You look down at the parchment in your hands, then back at the dilapidated building in front of you. The numbers match. This is the place. And a more unlikely setting for a casual conversation, you can't imagine. You have to walk several flights of stairs to reach the top flat. You knock tentatively on the stripped-paint door, but it swings open at your touch. In spite of the sun shining behind you, the room within is shrouded in darkness.

The thought of what Felix would say if he knew where you were and what you were about to do stops you before you enter. Felix, so all-consumed with your safety he thinks of almost nothing else. To walk into such an obvious trap after everything he's done for you feels like a betrayal of the highest order. But the darkness ahead doesn't frighten you nearly as much as the dark gaps in your memories. You're convinced now something is wrong, something is missing from your mind, and you cannot shake the feeling that Talbott Winger will be able to shed light on it.

And if it turns out to be a trap, well, it's been a long time since you had a decent duel.

You light your wand and push past the creaking door. It's a studio loft flat, the entirety of which could fit inside the Rosier mansion's second-best dining room. Your light arcs across the walls, scanning the dark for potential dangers. There's a worn but comfortable-looking sofa, soft curtains fluttering gently over the windows, and cheerily painted picture frames decorating the peeling walls. It might have been quite homey once, you think. Only now nearly everything is coated in a thick layer of dust and debris. A table near the kitchen alcove is piled high with used dishes and old fish-and-chip wrappers. You wrinkle your nose at the smell of stale food. There's a noticeable absence of animals or insect life, however, and you wonder whether the flat is entirely abandoned after all.

Movement at the corner of your vision makes you jump. You look up, wand gripped tightly. A wavy pattern of light dances across the wall behind the table. A strange, flickering light, like the reflection of water. You step closer, searching for the source, when a picture hanging at an angle captures your attention.

Even beneath the layers of dust, you recognise the yellow-gold eyes of Talbott Winger. A teenaged Talbott Winger, standing awkwardly at the edge of a group of young people wearing Hogwarts robes. As you stare, one of the other teenagers grabs Talbott's hand, dragging him closer. The students all smile and wave toward the camera, and Talbott's friend leans over to kiss his cheek. Several of the students cheer and Talbott's face turns a fiery red, but he smiles in spite of himself and doesn't pull away.

You inspect Talbott's cheeky companion with interest. You squint at the face, trying to make it out beneath the dust and dirt. Something about them is painfully familiar. The figure turns to face the camera again, and shock like a thunderbolt roots you to the spot.

"Y/N."

You whip around to find Talbott lurking near the door watching you. His wand is held at his side, but it doesn't occur to you to be afraid. Your head is reeling at the photograph's implications.

"What is this?" You gesture at the picture.

Talbott does not reply. He's once again the self that seems most natural on him, brooding and silent.

"Why am I in this photo? Why am I -" You glance back at the picture to confirm what your mind is struggling to accept. You - a teenaged you, dressed in school robes - leaning in to kiss Talbott's cheek as you wave to the camera.

"Were we... together? At school?

Talbott is still unwilling, or unable, to answer. He takes a few wooden steps toward you. You gather your wits enough to point your wand at his chest.

"Stop!" you demand. You rake your free hand across your scalp, grappling for an explanation. "This is...some sort of trick, isn't it? You're trying to get information from me. About Felix."

Talbott only shakes his head. His eyes look almost as panicked as you feel.

"Then why can't I remember you? Why can't I remember any of this? Why doesn't anything make sense?"

"Your husband," Talbott pronounces the word with disgust, "is lying to you."

Your heart skips a beat.

"That's...quite an accusation." The tremor in your voice belies your arch words. A light has clicked on in your head, but you don't want to look at it.

It makes sense. It's almost the only thing that makes sense. Felix's refusal to answer questions, to explain anything to you, to let you go anywhere... You've always known he was hiding something. You simply trusted him enough to let it go, at least for the time being. But lying? You picture your husband's adoring eyes and careful hands cupping your face. It's impossible to imagine Felix doing anything to hurt you.

"Alright then. What is he lying about?"

"Everything."

Talbott takes a tentative step, eyes asking yours for permission. You hesitate. Then you lower your wand. You hold your breath as he walks, but Talbott stops on the other side of the table. He pushes aside greasy newspaper wrappings to reveal a stone basin underneath.

"A Pensieve?"

You've seen one just like it in Dumbledore's office. You wonder if it isn't the same one, it looks so similar. What is it doing here?

"I don't know what he's done to you, but I think it's a powerful memory charm," says Talbott. He takes a small vial from his pocket and empties it into the Pensieve. "So you're not going to believe me if I tell you. But I think if I show you...you might remember."

The contents of the basin begin to swirl. Talbott takes a step back and stares at you pointedly. You understand what he wants you to do. But it's madness to put yourself in such a vulnerable position with this man you cannot remember. You shouldn't even be considering it.

You stare at the swirling basin. It's filled to the brim with memories. And memories are everything you've been missing for so long. You approach the Pensieve, and, without letting yourself think anymore, plunge your face inside.

Tendrils of liquid mist writhe about you as you sink in a swirl of light and colour. Fragments of memory play out quickly in front of your floating body: you see yourself, a ridiculously young you, watching in awe as a gawky yellow-eyed boy becomes a bird in the middle of the Hogwarts courtyard; then a version of yourself only slightly older peers anxiously through a gap in a bookcase, hands fiddling with your hair, until the young Talbott on the other side whispers, "My answer is yes," and you watch your own face light up in unrestrained joy.

Another swirl of mist turns the room into starlit sky, and the teenage you and Talbott are perched on the edge of the courtyard fountain. Talbott's hand inches across the stone toward yours. You meet him halfway, grinning furtively, your fingers just brushing his before Talbott grips them tightly, as though you might run away at any second. Then the courtyard morphs into a greenhouse, stars still winking overhead, and you're holding hands with Talbott across a table. The teenage you holds her breath, and you can feel your own present-day chest suddenly still, as Talbott leans over and places tentative lips on your cheek.

You reach up to touch your own, older cheek as if the imprint might still be there. Then your fingers brush your lips. There's a burning there, as well, and you suddenly know where the next memory will be just before the swirling mist subsides.

The owlrey, at sunset. You and Talbott sit cross-legged on the straw, books spread out between you. You're supposed to be studying, you remember, but you can't keep your eyes off the boy next to you. He's staring at his book with all the appearance of unflappable focus. Then he darts a glance at you from the corner of his eye. The younger you smiles. In a rush of boldness you can feel as well as see, the younger you presses your lips to Talbott's in the whisper of a kiss.

Echos of exhilaration, and a sudden horrible fear that you've gone too far, rush through your veins as if the moment were happening to you again. Then Talbott reaches for your teenage self, yanking you closer, his mouth open in a desperate, un-practiced, entirely un-self-conscious kiss. Your first kiss.

You remember it now. You close your eyes, but the scene continues to play behind your eyelids. Your awkward teenage fumbling with lips and teeth and tongue, interspersed with giggles and later with breathy sighs. That kiss had meant everything to you. It had lulled you to sleep at night for so many years. It was the memory that inspired your patronus. How could you have forgotten it?

You open your eyes again. Images continue to flash in quick succession and your dizzy brain tries desperately to keep up. There's you and Talbott in the library passing notes to each other between the bookcases; laying out on the grass with Talbott, your fingers intertwined, watching the stars and sharing secrets; stolen moments with Talbott in the owlrey, discovering each other's bodies slowly and sweetly; Talbott cradling you against him at Rowan's funeral, ignoring the whispers and raised eyebrows of the students around you; Talbott's burning face and pleased smile as you kiss his cheek for your graduation photograph.

Each moment ignites a flame of recognition inside you. You try to remember everything all at once, itemize every moment you've somehow forgotten. But your head feels like it's breaking under the barrage of memories.

Then the mists converge and settle into a scene more still and focused than the others. A slightly older Talbott stands stiffly in the middle of an empty studio flat. You recognise it as the flat you've left your body in. Only it's less dusty and dirty, and there's sunlight streaming through open, curtain-less windows.

You look around for your younger self, but Talbott is alone. These must be Talbott's memories then, not yours. He's rubbing the back of his neck so hard he might wear the skin away, and shooting panicked looks around the empty room. His yellow-gold eyes dart to a window. You can tell he's fighting the urge to take flight. Then the door to the flat swings open noisily. It slams against the wall and a rain of plaster sprinkles to the floor.

"Whoops!" you hear your own voice say. A you, slightly older than the graduation photo and with different hair, staggers into the flat. There's a tower of boxes balanced in your arms. "Guess we'll need to fix that."

You flash a grin at Talbott, but it fades when you catch sight of his expression.

"What's wrong?"

Talbott says nothing. He figdets with the pocket of his trousers and doesn't meet your eye.

Carefully, you tip your boxes to the floor. You take slow, deliberate steps toward Talbott, as if approaching an extra skittish bowtruckle.

"You don't...I mean...you've not changed your mind, have you?"

If anything, Talbott looks more anxious than before. He shakes his head so violently hair swings about his face. He stares at you, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a baby bird. Your younger self considers this for a moment. Then you take a deep breath and say, "Okay. Hold on."

Pointing your wand at the boxes, your younger self murmurs, "Windgardium Leviosa", levitating them carefully to the middle of the room. The boxes settle into even columns until they form a wall about waist height. You dig through the top box and come up with parchment and quill. Then you slide down one side of the cardboard wall. Your hand sneaks around to pat the space on the other side.

The present-day you smiles as you watch Talbott take the proffered seat. You know what this is. It's the ritual the two of you invented at school, whenever Talbott's anxiety robbed him of speech. What others often mistook for haughty silence, you discovered was really Talbott trapped in his own head, too overwhelmed to explain his thoughts aloud. So you wrote him notes. You left them in the owlery, or his schoolbooks, or slid them between bookshelves in the library to where he waited on the other side. You let him write, at his own pace, everything that was on his mind, until the panic subsided and he could speak again.

As you watch, your younger self scribbles a single word on the parchment, then slides it back to Talbott. You don't have to look to remember what it says.

Hey

Hey yourself, Talbott writes, sliding the parchment back.

You don't seem excited about moving day. Is it the flat? I know it's rubbish, but I can fix a good bit of that.

Talbott grimaces before writing in his careful hand: I don't mind about the flat. It's ours. It's perfect.

So why the long face?

This time, it takes Talbott minutes before he's able to pen the words, I'm afraid, and push the parchment toward you.

Of what?

Talbott's hand-writing is now a hasty scrawl. What if some dark wizard I'm tracking comes looking for me and finds you instead? What if I'm not here to help you?

Your younger self grins. Talbott, I outduel you every time. I'm more worried about you going to work without me.

The corner of Talbott's lips twitch before his face clouds again. What if you change your mind later?

I won't.

The next words come slow and shaky. Talbott presses the quill so hard to the parchment ink bleeds through. When he's finished, Talbott tosses the parchment aside. You have to stretch your arm around the boxes to reach it.

I don't want to lose you.

And you remember without having to look the little pinpricks of tears in yours eyes as you read this. You set the parchment down and crawl around the boxes to Talbott's side. You settle yourself across Talbott's lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your forehead to his.

"You aren't going to lose me. I promise."

Then Talbott's hands are everywhere at once: roaming through your hair, down your arms, across every bit of your body he can reach. His mouth takes yours like a drowning man fighting for air. Even now, so many years later, you can feel your heart stop with the force of that kiss. There's nothing gentle or careful about his clutching fingers or his hungry lips. It's a primal, animal sort of need that makes you gasp and tremble and wrap your legs around him.

Talbott pulls you harder against him, as close as you can possibly be, but it isn't close enough. It never is. Not after you've removed every layer of clothing separating you, nor when he pins you to the ground, your frantic movements testing the integrity of the floorboards. You always need more of him. It's why you can make a promise like that with such certainty.

What on earth could have induced you to break it? What could possibly have made you forget this moment?

The memory melts into mist again, and when it reforms you see a different face smiling at a version of you not much younger than you are now. A face with rich brown eyes, and a superior smirk you know by heart.

"Rosier, this is a surprise!"

Your exclamation echoes into Flourish and Blotts where Talbott, examining a book, looks up sharply.

"Indeed. It's been a long time, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you again."

Felix takes your hand and offers it a kiss, accented by a mock bow. He winks, and you laugh at the little display.

The scene shifts again, and now you're watching yourself and Felix chat across a table at an outdoor cafe. Only you're watching from the rooftop of a building a block away. You wonder why, until you spot a great eagle next to you, piercing yellow-gold eyes fixed on the you down below. You squint in the same direction, wondering if you can get closer. Except, as you take in the cafe's coloured awning, you realise you know this memory already. You've thought of it before: catching up with Felix for the first time after you graduated.

You can see Felix's lips move, but the words are muffled. Talbott must have been too far away to hear anything clearly. Felix reaches across the table to stroke the back of your hand. You remember the way the casual flirtation made you shiver. He says something Talbott can't hear, but you remember the words exactly.

"Perhaps I could take you to dinner sometime. I'd love to hear more. I've...quite missed you, Y/N."

And your own reply as you pull your hand gently away. "That...sounds lovely, Rosier. Felix. But I'm afraid I am seeing someone already."

You offer an apologetic smile which Felix accepts with grace.

"Of course. Maybe, as friends then? If you're comfortable?"

But Talbott can't hear this exchange. He can only see your eager nod and the brief embrace you and Felix share before parting.

"We were just friends," you whisper to the eagle, but of course, he can't hear that either. He takes off from the building in rapid flight, wings beating the air violently. And the memory congeals into mist once more.

Scenes continue to play before your eyes. You watch time pass in snatches of moments, but you take in very little of what's happening. Because something has clicked in your brain, and your mind is finally supplying forgotten memories of its own. Talbott, wandering the flat you share, taciturn and brooding. Nothing you do or say can cheer him. Your questions go unanswered, your notes ignored. You remember your growing frustration and concern with your distant partner. His change toward you hurt. You can still feel the ache, like a bruise against your chest. It was as if all the years you had spent carefully building trust with him had never happened. You couldn't understand it.

But with Talbott's memories to fill in the gaps, everything makes sense.

You never mentioned your lunch with Felix to Talbott, nor any of the meetings that followed. You knew Felix's Death Eater family would have made any friendship between him and Talbott impossible. So you kept it hidden. You thought. Guilt sours your stomach until you're afraid you might be sick. What must Talbott have thought of you?

The sound of your own voice raised in frustration snaps you back to the scene in front of you.

"You have to talk to me!" you cry, fingers fisting in your own hair. "I have been so patient, Talbott, but I can't drag words from you all the time. You have to help me! You have to tell me what's going on in your head. If you don't love me anymore, then just say so! Anything is better than this."

"Of course, I love you," Talbott mumbles. He's edging toward the window, retreating from the fight. Usually, this would make you stop and think through your actions carefully. The last thing you ever want to do is scare Talbott away. But this time, angry agitation courses through you. You can still feel the echo of it bubbling in your veins, keeping your better judgment at bay.

"Then why? Why would it be so awful to be married? We've lived together for years, I don't understand why it's so different."

Talbott's yellow-gold eyes plead with you to hear what he cannot say. You understand now the fears he could not put into words. But your younger self only waits impatiently, arms crossed, while Talbott shakes his head.

"We just...can't."

The memory shifts again, and you're watching yourself from a great height. Rain pelts from the sky in angry bullets. They seem to pass right through your strangely floating body, but they run heavily off the wings of the eagle next to you: Talbott, gliding soundlessly above your younger self, as you sprint across the Rosier estate to the manor house. You rap hard on the front door. It takes only a moment for it to open and a surprised looking Felix to allow you to dart inside.

Talbott circles the manor several times, you floating along beside him, before he catches sight of light and movement in a ground floor window. He dives, and you dive with him. You know you can't actually be hurt in someone else's memory, but still you squeeze your eyes shut as the ground hurtles toward you. You don't reopen them until you hear the scrabbling of talons against ground. Talbott settles himself in the shadows beside a window looking down onto the butcher's table in the kitchen you know so well. The two of you watch as Felix pours you a cup of tea, and your younger self pours out your heart.

This time you can hear words between your sobs: almost incoherent confessions of how worried you are about your partner and how confused you feel about your relationship. Which means Talbott must be able to hear them too. He must also hear Felix when he finally speaks into the silence that lingers in the wake of your rambling.

"Y/N, do you think...if you hadn't met him, hadn't dated him at school...would you have considered...me...when I asked you? As something more than a friend?"

Your younger face scrunches up in confusion. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, I confess, I did fancy you a bit in my first year. Or, did you know that already? I wasn't much good at hiding it."

Felix's face turns bright red.

"I did not," he replies carefully. He tries to hide his blush behind his tea cup, but you see it and giggle around wet hiccoughs.

"There's a face I don't see often."

Felix grins sheepishly. "Then, I suppose I ought to confess that I...I quite fancied you as well."

Your younger self nearly chokes on a sip of tea. "What, when I was 11?"

"No, I mean...for the last few years. Now, in fact."

You stop laughing, and Felix continues hastily.

"I know this might not be the best time to say it, but...it seems like there never is a best time. I've waited for years. I didn't want to - I mean - I wanted to wait until you weren't with him anymore, but Merlin knows when that will be. It doesn't seem like anything he does will induce you to leave him. But he doesn't appreciate you, surely you can see that now? How could any man be so cold to you? Make you worry like this? Make you wait?"

"So...this whole time..." your younger self says in growing agitation, rising from the chair. "We weren't really friends? You were just...waiting for me to break up?"

"Of course not. I mean, of course we were friends. Are friends," Felix says, standing quickly. "I - I misspoke. I just thought...maybe it would help you to know...you have other options." He runs a hand through his hair. "This was the wrong time."

"Yes, it was."

"I apologise," says Felix quietly. He looks so unhappy you wonder how your younger self can stand to be so cold to him. It's hard to remember a time when Felix, carefree and smiling, wasn't at the forefront of your desires. But, as you watch your younger self flee the house, you know that in spite of everything Felix had to offer, you had only ever been in love with one person.

"Talbott!"

The memory blurs into another, and your younger self is startled to see Talbott waiting for you in the street outside your flat. It's still pouring, and both of you are soaked to the skin. But Talbott is babbling, something you've never seen him do, and you're too shocked to suggest adjourning somewhere dry.

'I'm sorry," he says, taking your hands and clenching them between his own. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm - I can't say the things I mean. Even when I need to, when it's most important. But I do mean them. I mean... I love you."

"I love you, too," you're quick to assure him.

Talbott shakes his head, water flicking from the ends of his sopping hair. "I've never understood that. It didn't seem real, and... I think I've just been waiting all these years to lose you somehow. But I don't want to lose you. And I certainly don't want to be the reason why I lose you."

Your jaw goes slack. You know you ought to say something in response, but shock has frozen your tongue. This might be the most emotion Talbott has ever confessed at one time. He takes your stunned face in his hands. "What I'm saying is... I mean, I'm asking if you'll marry me."

A little bubble of joy grows in your chest. A bubble you force yourself to pop.

"Talbott, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just...I love you, so much. And the way you've been recently... I know you're hurting and I don't know why or how to help and it hurts me too, but... you're never going to lose me. We don't have to be married for that to be true. I'm yours, I'm always yours. I promise."

Talbott presses his mouth to yours in a crushing, breathless kiss. His lips know a language that communicates feeling better than his words ever can. You inhale his need for you and return it in kind. The rain dripping into your nose forces you to part for air.

"Please marry me," he whispers into your hair. "I want to. I want you. I want...us."

You can feel the joyous bubble expand within you, pushing everything else aside. Until there's no room for confusion or sadness or fear.

"Do you really mean that?"

Talbott can only nod, his words exhausted. But you see the answer in the spark of his yellow-gold eyes.

"Then, yes!" You cling to Talbott as though the rain might sweep him away. "Yes!"

Tears leak from your younger eyes, lost in the rivers of rain. It's a moment before you realise your older self is crying as well. You sob quietly into your hand, even as the mists swirl about once more, carrying away one of the most meaningful moments of your life. Lost, for so long. Like you promised Talbott you would never be.

How? the word pounds against your aching brain. How? How?

The rain fades into mist and the mist reforms into the inside of your flat. In spite of the light shining through the parted curtains, the room is oddly shadowed. There's something different about it. Something is missing you can't quite put your finger on.

You hear a choking noise and turn to see Talbott, sitting at the table. There's a piece of parchment in his hand. His yellow-gold eyes are liquid, and as you watch, a tear rolls down his sharp nose. He makes another strangled choking sound, and you realise he's crying. Your memories may still be settling, but you're certain you've never seen Talbott cry before. The sight wrenches your heart from your chest. You want to throw your arms around him, even though you know he can't feel it.

Instead, you stare at the parchment in his hand. It begins, Dear Talbott, and it ends in your signature. The writing looks like yours, if a bit tidier than you usually bother with. You scan the contents of the letter, eyes widening with each line. You're leaving? You've changed your mind? You're marrying Felix Rosier, instead? You can't recall ever even thinking these things, let alone writing them down. A phrase jumps out at you from the parchment: You've never appreciated me, I see that now. The words are horribly familiar...and you blanch as you remember where you heard them.

The memory starts to dissolve. You glance around desperately. You want to re-read the letter again. You want to be absolutely sure before you allow the shadow in your mind to take full form. But the flat becomes the entryway to the enormous manor house you know so well. Beside you, Talbott steels himself with a breath, then pulls the bell.

The door opens, and Felix's wand appears first. He holds it just low enough to keep the minimum requirement for civility, but the threat is unmistakable.

"What do you want?" he asks Talbott coolly.

"I want to see Y/N."

Felix's eyes flick briefly over his shoulder as if checking for something. He replies in a lower voice:

"She has no wish to see you."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you like."

Felix attempts to close the door, but Talbott throws his shoulder against it. He squares up to Felix as if he might simply push past him. Neither man is particularly brawny, but Talbott has the height advantage. Their scuffle is quickly solved when Felix pokes his wand directly into Talbott's chest forcing him to step back.

"You did something to her, didn't you?" Talbott says, yellow-gold eyes bright with fury. "You wrote that letter. You...you kidnapped her."

A brief, hard swallow is the only indication of guilt Felix betrays.

"It hardly matters. It's over between you either way. Y/N is safe now, that's what's important. There's nothing you can do."

"You don't care about her safety!" Talbott's voice is almost a shout.

'Don't you dare!" Felix suddenly snarls, shocking both men into a short silence. Felix composes his face and continues more quietly, "Her safety is all I care about. And if it had mattered more to you, perhaps things would have been different."

The glint of concentration in Talbott's eyes is a look you've seen before. You know he's thinking quickly, debating his next move.

"You won't get away this," he finally says, his voice a soft and venomous hiss. "I won't let you."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

Without another word, Felix pushes the heavy front door closed. Just before it slams shut, you see a figure dart down the corridor behind him. You recognise your own wide eyes make contact with Talbott's in surprise. Then the mists swirl about you again. This time, they envelope your body like a whirlpool lifting you up, up, up...

Until you're stumbling out of the Pensieve, reeling and gasping for air. You lean over the table, gripping the edge until your knuckles turn white. You take deep, slow breaths, your eyes closed. Your mind is whirling, frantically sorting through everything you've seen, everything you now remember.

Felix, you realise, and your insides twist sharply. Felix had done something to you. What? Your battered brain supplies a forgotten image of Felix's wand pointed at you, his eyes full of fear and pleading. His mouth moves frantically, but the memory still lacks sound.

Your own name being called tears you from your vision. You turn carefully, leaning against the table for support. The sudden recovery of everything your mind was missing is wreaking havoc with your body. Your knees wobble. You feel dizzy and seasick. And the sight that meets your eyes does nothing to settle your symptoms.

"Y/N!"

Felix says your name again, but he isn't looking at you. His eyes are on the wand Talbott aims at his chest. There are notes of concern in Felix's voice, but his wand arm, pointed at Talbott, is entirely steady. The two men watch each other, tensed for action. Both shoot quick glances your way, but neither can do more without dropping their defence.

"Are you alright?" Felix calls over his shoulder.

You blink, but don't answer. Your mind throbs so badly your vision blurs, but for once you know you can trust it.

"You lied to me." Your voice comes out a croak. You briefly wonder how long you've been in the Pensieve.

"What?" Felix sounds panicked.

"You did this to me," you say slowly, the words leaving a terrible taste in your mouth. You don't want them to be true. But the sound has caught up to the picture in your head of Felix's wand pointed at you. You can hear his spell clearly. "You...obliviated me. You made me forget. How...how could you do that?"

Felix tries to step closer, but Talbott sends a hex at the floorboard near his feet. With a snarl, Felix throws a curse back at Talbott. Talbott ducks and weaves to the side just in time. The spell hits the sofa, sending it flying against the wall with a crash. Both men straighten, and raise their wands at each other once more.

"Stop it!" you yell as loudly as your pounding head will allow. You hold your own wand out, but your arm shakes too much to be menacing. You fight a wave of nausea threatening to capsize your stomach. Both Talbott and Felix turn to you in concern. Felix is nearest. He shuffles backward toward you, still keeping his wand on Talbott.

"Take another step and I swear I will kill you."

You glance up at Talbott. You know from the set of his jaw and the glint of purpose in his yellow-gold eyes, he means exactly what he says.

"No." Both Talbott and Felix drop their wands a fraction, looking at you in varying degrees of surprise. "I want him to explain." You keep your face as expressionless as possible as you fix your eyes on Felix. "I want to know why you did this."

For once, Felix doesn't blush. Instead, colour drains from his face until its almost translucent. And when he speaks, his voice is as unsteady as your legs.

" Y/N, I swear, I didn't want to do it. But I had to! You wouldn't see reason. The Dark Lord, he - he considered you a threat. Ismelda Murk, she told him everything about you - everything you did at school. He wanted you dead, or on his side. I told you to leave...to run...to stay safe. But you wouldn't. You - he -" he spits the word in Talbott's direction, "insisted you stay and fight.

"And for good reason," you say hotly. "The Dark Lord has to be stopped. He's evil."

"That doesn't matter!" Felix shouts. "This isn't about good and evil, it's about alive and dead. All I wanted was to keep you alive. You wouldn't listen to me, and I didn't know what else to do. I just wanted to keep you safe."

Felix's eyes are anguished, but you feel no compulsion to comfort him. Ice creeps through your veins, freezing your heart, shattering your sympathy.

"No you didn't." Your voice cracks with brittle fury. "You didn't care about keeping me safe. If you did, you would have just wiped my memory and sent me to France or America or somewhere he wouldn't find me. You didn't do this for me. You did this for you." Your voice rises in volume until you're almost shouting. "I chose Talbott. You wanted me, and I picked Talbott and you couldn't stand it."

"Because it's foolishness!" Felix bellows. A shower of red sparks erupt from his wand. "He's a frightened little bird, he can't keep you safe! He flies away at the first sign of a fight. I took you from him, and he didn't even attempt to come and find you. The way I would have. The way I always-"

Talbott's curse is completely silent. Purple light hits Felix in the chest and he falls heavily to the floor. He lays still, eyes closed, and you gasp in spite of yourself.

Talbott sprints the length of the flat in a second. He throws your arm about his shoulder, and half-drags you past the unmoving Felix.

Your stomach heaves as you ask, "Is he-"

"He's not dead," Talbott says viciously. "He's not worth anyone's soul."

You can't reply. Each step you take increases your risk of being sick all over Talbott, so you focus on your feet. Picking up one after the other. As you stumble out the door, you cannot help but look back. The sight of Felix crumpled on the floor sends a crack through your heart's icy veneer.

You want to tell Talbott to stop. You want to come up with a plan; something that will fix everything, the way you always do. But your mind is too exhausted to think anymore. You close your eyes and let Talbott wrap his arms around you, hoisting you down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom, he clutches you against him and disapparates.

You sleep. You don't know for how long. You're looking for someone, someone calling your name. A voice you know... a voice you trust. A face swims into focus and you smile as you recognise it. Then it points a wand at your chest, and the spell echoes over and over in your mind. Obliviate. Swirling mist wraps itself around your body, trapping your arms and legs, constricting your chest, your throat. You're sure your head is about to explode.

You jerk into consciousness, breathless and sweating. You fumble for Felix to wrap yourself in his arms, but the bed next to you is empty. And entirely too narrow to be yours.

Then you remember. You're in the house of an escaped convict who, it was explained to you, had been falsely convicted after being framed for murder by his purported victim, both of whom were also unregistered animagi. And somehow, that's only the second strangest revelation you're wrestling with.

Your wrap the blanket around you and take stock of yourself. Your head still hurts miserably. Most of your body aches as well. But your mind is the strongest it's been in a long time. Sleep has cleared away the last vestiges of fog. You know exactly who you are and what has happened to you. It's a cruel irony then how much you wish the last 24 hours were just an awful dream.

There's a knock at the door. You have no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. You open your mouth to say so when a voice calls, "Y/N, are you up?"

The tension in your shoulders eases a fraction as you recognise who it is.

"Yes. Come in."

The door creaks open slowly and Bill Weasley sidles inside carrying a tray.

"Mum wanted to make sure you ate something. She didn't get to feed you last night, and you know how she is. Thinks you might starve to death overnight."

The sound of Bill's nervous prattle is immensely comforting. Bill, the big brother you wish you'd had. Bill, whose advice you value above anyone else's. For him, you're able to manage a weak smile.

"I don't know if I can stomach anything just at present. But I might take a cup of tea if you have it."

Grinning in relief, Bill sets the tray down on the bed beside you. You take the steaming cup and hold it against your chest.

"So, how are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm..." You want to say fine, but your mouth can't even form the words. You simply stop talking and squeeze your eyes shut again.

"Yeah, that's sort of what I figured."

A few minutes gentle silence rests between you. You sip your tea, hoping the warm liquid will settle the roiling in your stomach. Deep down, you know it's futile. It isn't really your stomach that's sick, it's your heart. But you don't know how to deal with that problem just yet, so you focus on Bill instead.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Egypt?"

"Oh, I took a desk job to help out the Order. You knew that, didn't you?"

You shake your head. Bill flushes, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Oh. I guess it might have been after you..um..."

It's Bill's turn to trail away.

"I imagine I've missed quite a bit," you say as casually as you can, raising the cup to your lips again.

"Yeah, but...there'll be time to catch up on all that later. Mum isn't going to let anyone bother you till you're well again. She's been terribly worried about you, you know. I mean, everyone has, but...when Talbott said you'd run off with that Death Eater, I thought Mum was going to march right up to the house herself and drag you out by your ear."

Bill chuckles, but you can't join him.

"How could anyone think I'd really done that? Joined You-Know-Who?"

Bill's face falls. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "No one liked it much. It didn't make any sense. But the way Talbott explained it you'd left some letter saying you...you loved him. And love can make people do pretty mad things."

You can't say anything to that.

"Do you...want to talk about it?"

You shake your head.

"Alright. I'll leave you alone, then."

Bill pushes off from the bed. He sets the tray of uneaten food on the bedside table, and starts for the door. His hand is just turning the knob when you call him back.

"Bill?"

Bill doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. He scoots onto the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You lay your head against his chest, and sob.

For days, you keep yourself locked in the dusty bedroom of Grimmauld Place. Food is brought to you, occasionally by Mrs Weasley or Bill, but you pretend to be asleep whenever they arrive. You wait until after they've left to choke down what food you can stomach. You know you need to eat, but hunger and thirst have both abandoned you.

Occasionally, you hear the sounds of gentle knocking or whispered conversations outside your door. You recognise the voices of your friends, wanting to see you, and Mrs Weasley shooing them away. You're glad for it. You aren't ready to speak to anybody.

Your ailment isn't a mystery to you. You know you're heartbroken, you just don't want to think about why. What does it say about you that you wake each morning craving the presence of the man who tricked you, lied to you, erased your memories? You can barely stomach the knowledge yourself. You don't want to think about what anyone would say if they knew.

Instead, you sleep as much as possible, and wait for the pain to subside.

You're lying in bed one afternoon, letting the little sun the window permits warm your bones, when you're startled by the sound of shoes outside your door. You close your eyes, hoping whoever it is will see you sleeping and go away. But the door doesn't open. A scraping, scuffing noise reaches your ear. It stops, and the hall is quiet once more.

You wait for a count of ten, then roll over in bed and open your eye just a crack. Something is laying on the floor. Curious, you sit up. It's a piece of parchment and a quill, stuffed under the crack in the door. You leave the shelter of the bed and tiptoe across the room. You pick up the parchment and read the word, Hey.

For the first time in days, you smile. Turning, you slide down the door and settle onto the ground. You listen to the breathing on the other side, and close your eyes.

This is what it felt like to be you, before Felix. When the only place you could ever imagine yourself, the only place you wanted to be, was with Talbott. The mysterious, awkward boy who tugged at your heart strings. The man that settled your soul and set fire to your body. To be back-to-back with Talbott again is the comfort you desperately needed. It's returning to your own bed at the end of a long, tiring day.

You turn to the parchment on your knees.

Hey yourself, you write and stuff the parchment and quill back under the door.

You can hear the faint scratch of the quill, then the parchment returns.

How are you feeling?

You mark out several answers before deciding on, I don't know.

That makes sense. Talbott leaves a few lines of space before, I've missed you.

You smile sadly. I missed you too.

Really? His reply is an eager scrawl.

Really. Even when I didn't know what I was missing, I knew I was missing something. And after I saw you in Diagon Alley, I knew deep down it was you. Even if I didn't know why. Somehow, this doesn't seem like enough, so you add, I'm sorry.

It's not your fault, Talbott sends back. His handwriting is even. No ink blots or shaky pen strokes, nothing to suggest the statement is hard for him to admit.

I know, but I'm still sorry.

This time, Talbott's reply takes longer to reach you. So am I. I should have figured it out sooner. I should have known you wouldn't have left like that. I should have come after you.

You hesitate. But the whole point of the ritual is to communicate the things you need the other to know, but are too hard to say out loud. So you let yourself write, Why didn't you?

You can hear by the quill, stopping and starting again several times, how hard it is for Talbott to admit.

I did once. When you first got back from France. I did a fly-by of the house. But you were with him. You looked happy.

You stare at the words. You wonder what moment Talbott had caught you in. You and Felix reading in the study, glancing at each other over the tops of your books? Together at the piano, where you took every opportunity to brush your fingers against his? Dancing in the ballroom? Laughing in the kitchen? Or wrapped around each other in one of a million places all over the house? It makes your face burn to think of Talbott seeing you like that.

"Were you?"

You start at the sound of Talbott's voice as he whispers the words from around the closed door.

"Was I what?" you ask quickly.

"Were you happy?"

You release a long, deep sigh. "I...I don't know. I thought I was happy, but... I wasn't myself."

"Did you really...love him?" The word twists Talbott's voice. You know how hard it must be for him to say.

"We were just friends, Talbott. I know I should have told you a long time ago, I just-"

"No," he interrupts, "I mean - when you...forgot me. Did you love him then?"

You don't know what to say. "He...he was very kind to me." It isn't really an answer to Talbott's question. But it's all the confirmation he needs.

"Do you love him now?"

The answer sits on your tongue, heavy and uncomfortable. You want to spit it out, to confess. That's what the ritual is for. But you can't force it from your mouth. You sit frozen, unable to speak. You wonder if this is what it's like to be Talbott.

"Even after you know what he did to you?" Talbott says, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice. "Even though he's a Death Eater?"

"He's not just a Death Eater," you snap. You only realise how defensive this is until it's too late. There's no sound from the other side of the door. Talbott's breathing seems to have stopped. "I mean, he doesn't want to be a Death Eater. He's just...frightened."

Talbott doesn't answer. You hear shoes slide against the floor. Then footsteps echo down the hall. You strain your ear until the only sound left is your own thudding heart beat. You have to close your eyes again to keep the tears from spilling.

You've spent days so lost in your longing for Felix, you forgot how badly you miss Talbott as well.

Alright, reader, I need your help. I have the ending ready and waiting, but I've switched who the reader ends up with about 25 times. I've grown attached to both my dysfunctional boys and I literally cannot decide. Since it's a reader-insert, I'll put it to the readers. Who would you choose, Talbott or Felix, if you got to pick? If you have a preference, comment or message me and let me know.