"After the war ended, my parents and I, as well as the few remaining Death Eaters, were put on trial by the Ministry of Magic. There was much ambiguity about which side my family was on."

"Why?" I blurted out.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "You really heard nothing in America, did you?" He shifted in his seat, wincing a little from the wound. Although he was obviously drunk, he treated the topic with a kind of respectful disdain.

"My mother lied to Voldemort," he said the name freely, like he had gotten used to saying it by now. "She told him he had successfully killed Harry Potter when he hadn't. And furthermore…. Potter used my wand to finally eliminate him from existence. Hence why I had to get a new wand." Irritation formed on the corners of his lips and in his eyebrows. "There were rumors that I handed Potter my wand myself, which would have looked good for me, but it simply wasn't true. He took it from me. However..." He paused thoughtfully. "I'm glad it was my wand that finally finished Voldemort. Very few people on this earth knew just how much I actually despised him." Draco looked at me. "But you knew."

I nodded, slightly subdued by sadness, remembering the psychological and emotional torture Draco endured while following Voldemort's orders to assassinate Dumbledore in his 6th year. Not long after my transfer to Ilvermorny, I read in the newspaper that Dumbledore had been assassinated by Professor Snape. It was so absurd that I was unconvinced for years that it was the truth. But my old roommate, Greta Munch, had confirmed it herself in a letter after the war ended.

"What you read in the papers is true. The headmaster was killed by Professor Snape. I still don't understand how he could do something like that. Sorry for my shaky handwriting. I know it happened over a year ago, but I still can't really talk about it." That was exactly what she wrote on the matter. Greta, who had a hard time shutting up about anything, gave me exactly five sentences.

Draco sighed heavily. "The Ministry picked me apart for an entire year. Although I apologized, they couldn't just let go of my past insurrections, and there were plenty. I stood trial for much longer than anyone else. Longer than my father, even. Because they couldn't decide if I was morally past retribution or not."

Draco's expression softened and tensed as he spoke. "As we stood trial, the Ministry asked all former Death Eaters to formally renounce pureblood supremacy. They asked my father first." His voice lowered, his eyes distant. "He looked Kingsley Shacklebolt right in his eyes and said a firm, heavy 'no'."

Draco tipped the bottle back in his mouth again and grimaced, which only made me more nervous to hear what Draco was going to say next.

"When they asked me, I knew by then that I didn't believe in it like I thought I did. And yet… like a coward, I couldn't say it on the public record. I was unwilling…. And afraid to go against my father."

An unexplainable amalgam of emotions stirred within me when it finally registered with me that Draco was unable to renounce pureblood supremacy due to some loyalty he still had to his father's antiquated beliefs. "That was stupid of you," I said, my voice wavering on the threshold between sadness and anger. It's like our relationship taught him nothing.

"It remains one of the biggest regrets of my life," Draco admitted. "The Ministry used our statements as grounds to exile my father and I to separate countries so there was no chance of another pureblood movement arising from what remained of Voldemort's former followers. My mother, who was never a Death Eater, decided to go with my father to Austria, and I was sent to France."

I swallowed. "So you haven't seen your parents-"

"In seven years," Draco confirmed. "And my father's last act before the exile took effect was to arrange a marriage between me and the daughter of another pureblood family, as sort of a 'fuck you' to the Ministry and their progressiveness. I woke up one day and it was all arranged," he said sourly. "He never even asked me what I thought."

My eyebrows raised. "You had no say in it whatsoever?"

Draco growled, "I opposed it with every fiber of my being. But my father didn't care. He thought he was doing me a favor- after all, to him Astoria was a pretty, young girl. But he might as well have locked me in a prison with a stranger as a cellmate. Astoria tried to play the role of wife at first-"

"Hold just a moment." My mind was spinning. "I need to be drunker before I listen to this." Draco passed the bottle back to me and watched as I swallowed the dark liquid. I handed it back, then watched as he did the same.

"Astoria tried," Draco continued bitterly. "She made efforts and overtures to me, attempting to force a bond between us. But I could hardly bear to be in the same room as her. I refused to share a bed with her. We never kissed except for our wedding day. When she realized that I would never warm to her, she grew to resent me. It became painfully apparent that the only things we had in common were our blood statuses and Hogwarts house- she loved the light and I preferred the dark. She hated art, and I had grown to rather like it. I thrive on ambition and a sense of duty, and she had never worked a day in her life. This sounds cruel, but it made no difference to me at all whether she lived or died." Draco paused to pick up the firewhiskey bottle. He looked at it thoughtfully, and then finished the remnants in one big gulp.

He exhaled, setting the empty bottle down on the couch beside him. "The strange thing about it all, though, is that I couldn't help but feel that I would have adjusted to the arranged marriage quite well if I hadn't met you."

I froze. The room was so quiet I could hear rain droplets dripping outside the window.

"The kind of love we had- a true love, was like the finest wine in the world," Draco described, his silver eyes glinting like metal. "Once you experience that, any kind of forced love is just unacceptable. It's cheap, sickly sweet. Unpalatable. So ultimately, I believe I was incapable of warming to Astoria because my heart was elsewhere." His eyes slid to me. "If my father had asked me, he would have known that the only girl I wanted was you."

I thought my head was about to spin off of my shoulders. The room suddenly felt very warm, and the air going into my lungs was thick. "No," I said, laughing uncomfortably to break the tension. "You didn't want me."

"What makes you think I didn't?" Draco challenged coolly.

"Because-" I paused. I could feel the rawness of the emotional wound from many years ago returning and stinging in a horrible familiar way. The booze only made it worse. "Because I didn't hear from you for years. When the war ended, I waited for you. Like a stupid, hopeful teenage girl, I checked the newspapers every day just to search for your name. I heard nothing from you at all- no letters, no calls. Not even my friends would tell me what became of you. I- I thought you died, Draco," I sputtered, realizing tears were forming on my lower lash line. "Because that was the only explanation I had as to why you didn't come to me."

Unfortunately, Draco saw the tears collecting in my eyes before I hid my face. "Stop watching me. You have no idea how many tears I wasted mourning you. It's cruel-"

"I tried to come to you."

I removed my hands from my face, unsure if I heard him right. Draco was staring at me, slightly leaning back in his armchair, the emptied whiskey bottle askew on the couch cushion beside him.

"I wanted to write to you after the war," he said, "But the Ministry forbid me from corresponding with anyone while my trial was ongoing. I couldn't apparate or use floo powder, either. So the day of my wedding, when the Aurors weren't watching me quite as strictly, I tried to escape. I was going to take a Muggle contraption... the hideous metal bird thing," he described rather sloppily, the name escaping him.

"An airplane?" I said with disbelief. "You went on an airplane?"

"No. I never made it that far," Draco said with distaste. "I should have expected that the London airport would be crawling with Aurors in disguise. I was apprehended immediately. I didn't try again."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because then I was married," Draco said angrily. "And my Dark Mark makes it impossible for me to travel internationally. So even if I were able to somehow get to you, you….you would have sent me away."

I couldn't answer him. I was no longer the same person I was 8 years ago. But I knew for certain that if he had somehow been able to make it to me, even though he may have been a married, marked Death Eater, I would have let him in.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you after the war, Erica. But there were people, laws, and an ocean between us. By the time I was finally free to send letters to whomever I wished, years had passed, and I was exiled and married. I couldn't bring myself to write to you because I knew you'd be better off without someone like me."

I bit my lower lip, thinking. "Is that why you have the pensieve?"

Draco looked at me suspiciously. "How did you know about that?" His words blurred together, but still managed to be menacing.

I shifted nervously, my guilty eyes wandering over to Draco's desk. "I-"

"You looked?" Draco said abrasively, "You read my pensieve?"

"I did." Gutsy. That was good, I should be gutsy- I had nothing to be ashamed of. Not when all the memories were about me. "Would you mind explaining why you have a crystal ball in your desk that's practically a documentary reel of every time we slept together?"

Draco looked like he was fighting anger and embarrassment. He looked to the empty firewhiskey bottle beside him, and humphed in contempt when he remembered it was empty.

"It was Astoria's idea. She needed somebody who would give her a child. And me… I was spending my days wallowing in a drunken haze of self-pity, thinking about the life I couldn't have, completely closed off to her, and her... advances."

I realized the connection then. "So she got you a pensieve to help you get over me."

"Yes, that's right," Draco said, checking the empty firewhiskey bottle again. "She tried spiking me with a love potion first, actually. I would have fallen for it had I not smelled it on the rim of my whiskey glass. It only got worse. Astoria is a very prideful person, and she lowered herself to begging. Every day, every hour… it was embarrassing to watch."

He glanced at me apologetically. "I felt sorry for her. She didn't do anything to warrant being trapped here with me forever. I knew that I owed it to her to try. So I tried." Another flushed glance, which made me wish I was invisible. "But…Erica, you ruined all other women for me. I would have had no problem being with Astoria if it weren't for the fact that... I couldn't stop hearing your voice, and seeing your face. It was impossible…. to be with someone else…. If you know what I mean."

I grimaced, face burning, unfortunately understanding what he meant. It took me almost three years before I could even kiss another person without seeing Draco.

"So… what exactly does the pensieve do for you?" I hesitantly asked.

"It's a special kind of pensieve made only in France," Draco explained, "They call it an Erosphere. It's for storing romantic memories."

I scoffed. "So… does that mean you don't actually remember anything about me- about us, at all now?"

"I still have the memories of you in my head," Draco explained, "But the Erosphere allows the emotional feelings attached to the memories to be… dampened. I remember everything we did. But I no longer have a strong emotional connection to you or our past relationship."

I could feel my stomach drop. "What?" I croaked.

Draco gave me a look of exasperation. "Erica, I didn't think I was going to ever see you again. This was the only thing I could do in order to heal."

"That's not healing," I spouted angrily, "That's- that's an avoidance strategy! You're using substances and magic to cope with something that you could have just dealt with yourself. I have to live with the memories of us and the emotions that come along with them, too, and I'm handling it just fine."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, so your attempt at a marriage isn't what you'd call an avoidance?"

"No," I said, feeling tears come again. "You do not get to turn this back around at me. I wasted years crying over you and did what I had to do to move on."

"...Likewise," Draco said bitterly.

"Then why didn't you just get fucking obliviated?" I snapped.

Draco gave me a look of disbelief. "Do you really think I could just give up everything like that? The memories I have of you are some of the best of my life. I could never give that up altogether. Never."

"...That's some big talk for someone who supposedly has no feelings for me," I muttered.

"They're not feelings," Draco stated. "You are important to me. That's a fact. An unchangeable, irrefutable fact."

Fuck. I think the firewhiskey is igniting a fire in my gut. Either that, or… Draco's making me feel some things that I'd rather not feel right now.

"I never thought I'd be telling you this," I said shyly, "But I'm pretty sure I'm drunk for the second time in my life, and I probably won't see you ever again, so… I have to get this off of my chest, just once."

I shifted myself over to sit beside Draco on the couch. I took a deep breath and began what would likely be the most embarrassing confession of my life.

"Even though you dragged me into all your shit at Hogwarts, you made me happy, too," I said to him. "I think I loved you three times more than any normal sixteen year old could possibly love someone. And when I saw you again after 8 years, I said I hated you as a kind of knee-jerk reaction to protect myself. After all, how was I supposed to know that I still meant that much to you? You had a wife, a child, a new life. And… I think I was crushed that it wasn't with me," I said honestly, feeling incredibly naked.

Draco looked at me, and I knew he was about to also say something he may regret in the morning, when things were brighter and we were sober. "I wasn't going to tell you this, either," he said in a gravelly voice, "But I told Astoria not to summon you because I was afraid that seeing you again would undo all of the feelings I had tried so hard to remove. When you actually came…" he sounded accusatory, like how dare I show up at his house and remind him of the life he couldn't have, "I knew that despite how much I tried, I never forgot you for a second."

Draco leaned towards me, wincing slightly at the wound on his chest. "You're the only person who knows me, Erica. Even after all these years nobody understands me like you do." I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself from watching his mouth. "This whole time we've been doing anything we can to try and fool ourselves into moving on from each other- marriage, magic, self-denial… I've given it much thought, and I'm beginning to believe I may not be able to move on from you at all."

As I suddenly became very aware of how close Draco and I were, both spatially and mentally, I lurched, realizing that I was digging myself into a hole that sober me would never want to be in.

"You know, I'm feeling suddenly very sick," I got up from the couch clumsily. "This is why… I never drink-"

Draco's hand went to my wrist to stop me. He winced. "You really shouldn't move," I scolded.

"Stay," Draco said through gritted teeth. "All you've done is leave. Just once, just tonight, stay with me."

When he said those words, it was like the protective exterior I carefully formed around my heart crumbled. Draco looked up at me with the hopeful eyes of a man who had just handed me his frozen heart to hold until my fingers became frostbitten. 'Here, hold it a little longer' he seemed to say. 'Just for tonight. You can put it down in the morning. But just hold me tonight.'

"And just what will happen if I stay?" I rasped.

Draco pulled me gently to him, placing his hands on my hips. Slowly, he rested his forehead on my abdomen, placing a soft kiss just above my hip bone. "When was the last time that someone healed you?" he breathed.

My blood coursed through my body like liquid stardust, spiking with every kiss Draco planted on the sheer fabric of the shirt that covered my stomach.

I suppressed a sob with the back of my hand. Draco looked up at me.

"You stupid man," I whispered through tears. "Do you think this will solve anything?"

"No," he said in his deep voice. His hands ran up the back of my shirt, pulling me down to his face. "But that's not really the point, is it?"

As I gazed down at Draco, seeing the gentle lines on his face for what felt like the first time, I let go of sensibility and self-denial. I allowed my mouth to fall onto his, our lips meeting softly between us.

As soon as we started, we couldn't stop. One soft kiss turned into two hard ones, which led to moaning and hungry hands pawing at shirt buttons and pants zippers.

Things turned hazy as Draco and I melted down to the couch but every movement was clear in my mind. My hands on either side of his neck, his hands running up and down my flanks as I sat atop his lap- it was familiar, natural. Just like we had done countless times before.

Our clothes didn't last long on our bodies. As Draco slid onto his back on the couch beneath me, I remained careful not to disturb his chest wound. Draco, however, did not seem to pay it much mind, and attempted to hide a grimace between each kiss.

"Don't move," I whispered into his ear, feeling the heat of his cheek on mine. For good measure, I lightly licked the outer curve of his ear.

A moan came from deep in his throat. I could feel him pressing up against me, already hard. A sense of excitement that I haven't felt since I was a girl tingled inside me, and I knew I couldn't allow myself to wait. Waiting meant thinking. And thinking was forbidden right now.

I was drunk, so I do not remember exactly what I said when I finally slid myself onto him, but I believe it was something along the lines of "fuck, oh fuck". Draco's entire body tensed, his face contorting in pleasure, his lidded eyes opening to make exquisite, hungry eye contact as he laced his fingers through my hair.

What was already blurry became even more blurred as I moved over him, my face inches from his, melting into each other. Even though the room was hot, and Draco's chest was torn open, it was the best sex I'd had in years. It made me wonder when it was exactly that I stopped enjoying sex, and realized that it was because it wasn't with him, it wasn't with Draco, who said a gravelly "good girl" every time I came.

It was like all common sense I had was gone. Just for the night, I indulged myself in a dark, pleasureful void.

And in the hot, gasping moment, I didn't regret a thing.

I was alarmed to open my eyes and see the ceiling of Draco's study.

I carefully untangled myself from Draco as he continued to sleep on the couch. He was completely naked except for the coat draped across his lap and the wrappings on his chest I had placed on him last night.

As soon as I found my footing, the hangover hit me along with the realization that it was nearly time for my usual check-up on Astoria. I covered my mouth to keep from vomiting.

In the morning light, everything looked different, and yet frightening how everything remained the same. I was still married. Draco still had a child. And Astoria was still sick.

Nothing had changed. Except now, I had fucked a dying woman's husband.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

I began to dress quietly. I slipped out of the study, medical bag in one hand and my blood stained coat and shoes in the other. I padded across the soft white carpet, passed Astoria's room, and then Scorpius's nursery, and hastened down the steps to the foyer.

The Ring of Ataraxy was still where it always was, on the table by the front doors. Above the table hung a mirror. I knew I looked like hell, but I couldn't resist glancing at my own appearance before I touched the portkey.

I saw smudged mascara, messy brown hair, an expression of guilt- and those things did not surprise me. But what made my heart nearly stop was the man I saw in the reflection, half-dressed and his chest still bare, coming down the stairs behind me.

"Erica," Draco was coming as fast as his wound would allow. "Stop. Please don't-"

I did not hear the rest of his sentence. I grasped the portkey, allowing it to squeeze me through time and space back to my office in New York, on the other side of the world from the man that I knew I shouldn't see again.