Dear Readers,

I would like to that you all for your patience and comments and support. I hope that it hasn't been in vain. I finally pulled this together and have decided to post it. Please if you find anything wrong or good, I want to know about it. Just drop me a comment on what you thought of it. The next chapter is in the works as we speak and I am working on another stand alone. I have opened an account at FictionPress.com and have posted an original work as well as done a few more stories here… whether you are reading them or not know that those that are a series are being worked on.

Thank you all. Without you there for me I wouldn't be able to continue.

^_^ Keep reading…

Now on to the story… (remember… Disclaimer and warnings are before every story)

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----Draco POV---

I wince. The rivulets of torn flesh pulsed with pain as they rub against my shirt.

Even silk feels like gravel against my abused skin.

They'll fade. They always do. My Power wont let them remain long and soon my back will be smooth, pale, and flawless once more. Too bad he realized it.

"Damn him!" I curse under my breath as I lean back against the roof. Focusing on the rise and fall of my breathing I push the pain from my mind.

A useful accessory to have, that distancing of mind and body. It would be permanent if I could maintain it, but it takes focus and concentration that no one can maintain against the searing and fiery kiss of a whip. So, the blessing fails me when most needed.

Of course if it weren't for my futile struggles and inventive vocabulary during the sessions I am sure that the lacerations would never cease. That is his pleasure, his purge, and his escape.

My cries of pain and offering of blood are exactly what he seeks; and I give them to him. I have learned the art of torture through torture. I could tell you exactly which slant of the lash brings the most blood, and which the most lasting pain. With time I have grown accustomed to the chaffing of metal restraints, the bite of leather, and the coppery taste of oblivion, I can survive them. A blessing in disguised?

No.… I can't say that I would have relived the entire period, for the simple ability to stand it.

I never wanted that and if I could have lived without it I would have been grateful, but, as he repeats constantly, like a chant: "Father knows best."

Each repetition emphasized with a sharp crack and even sharper lick of leather until I could swear that the words are imprinted under my very skin, tattooed eternally upon my flesh and soul.

He never over does it, never finishes what he started when I was conceived. I am too valuable a toy. The Master would be displeased if I were lost.

Even beyond my Power I am a treasure for my simple ability to heal quickly and well. Every Death Eater should own one. I can see the advertising now.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Is you dungeon becoming too monotonous and crowded?

Victims dying too quickly?

Need something new that will last a lifetime of torture?

Voldemort Enterprises in conjunction with Malfoy Inc. are please to present to you...

!Draco Malfoy!

The self-healing whipping toy!

Perfect for your every sadistic enjoyment!

Ensured to last a lifetime, HIS!

Limited time only. Void where prohibited. One Year Guarantee._________ _______

If they could find a way to mass-produce me it wouldn't be near as humorous as it sounds. They'd attempt it if it were possible; it isn't, but they don't understand that. What I am cannot be duplicated. I am unique and one-of-a-kind. Well, not entirely anyway. I mean, I am not alone after all.

I am not the only one with such abilities. There are four of us, all told, different and yet so similar. Unique, wondrous, and damned by the very magick that courses through our veins. Burdened with choices and a fate that is already determined.

Written in the goddamned stars no less! Never mind on parchment where manipulative hands could grasp it and seek to twist and bend it to their will.

I wont let them! I wont let it work its course!

… For you… Only for you…

You have no idea; do you, of just how much I am willing to sacrifice for you. It was such a quick change, such a swift shock to the system, the moment that I learned that I loved you. A change of direction that comes that fast is both steadfast and true or a momentary lie that comes with desperation and a loss of mind.

The first few weeks of realization were spent in denial. I wanted to be insane, to have it all put down to the latter consequence. Love wasn't written in my stars; marriage by alliance, death and darkness by birthright, and isolation by choice were always there. I always knew what was in my future. It use to break my mother's heart, that despairing, bleak, and, unfortunately, unerring view that I expressed about my future. She was robbed of the hope, joy, and thrilling uncertainty of her child's course in life. That which every mother should be entitled to: concern, anticipation, innocent joy, was all stolen from her the moment she was born.

It is strange the similarity between us; mother and son, both deprived of freewill, our course set by other hands before we could even comprehend what life was. She was born, bred, and trained as a dutiful and demure wife, but within her is a wild streak so cleverly disguised that even my father over looks it, and that is saying something.

Betrothed, bound, and heartbroken, she was given to my father. She tried to love him, I have seen it. Desperation to hold onto something precious and forbidden lighting her eyes as she continually goes out of her way to please him. It is beautiful, sad, and sickening all at the same time.

I use to wonder if that is what awaited me in my betrothal.

I glance down at the ring encircling my pinky.

A grand and delicate affair of silver and gold intertwined in snake-like coils with a center piece of peridot and amethyst resembling a snake and a weasel; the symbols of mine and Pansy's families. I hate the ring and usually don't wear it outside of Malfoy Manor.

My father insists upon it and with Pansy's family in constant attendance in our home he makes sure that it never leaves my finger in their presence. But he can't enforce it in Hogwarts and Pansy is easily satisfied with my defense of not wishing to damage it.

I slip it from my finger and bring it to reflect the moonlight.

It is beautiful and I always find it humorous that Pansy's family adopted the weasel as its symbol. It is quite fitting.

I slip it back onto my finger and smile as a breeze blows against my face.

Cool and gentle.

Turning my face and mind from Malfoy Manor and all things connected with it, I turn to the stars and darkened skies.

It is exciting to have high goals and yet it is torture, as I struggle to them, to think that I might not reach them.

To think that I might not reach you.

I wonder if you realize that Pansy gets upset when I call Weasley 'Weasel', she feels insulted at the thought of any comparison between her family and him, even if it really isn't a comparison. She is such a vain and petty git. Ron bears no similarity to a weasel, besides his name of course. You know, the only reason that I continued to name him such was that I realized the effect it had on Pansy. Don't get me wrong; of course I enjoyed Weasley's reaction, it gave me such power of him, and I loved power… still do in some ways, but I use to hope that she would become so upset that she would call the engagement off, but the draw of power and the teachings of her family have left her steadfast at my side, or rather trailing safely behind me.

I don't want someone to walk behind me, to hide behind my status and name, who only supports when it gives them the advantage. I want someone who will walk beside me, someone with the character and strength to stand on their own, who loves me to the point that they support me because of me. It is an impossible desire, but I have found it and knowing it is worse than simply having the desire because now that I know you I know what I am missing every moment that you are not beside me, every moment that you don't love me.

I knew, unconsciously, that we belonged together all along. My father use to tell me about you, it was a topic of unending shame for him. Even when I knew that I would not be allowed to know you, you were on the 'wrong' side after all, I wanted to know you. I guess I have always wanted the impossible and Harry, you are impossible.

Even in pain you make me smile. That first day, the day that I asked you for your hand, I was ready and prepared, supported in my young and impetuous nature, to dare against my father just for the chance to know you. Something in your eyes, wide with wonder, gave me hope for a chance that I didn't even know that I wanted. You denied me of course. If I had been you I would have done the same thing. I was superficial prick and still am in some ways. Even if I was willing to chance any bond with you I wasn't open-minded enough to accept Weasley or Granger. What unknown love and awe could allow me to by pass in you; the teachings and upbringing I received were too engrained back then to allow me to accept them.

Now I know that not everything I knew was true.

Shocking isn't it?

I can see the constellation of Orion now. It is just over the tips of the ancient trees. I use to come out here and talk to him when I was younger. Looking back it is funny to see just how much of the conversations revolved around you, of course they weren't the nicest of comments. I smile to think of it now, but then I would have been ashamed at how much I let you pray on my mind, so much. I was too arrogant to realize the symptoms.

Did you know that Orion use to be worshipped by the Egyptians as a symbol of Osiris? To think all that time I was conversing with a god. Interesting to look back on now, living the dark life that my father set for me and yet to have such simplistic innocence! I can't even imagine how you must have been.

Of course, you're life wasn't that great now was it? I have heard rumors about your life with the muggles. Our pasts are both harsh aren't they?

We are what our pasts have molded.

But future is ours to mold.

Together…

I close my eyes, drawing your face to mind.

Emerald eyes, intense, penetrating, and brilliant. ebony hai---

"Shit! What now?"

I can feel the light tremor of the roof beneath me; father calling me to him.

Like a good pet I'll obey, like a good son I will follow behind him in darkness.

But like a better spy I will watch, learn and report.

Betrayal is hereditary anyway, right?

I leap from the edge of the roof, the brief desire to let gravity do its work, to let the ground have me, to let go of everything for good, tempts me for a whole second before your smile lights the darkness that has crept around me.

A light in the darkness. A faint promise glistening in a sea of despair. You are what keeps me going.

I stop myself, this time like all other times before and all other times that will come after. I can't leave. I wont. Not yet. I have a part to play and the show must go on.

I have you… even if you don't know it.

The ground is springy beneath my soft leather boots, dew already forming on the individual blades. Such beauty in a world soon to be swallowed in the throws and terrors of war.

Between the roof and ground I have melded my mind and body together again and with each step the dulling throb of my wounds reminds me of fate. They are already beginning to recede and soon will be but pink lines lingering as a painless reminder until they too pale and smooth over.

I run my hand along the outer wall of the manor taking pleasure and strength from their rough and solid foundation and support.

It is strange that I should draw my courage from the very place where my cries, screams, tears, blood, and sorrow echo from ever hallway and passage, but such is the turn of fate. More cruelty and deception have been executed within these walls than joy; decades of Malfoys have walked and breathed through the countless rooms, but I will be the first to betray the essence of our family for love rather than political gain or revenge.

Even with that I belong, belong as sure as if I were the very cornerstone of the building, as if I had existed here since it was first erected. I am a Malfoy after all and even with the distinction of my birthright and choices, at the core I am a Malfoy, bound to the heritage of my ancestors, cruel and manipulative as they may be, by pride, foundation, and a legacy that transcends all things.

I reach the side parlor door and enter into the house.

I can feel the darkness, thick and suffocating, lingering in every crevice. It is strong and I know that he is here. It must be a private matter, perhaps a last minute lesson before my journey to Hogwarts, because he didn't call everyone via the Mark.

I turn my head sharply, his power reaching my senses, cold, clammy, and reeking of death.

It is nauseating and putrid completely unlike my love's. He has taken something and made a detestable and misshapen replica of it.

The Sangoire Room. That is where I will find him.

I narrow my eyes toward the door.

That is where I will find him and father.

Pushing my mind from my love, my deception, and my knowledge, I step toward the room. Maniac he may be, but Voldemort has the Power to use my thoughts against me.

I open the double doors, taking a deep inner breath and draw upon the strength of my family legacy, my home, and my soul. Stepping forward I enter the room becoming the Malfoy Heir, the Master's Pet, my Father's Whipping Toy, and another darkened soul lost to the mask and mark of the Death Eaters.

I close the door.

Closing myself into a blood-colored room, into a darkness that is virtually impenetrable, into a fate that was decreed long ago.

I close myself into the hands of those I despise.

Voluntarily walking into Hell….

For you… only for you…

___________---Sangoire Room---__________________

Blood- the essence of life. The Purger. Through blood all things are cleansed. All things are pure.

Blood was perfect… and it was exactly what Voldemort preferred.

"Lucius…" the raspy voice cooed.

A pale blade of light cut through the darkness of the room, widened as a shadow moved through it, and then narrowed into oblivion as if it had never been. The door closed.

"You're late." The voice spoke again. "Perhaps your master's call is not worthy of your speed."

The flames from the fire place cast a deathly light into the room, illuminating the furniture and walls in brilliant shades of blood. Red filled the room, outlining and defining the folds of the cloaked figure that stood before the fire. Behind it a bowed figure stood motionless, its length of hair glowing with the reflected fire light as it cascaded toward the floor.

"You have learned well, Lucius," the hooded figure creaked in laughter. "Straighten yourself and speak!"

Gracefully the figure complied, running a hand through his hair as the face of Lucius Malfoy appeared from behind it, blank and shadowed.

"My Lord, please forgive me. Your arrival was unexpected. Pleasant but unexpected."

The pleading and submission in the noble voice would have left a bad taste in anyone mouth but Voldemort, it thrilled him to no end. That unquestioning subservience that seeped from the usually revered man was an intoxication that could never be rivaled.

"Next time put more effort into your speed."

"Yes, my Lord."

The smile that spread beneath the hood of the cloak was as sweet as acid and seemed to eat a malformed crescent into the flesh. Power was a drug. An addictive one.

"Where is the boy?"

"Within his room, my Lord." The nobility wavered in uncertainty.

"You don't know where our most precious weapon is? Careless, Lucius, very careless."

"Shall I summon him, Lord?" Fear permeated the air in waves; the softness in the words was never a good sign.

"No. No, not yet."

Time passed and only the crackling of the fire broke the silence that fell.

"You're son, Lucius…," the cloaked figure ventured thoughtfully, "His training. Has he improved?"

"Greatly, Lord"

"And his mind, his secrets… is there any chance of rebellion from him?"

Lucius straighten, a frown marring his perfect features, "No, my Lord."

"You place much faith into a child. One that you teach with a whip and a backhand." He paused, felt the blonde stirring uncomfortably under the statement. "Or perhaps, you place faith your name and his fear."

Lucius stood unmoving. Silence was sometime the safest route.

"Nothing to venture? Very well." The cloak figure turned, the cloth of his cloak rustling as it moved forward. "I have my doubts, Lucius. You're son is still a boy…"

"He is a Malfoy." Asserted Lucius.

"Pride. Another Malfoy trait. You have better watch that one.. And your temperment." The figure whispered harshly as it circled the blonde. "Remember who I am."

"Forgive me…" Lucius bowed his head. "Lord."

"He is still a boy" The figure repeated, emphasizing the word in challenge. "And the legend, as it was recovered, is incomplete. I don't like incomplete prophesies, too many things depend upon but a few words and everything depends on the whim of a boy."

Lucius bridled but kept silent.

"I wont chance it. Not this close to victory. Now, is the boy unswervingly loyal to the cause or not?"

The blonde hesitated, "Absolutely, my Lord."

"Not very convincing, Malfoy! Is he or isn't he?"

"I have raised him hatred of mudbloods and muggles, with the knowledge of what should be and what must change."

"I am not asking for your references as a father or your son's rearing. Can he be counted upon?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well." The figure retreated to his seat before the fire. The black cloak against the blood red chair with the fire blaring behind it would have put any muggle Christian in mind of Satan. "Summon him."

Lucius knelt to the floor, murmuring an incantation, and the house vibrated subtly outward as he summoned his son.

"Tomorrow he will return to Hogwarts and I wish to view his progress, address him of his mission, and if necessary instruct him where you have failed. The Dragon must be prepared."

Lucius turned his head slightly as the door swung silently open.

"Enter….. Draco…"

______________________________________

---- Harry POV ----

Moonlight slips into my room, illuminating object in delicate silver; familiar and foreign alike. it's the same room I stayed in during my third year and nothing has changed since then except the addition of my godfather's sleeping form curled at the foot of my bed. So many other things have changed since then, but the room remains the same. Before the end of third term I would have committed to St. Mungo's anyone who would have told me that I would find myself in the company of a convicted murderer, accused of betraying my parents. He didn't do it of course, but there are only a select few who know that. Change is one of the few constants in this world. Slightly contradictory I would think and yet it makes perfect sense.

Times change, situations change, and, most importantly, people change. People…

Sirius has changed. I am thankful for that. Some of the pain and despair has left him since I first met him in the Shrieking Shack near Hogsmeade. A turning point in both our lives: he found hope and I found family. I can't take all the credit for his change though, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore have helped as well, but I think it was Professor Lupin and myself that really made the difference. Sirius had been staying with Lupin since spring when the Ministry backed off its search because of more pressing matters. Death Eaters. They wont admit it, or actually Fudge wont, but during fifth term Dark Arts activity and muggle related incidents increased. So while they were out chasing the beginning crests of Voldemort's building storm, Sirius and Lupin took the opportunity to catch up and heal.

Then the letter came and their time ended. Sirius insisted on going with Lupin to #4 to make sure I was okay. They argued; Sirius' passion against Lupin's logic, but in the end Sirius won. The fact that the Ministry had no idea of Sirius being an animagus, that they weren't aware of the threat to myself, and the indisputable fact that they were in such an uproar with all the Dark Arts activity that they would hardly notice what was to take place at Privet Drive led to Lupin's surrender and Sirius went. It wasn't that Lupin didn't have any logical arguments against it, but they were wasting valuable time and he was smart enough to realize that this was one dispute he wouldn't win. He had had no intention of leaving Sirius behind anyway, but he felt in necessary to attempt talking reason.

I wonder what would have happened if the attack hadn't come. I would have finished out the summer with the Dursley's; that's no trouble, I've put up with them for the last 16 yrs of my life, but would those extra days have made a difference with Sirius?

I feel bad that I am grateful that Sirius is here with me, grateful that I am not back there with the Dursley's. In the few months that he and Lupin spent together the darkness had lightened around him. If the attack hadn't come and he had remained there for another month or more how much more would his spirit have been restored. Once I thought that he would never be completely himself, I mean, one doesn't just walk out of twelve years of Azkaban and return carefree and smiling, but I have hope now. Nothing is impossible.

Friendships can be its own miracle I guess.

I glance over at my watch on the nightstand.

It's three in the morning, but I can't sleep and the moon is calling me to the window.

Pushing the covers away I sit up, slipping a t-shirt over my head before swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

Sirius stirs , shifting to glance sleepily at me before curling back into whatever dream he was having.

He's use to my nighttime routine by now. He's not pleased with it, but there isn't much he can do about it. We've tried everything we could think of, but nothing works. He even went to Snape to ask for a sleeping potion. I don't know how much it cost his pride to do that, but I sure it was a lot, and I felt bad that it had been for nothing; I still woke up in the early morning hours, sleep eluding me once more. In the end we admitted defeated and what we couldn't beat we accepted.

I just don't sleep much anymore, not since the episode at the beginning of the summer. Thirty-five hours straight sleep had to have had some effect on my sleeping behavior so right after the incident I assumed that the lack of sleep was because of having been out for so long. I thought that it was probably the opposite of catching up on sleep; I thought I was just catch up on consciousness.

I hated the insomnia, still do every now and then. Sleep was my favorite part of summer when I staying with the Durstleys, but it was kind of nice to have the run of the house while they were asleep. As long as I kept quiet it was almost peaceful..

Sleep was a way of escape no matter where I was: Privet Drive or Hogwarts. No matter what was happening and as long as Voldemort's plans left my scar and sleep untroubled I could find peace. Sleep allowed everything in my mind to pan out while I rested, making it easier to see and understand. Now there is no rest, no end to the worries, the what if's, and the confusion that floods my mind. Since my 'night walks' began I've hardly dreamed at all and if I have I can't remember any of them. There isn't time in the 2 or 3 hours that I manage to take in I suppose.

I told Dumbledore about the insomnia when he showed me the letter and I know that Sirius keeps him up to date on what is going on here. He's worried, I can tell. When I told him his eyes took on that concerned aged look that he gets whenever I mention Voldemort or the war. When he suggested that it was connected with Voldemort, similar to the headaches that I get when he is near, and I told him that it didn't feel that way, his visage lightened.

It isn't the same. I know that much. Something is wrong with me, but it has little if anything to do with Voldemort. After one of those nightmares I was always shaky and tired. I'm never tired now. I'm sluggish when I first get up but it seems more from a build up of unused energy than a lack of any. Also it's like- it's like…

There is something missing…

Oh well. No use obsessing over it until I know what is wrong.

Even if something weren't wrong with me I would be up now anyway, tonight I have an excuse: tomorrow, or rather later today I suppose, I will be back within the wall of Hogwarts. It is strange how comforting those walls of stone and magick have become. I've spent more time at the Dursley's than Hogwarts, but it is Hogwarts that I think of as home. Comforting, stable and supportive, but…

Even there things are changing…

I hold back a shiver as I set foot on the chill floor, reaching into the nightstand for a crumbled piece of parchment before standing up and walking to the window.

I think I have an obsession with windows; in my first year I sat at the window of my dorm room and looked out over the grounds in amazement and disbelief. Now, it's just become habit and since my insomnia started it has become routine to stand at a window and look out. Not at anything in particular but just out.

I've changed so much and sometimes I wonder if that isn't why I look out of the window, out away from what is happening, away from the changes that are taking place. When I look out I can watch the world change from a spectators perspective. When I look out it is almost as if I am disconnected from the world. It may be changing but by looking out through window I don't have to participate, I'm not effected by it, and most importantly, I don't have to deal with my own change.

I think that is the worst part of everything. I can watch other people change, I've watched Ron and Hermione growing closer together and, except for the frustration that comes from their blindness to it, I've survived it tolerably well, but my changes are different. They're personal and because they are happening to me I can't stand back watching and see everything clearly. I don't know the next step that should be taken and that is the worst part of all; the uncertainty.

Lifting the letter in my hand I open it, the purple letters reflecting the moonlight. Closing my eyes I struggle again with the inner turmoil that washes through me.

This change is different and I am not sure I want it. I still can't believe you sent this to me. I can't believe the conversation we had that day.

Leaning against the window sill I look down at the letter, the handwriting readable but hasty.

What were you doing when you were writing?

Who was around?

Who knows?

What were you thinking when you wrote it?

I've put off replying to the letter. I can't think clearly and every time I pick up a quill to scribble a reply my hand shakes.

I'll see you at Hogwarts tomorrow anyway right? Perhaps even on the express. Is that why I can't sleep tonight? Why I'm holding your letter? Why your face keeps sliding into my thoughts? Is it just worry over what to say or is it something more?

I can't believe I am even considering this!

This isn't how it was suppose to be. It's wrong. We're wrong. It just wouldn't work out! Would it? I mean, we're both boys for Heaven's sake! Doesn't that complicate things a bit? It isn't suppose to be like this.

I'm not suppose to be this way!!

I close my eyes again as if it will block out everything. It only makes things worse as you slip inside my head, your features vivid as you grin at me. I shiver as the phantom memory of your arms returns around my waist.

"Cho.." I whisper.

Even my whisper is desperate and fierce.

"What about Cho? Isn't she the one that I like?"

If it isn't suppose to happen then why do I see you when I close my eyes. Your smile. Your eyes. You. If I'm not suppose to feel this way then why do I remember your touch. Your hand. Your arms. Your lips…

I turn away angrily from the window, fold my arms across my chest, accidentally crumpling your letter again.

This is wrong. It has to be!!

*"Harry?"*

I look up at Sirius, his human form watching me with unmasked worry.

"Sorry Sirius." I apologize and force a smile to my lips, noticing his concern. This isn't the first time he has caught me mentally arguing with myself.

*"Something wrong?"*

"No…" I lie "I just can't sleep again"

I can tell he doesn't believe me, its written on his face. I want to tell him but how do you tell your godfather that you have feelings for another boy? I don't know how he will react. I don't even know what my final reaction will be.

*"Are you sure?"*

I'm tempted for a moment. Maybe I would feel better if I got the burden off my chest, but I can't.

"I'm sure. It's nothing. Really"

Raising an eyebrow and giving me a concerned and slightly hurt look he lays back down, returning to his canine form.

Lying is becoming second nature to me now. It comes easily and I wonder if that is a part of me that made the Sorting Hat consider Slytherin. I hate it, where ever it comes from. It hurts. It hurts lying to him. To everyone. It always hurts when I lie to people close to me, but how can I explain what I am going through when I don't even know for myself. Everything was so simply before these feelings.

See I'm even lying to myself now. It doesn't hurt as much as lying to others but it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Things have never been simple. Not for me. Not for those who know me. These feelings are just a scapegoat for all my anger. Anger at Voldemort. At Wormtail. At the Death Eaters. At fate. At myself…

Everyone is always so understanding, so kind. 'You're only human', they say or I hear them talking to each other about how I'm 'only a child'. I know I'm young and not yet a full wizard, but I should be able to do more. I should!

Ron and Hermione think that it is just because of all the pressure and mystery about my scar and how I got it, that causes me to feel inadequate. They say that it is the whole 'Boy-who-lived' propaganda being forced on me that has something to do with it, or rather Hermione does. Ron is just there and listens to her theories, looking at me every now and then like she has gone off the deep end. She even has an entire speech memorized about the psychological trauma I have been subjected to.

It's nice to know that she thinks I have mental problems.

Okay, okay… I know that I am overreacting. She doesn't really think that, but sometimes I feel like I do have problems. Besides the whole Voldemort wanting me dead thing that is. That is always a damper on everything, but…

Still…

There is just this part of me that doesn't feel right-- about myself and my abilities. It's like part of me isn't even here, like I am only half a person. I never really noticed it until my fourth year. I don't like thinking about that year, but I have to face the fact that I never really noticed the absence in myself until the confrontation with Voldemort. Until my failure to save Cedric…

I made the mistake of telling Hermione and Ron that one night. I can't stand it when they look at me with pity and I can't explain to them that it isn't just his death that affects me, it's the fact that I wasn't strong enough, even when our wands were connected it was too close a triumph. I could feel something (magick, power, or maybe both), it was there but I couldn't tap into it, or rather I couldn't free it. It was like it was restrained, trapped.

How do you explain, even to your friends, that you can feel something surging within you? How do you tell them that there is a part of you missing?

They know me better than anyone else and still they don't know me. I don't even know myself and I think that that is what really bothers me.

That uncertainty is what sent me wandering every night through Hogwarts and inevitably the Astronomy Tower. I thought that I could find the answer if I had time to think over everything, and also, it allowed me to self-heal after Cedric's death.

Instead of answers I found more questions and a new problem…

Actually you found me…

I turn my head glancing back out the window.

It's wonderful how the lamps have been enchanted to let the night sky filter through. The stars can be seen anywhere in town, even directly beneath a lamppost, and still they look as bright and clear as if you were in the country. Its magnificent. It reminds me of my escapades to the Astronomy Tower during the night.

I thought I was being so brilliant with my schemes; careful, cautious, and beyond suspicion.

Ron knew, of course. I expected him to noticed a change in my behavior, but he kept the knowledge to himself. I suppose he thought I needed space after what happened the year before. He was right. That was the reason I started my nighttime trips after all, but you, I never expect you or anyone else to notice. It was a real wake-up call to my ego when you followed me that night.

I grin as I remember the crumpled letter in my hand.

It was really devastating since you learned about the invisibility cloak. The cloak was something personal, a secret between Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, and myself.

Okay… so it wasn't that big of a secret since so many knew about it…

But…

Also, I felt like it was something special between me and my father, and having you discover it, someone who wasn't exactly in our connected group was frightening. You were an unknown addition and I wasn't sure what you would do with the information.

I feel bad that I've known you for five years, you're even a beater on the Gryffindor quid ditch team, and I don't actually *know* you; don't know if you can truly be trusted or if you are serious in your flirtations. I wont pretend that the thought that this could be a joke, something for fun or publicity, hasn't crossed my mind over and over during the summer. After the episode with Rita Skeeter I have been wary of any repetition of that spectacle.

How does the wizarding world look at homosexuality?

I never thought about it before. Never thought to ask. There didn't seem to be a need to, at least not for me, I always considered myself devoted to the gentler sex. Although You were very gentle that nigh---…

There I go again! I swear! I can't start a thought without it ending up being about you. You'd think I would take a hint right?

Fine!

I take your letter in my hands delicately and begin, vainly, to smooth out the creases. Unfolding it once more I look over your words again, my finger lingering almost lovingly over the curls of ink.

____________________________________________

Harry…

I know that you probably wont appreciate me sending this… especially after what happened that night in the Astronomy Tower. Tell me, how is Hermione recovering from the shock? The look on her face was almost priceless when she walk in on us.

Sorry 'bout that. I didn't think anyone would come up there that late at night. I should have considered it, I mean, I followed you up there that late, right? But I had ulterior motives huh?

The look on your face… well… I'm sorry about that too. I took advantage of you with the kiss. I am sorry. (About taking advantage, not about kissing you). It was terrible that I did it so close to the end of the year. I hope you weren't too traumatized.

Anyway, since our last conversation the night before we left on the Hogwarts Express, I've been thinking about you and at the risk of alienating you further I was wondering if you would meet me in the second from the last compartment on the train when we leave for school… I want to talk to you.

I have something to ask you…

I'm not signing this. You know who it is anyway so what's the point. Besides I wouldn't want to embarrass you again AND in front of the muggles. Most don't understand or approve of such things right? Well, I have to go, Mum is calling me.

See you at school Harry.

________________________________________

I've already decided to meet you on the train. It would be wrong and cowardly not to. I only have one problem…

What the hell am I going to say to you?

Don't even get me started on that mysterious question of yours. Since I read those words I've come up with roughly two thousand different scenarios…

Sighing I turn away from the window. Clutching your letter in my hand I make my way back around the bed. The shadows shift around me and I look to my watch as I climb back into bed.

5:30

Time sure does fly doesn't it?

Looking back down at your letter I can feel my brows nit with confusion and frustration.

I hate it when the answer just isn't there for me when I want it. You'd think I would be use to it after all the unanswered questions that have surrounded me my whole life, but I'm not.

Opening the drawer in the nightstand, I place your letter, once again crumpled, inside the required potions book, 'Distillation of Death by Draughts'.

It was the safest place I could think to put it. Even Hermione dreaded reading it. Who would think that I would open it before school started and I would have to for class?

I place the letter at the beginning of the chapter and glance over the words…

Chapter 15: Pursuit of Immortality.

Chapter fifteen already? I muse.

Your letter has been marking my place. I don't know why I found this book interesting. I hate potions class after all, right?

Something about immortality, longevity, and the human pursuit of it tugs at me.

Shrugging, I slide the book back into the drawer and close it.

It doesn't help me in regards to you, but it does keep me from thinking about you for hours at a time.

Grinning I shift down and pull the covers over me. Turning on my side I close my eyes.

Would it surprise you that I actually enjoy my homework now. I'm even in the running for Head Boy next year.

Well, along with two Ravenclaws, Peter O'Connor and Clef Treine I believe, and then Draco Malfoy.

I pause as Malfoy's name runs through my mind.

Unusual…

I smile, turning onto my side.

Too much. There is too much to my life. Sometimes I think that it will kill me before Voldemort has a chance to.

I sigh and give in.

Closing my eyes I push everything away and pray for sleep to take me. For a couple hours anyway…

TBC…

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