"You sure you'll be okay?" Moira cornered me yesterday in anticipation of our return to Emei.

"Yes, of course." I stretched my mouth into what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"You and Malfoy -"

"It's fine, honestly. He was a complete git in school, but we work well together here."

She looked dissatisfied, but thankfully didn't press further.

I don't want to be asked if I'm okay.

Whatever not okay I am is mine.

I've guarded it like cursed treasure - poison-rusted precious metals, jewels flawed by spilled blood, yards of pearls wrapped snug around my neck.

Why should Moira (or Luna or Ron or Ginny or Harry) get to have it, to take it, to pick apart and judge?

It was only whim, wasn't it?

Just whim.

The choices I've kept vaulted all these years didn't fit - doesn't fit - with the rest of me that picked up and kept going after I was free. They were born of desperation that now makes me sick, but still turns me on, and makes me wish -

But none of that matters presently.

This trip is about particle 6174 or p.6174, the current working name for the element Moira and I found in the mist.

My colleagues were in a jovial mood as we gathered around the portal in my office. It's not difficult to join them in their enthusiasm. The thrill of discovery is what unites us after all.

Even Malfoy, who always looks so polished and impassive had a bit of nervous energy to him.

Fortunately, Ariel's ridiculous idea for us to pose as the "von Straplings" (how does she come up with these schemes?) was scraped in favor of a much simpler cover story of acting as a muggle tour group. We've been divided into two sub-groups: Malfoy and I in one, the others into another. It makes sense as Moira, Cornelius, and Ariel are far more equipped in their expertise to isolate and analyze p.6174 across dimensions.

Meanwhile, the two of us will use the algorithms we've written up in the last week or so to both streamline their analysis, and to mine a wealth of information on Emei's magical flora and fauna. Intellectually speaking, it's an unprecedented expedition.

In this way, I'm glad Alfred insisted on our collaboration. I'm not about to let a few dreams from twelve years ago affect my present day ambitions.

The portal deposits us deep in the woods near the peak of Emei. Brisk mountain air scented by ancient trees bathes my skin and chills my airway. Immediately, I feel my magic rouse and sharpen.

I exhale and the darkness that I had retreated to since Moira and I left the mountain feels like mere myopia. All of it - those excruciating nightmares, the guilty yearning for things that never really happened, and the bone-deep tired of reliving shouldn't-haves - fades into the distance, properly restored to past tense.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

There's no room for any of that in this sacred place among the mist. Power courses through me, laced potently between my every molecule.

I glance around, and it's clear that the other members of the team are also feeling the mountain's effects. Cornelius is looking down at his hands in wonder and whimsical Ariel has her face to the sky, eyes closed, sucking the mist deep into her lungs.

My gaze reaches for Moira's but her eyes are trained on Malfoy. He's ghostly white and his eyes are crinkled like he's about to be ill. His hands are trembling at his sides, clenched in white-knuckled fists.

"You alright mate?" she asks.

"Yeah. Portkeys don't agree with me."

"Ah," she says.

I keep my face expressionless, but I can already feel my newfound peace curling away like ash.

Even though we politely ignore the past in our working relationship, even though we've lived so much life that's had nothing to do with one another since, I still know him.

I know when he's lying.

I know he can tolerate portkeys just fine, and I've seen him look this way before - in the dungeons and then later, in our shared dreamscape.

He didn't want to discuss the why's even back then.

Despite his promise to return to my dreams after our first night as proper lovers, I spent the next several days and nights alone and listless in the dungeons. No one came to torture me. Snape didn't perform his regular legillimency visit. Even the guards who always stood outside my cell were absent.

I wondered if there was another being left in the manor save for the house elf, who remained dutifully mute as he conjured my meals and cast hygiene charms.

This turn of events had me wavering between alarm and hope. Perhaps there had been some new development in the war. Perhaps we had won. Perhaps all my captors were now dead.

But not him, I thought (reassured). He's nothing if not self-preserving.

Then, one morning, I opened my eyes from half-sleep and he was there, masked as usual, scarred neck bowed toward his chest, fists trembling at his side.

I scrambled up to a sitting position.

"Where have you been?"

I don't know why I expected him to respond. He never did - never so much as cocked his head at me - but his silence didn't stop my barrage of questions.

"Where have any of you been?

"Answer me! You've all been gone for days! What's happened out there?

"Are my friends alright?

"Are you alright?"

I could see his chest rise and fall in quickening breaths, but he didn't answer.

At least this he obeyed:

"You have to come back to me."

Author's note: The slow burn is real, isn't it? But we're getting there! Thank you to everyone who's still patiently following, and for your thoughtful reviews! Thank you especially to my amazing beta, PartyLines!

As always, I'm eager to know what you think!

xoxo,

bourbonrain