon glasses. "I know what I am about to ask of you will be difficult, but I must hear it from your own words."

"Professor Snape informed you of the activities that had taken place only an hour ago?" Why would his godfather – a supposed Death Eater – tell Dumbledore of his impending actions? If there was anyone he should tell, it would be his father and Voldemort. That would mean…..

"Professor Snape is a spy for the Order." He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it earlier. Everything his godfather had put him through fell into place – why Snape had said those brutal words – he was trying to goad him. Like a good spy, he was making sure Draco was in fact serious about becoming a spy for the Order, before divulging or in this case, hinting that he in fact was not a Death Eater, but a member of the Order.

"Yes. Now if you please, tell me what happened, my boy."

"I would like to follow in my godfather's steps and become a spy for the Order." Dumbledore could hear the conviction and determination in the Slytherin's voice. He had been aware for weeks now, of the internal struggle the boy was facing, of the love he and the Gryffindor girl shared, but had chosen to involve himself, choosing instead for the two of them to make their own decisions. And as he heard the decision the younger Malfoy had made and saw his resolve, he found himself oddly close to tears coupled with a surge of hope. And he knew, understood just how powerful his best spy's story and own blackened and wretched destiny had been due to his neglect of his own love on the young Slytherin.

"You do understand what you are getting yourself into?"

"Yes, I do," Draco said with the same steely resolve. "I promise to serve the Order to the best of my ability. It is my final decision."

"Very well, then, my boy, that is enough for tonight. Get some rest."

"That's it?" Draco said, completely unnerved and surprised by the ease in which the Headmaster had accepted his words. "You believe my words so easily."

"I know who and who can not be trusted," his Headmaster said, smiling once over his glasses.

"That's not good enough," Draco said loudly, "If it isn't too much trouble, I would like for you to give me to Veritaserum, so that my statements can be verified."

"My boy, there is no need –"

"With all due respect Headmaster, there is," interrupted Draco. "You trust me, Professor Snape trusts my intentions, but the rest of the Order will question your judgment and my loyalty. I cannot be forced to repeatedly prove my loyalty to the Order. By giving me Veritaserum, there will be tangible proof and the Order's insecurities will be put at rest."

"I do like the idea of forcing you to prove your allegiance to the Order," Dumbledore said, a little sternly.

"I understand that Professor, and I respect your wishes," Draco said, feeling that he was close to convincing the Headmaster to give him the Truth potion, "But it will be for the best for me, you, and the Order. It is not an insult to me – in all honestly, their reaction will be warranted, judging from my family's history. They are also entitled to know that the loyalty and intentions of a new member are established. Please, sir," he pushed, as he saw his Professor start to waver just slightly. "Please allow this exception."

"Alright my boy, alright," Dumbledore said, quietly impressed with the courage the Slytherin was displaying, " I will send for Professor Snape– he will arrange for you to have a meeting with us later today."

"Thank you Professor." Draco stood up, feeling as though the weight of the worlds had just been lifted from his shoulders. He hadn't realized until now just how much stress this had been causing. He nearly collapsed from the sheer relief of ridding it. "Until tomorrow."

With that, he turned around and exited the room, leaving behind a touched and hopeful man.


PLEASE REVIEW

Until Next Time,

AM

Review Responses:

Fleur137: Aw hey love, finally someone understands. Yeah I couldn't believe it either – he should have won. Ah Marat Safin, love him – though he beat Federer in the 2005 Aussie Open semis, haha. Nah, I'mma miss him since he's retiring this year – what a pity and he's so entertaining and such a sweetheart, not to mention downright sexy. And Myskina! What's happened to her? Won her French Open title and now I don't even see her anymore! I'm glad you like this story – part of Draco's little heartbreaking was due to my sadness when he lost, haha. But I'm over it now – the boy has 15 and he isn't stopping, and hey, 2009 season belonged to Federer just like 2004, 2005, 2006, and 2007 did, especially 2005 and 2006.

Aastha Panit: Hey, yesh Federer was a little disappointing in the final – he's usually so amazing when he needs to close out points, that's when his best comes. He should have won the second set, he was up 5-4, 30-0 and his serve just let him down. Happened in the Australian Open against Nadal too, after he was up a break in the first set, but Nadal is brilliant, and he deserves all the wins that he gets. But yeah, I mean Federer had a fantastic year, it always seems as though every season he has, there is something that just stands out, and 2009 is definitely going to go down as one of the best ever. He has his five titles, and I bet he'll win Basel and probably another one or two, so he'll end with a good six or seven titles this year. And like you said, I bet once he adjusts with his twins more, he'll definitely win another couple majors, if not at least one per year, and like he said, one slam a year is a good year!

Freewords: like I told you earlier, I know man, both defending champions out. It's pretty funny though, none of the defending champions this year defended their titles. Sharapova and Djokovic ousted in Australia, Nadal and Ivanovic thrown out in the French, then Nadal and Venus out in Wimbledon, and then Federer and Serena defeated, but at least they lost in the super late stages of the grand slams. Much better than the first or second round, haha. It's a pity loving the best, he's never going to be able to replicate his 92-5 and 10-title seasons, and it just makes it harder to watch him lose. Though, it just made his victory at the French Open this year, just so much sweeter and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Yeah, I'm too obsessed and insanely into this.

Gossipgirlandthsotphan: Okay, we're going to have problems since you're a del potro fan – nah, I kid. Potro got CRUSHED by Federer at the quarters in Australia and then the narrowly lost in the semis at the French, so I guess he needed one win against the maestro. Though I'm still sore enough that I haven't watched the presentation ceremony yet though I am a little tempted. (ok I gave in and just saw it, wasn't that bad, haha) Guess Federer couldn't beat Potro at three majors this year like he beat Soderling in three. He played well, and he deserved it, I just think Federer served so horribly, and let it get away from him. But all credit to del Potro, he's a great guy on top of how good a player he is, so you can't even hate him. Nadal is amazing - to me, he's the only threat who can possibly overtake Federer's 15 Grand Slam titles, but he's at 6 now, so he'd have to amp it up in the next several years to overtake it. But man, with Murray and Djokovic and now del Potro coming up, and hell Federer still looks damn good and will probably will win a couple more, it feels like it's going to be hard to get to 15. But it's exciting for men's tennis. Still can't believe Del Potro is only the second guy to break the monopoly of those two since the 2005 French Open! Poor Nadal though, gotta feel for him, that he couldn't defend his Wimbledon crown, though Federer reaching 15 made my day.