Wow! Thanks so much for all those great reviews! We've been emailing back and forth teheeing over the wonderful comments you've all sent to us. Here's your first "Harry" chapter, primarily written by Wintermoon2. Hope you like it as much as the Draco chapter!

As for individual review replies, I'm going to leave that up to Azhure (since Chapter one was hers anyway) and I'll reply next time.

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter Two: I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing

If people say I'm crazy, I tell them that it's true
Let them watch with amazement
Say it won't last beyond breakfast
It's a phase he's going through
Denigrate or speculate on what I'm going through
Because it ain't the sort of thing I'd normally do
Pet Shop Boys

If any long-time fans of The-Boy-Who-Lived were wondering what had happened to their hero, they might have been surprised to find that he was living in a modest little flat in a tiny little Muggle neighbourhood outside of Somerset. He had the most basic Wizarding conveniences built into his flat, of course, and had developed a reputation among his neighbours as the eccentric boy who likes birds. He was infinitely pleased by the fact that he managed to live his life primarily unnoticed by the adoring public of his youth. Oh, the Prophet still ran a short article on him occasionally, but it was rarely more than speculation and nostalgia near his birthday or the anniversary of the final battle.

Life was blissfully routine. Each weekday morning, Harry got up, ate his breakfast and dressed for the day. He kissed Oliver goodbye, left the flat and walked approximately four and a half blocks to the inconspicuous little office building where he was presumed to spend his day answering phones and filing paperwork for a real estate agent. In reality, that little office building (in the same manner as Wizarding tents) was a very large, 10 story building with multiple sections for each primary department. It served as the Ministry headquarters for all of Somerset, Cornwall, Devon, Wiltshire and Dorset. Harry did indeed spend a good bit of his time on paperwork, but three days per week, from 2-5 he spent his time as an assistant trainer to the student Aurors. After his experience in the war and the defeat of Voldemort two years ago it was quickly decided that he was qualified to pass on some of his defence skills.

He cherished the simplicity of the routine and had determined that it was a stroke of pure luck that brought him to this position so soon after the war. He felt confident that he could handle change and uncertainty now, but knew he would have gone mental had he tried to alter his life two years earlier. Harry had also grown to love his afternoons of teaching. He'd even begun to think it was something he would like to do full time.

Of course, the events of the day had thrown a significant wrench in his good mood. He felt as if someone had spray painted all over the mural of his life and he was scared to clean it off for fear of clearing away the original paint underneath it. Today, Oliver had packed up and headed off to Yorkshire. Visiting friends. I'm supposed to be his lover, his boyfriend, as close as family. You'd think he would rather be with me than some old team-mates. Harry hoped they could find some time to spend together before Oliver's training began in January. I still don't see why he needs to be there round the clock during training. After all, we're wizards. You'd think he could just Apparate in each day and come home at night.

Harry wandered aimlessly about his flat, looking for something to distract him from the myriad of maudlin thoughts that were wont to attack his mind at times like this. Oliver hadn't even left him with so much as a used toothbrush – how was he supposed to feel? It felt and looked like Oliver had never even been a part of his life, nothing but a memory. In his effort to remain distracted, Harry had begun some early spring-cleaning. It wasn't as if the place needed to be cleaned considering Harry's typical concern for keeping things neat and orderly, but the mindless application of energy kept him from thinking too hard about his situation. Finding little to dust, Harry found himself in the disused guestroom, rummaging through the closet.

He came across a sealed box at the back of a high shelf. He had ripped open the Spell-o-Tape keeping it sealed before he realised which box it actually was. Harry had always said he would open the box when he was good and ready. His inner psyche must be ready, after all, the box was well and truly open, and he had begun to delve through the remnants of his godfather's life. It had been more years than he could count since Sirius had died. So long ago. Events from before the war had seemed such a long time ago. Harry finally felt ready to delve into the remnants of Sirius' life. One lousy box was all that remained of the life of one Sirius Black. The pang of loss wasn't so sad right now – Harry felt he had used up his sadness quota for the day, so surely he could handle this now.

He sat in the floor, flipping through an old photo album, relishing the photos of his parents, of Sirius, of Remus. He tried to ignore those few photos that captured Pettigrew, determined to focus on the happy memories captured in these images. He raised an eyebrow at one photo in particular. Hmm, he thought. Sirius and Remus look quite…affectionate in this photo. He had gathered from previous conversations that Remus held little attraction to the female persuasion, but there had never been any specific admission of current or previous relationships. I wonder if there was ever something between them, he thought. This photo certainly indicated that they had at least 'experimented' to some degree.

Putting the photo album away, he reached back into the box and pulled out a leather-bound book. He gazed at the mingled colours that had been etched into the cover, running his fingers over the plain black faceplate. He couldn't be certain, but thought he sensed a charm on it, as if it would automatically provide a title for the book when appropriate. The smoothness of the leather suggested that it was well-loved and frequently handled, yet the book showed no visible signs of wear. He debated with himself about reading anything that might be contained within the leather covers. It was obviously a journal, and it must have been important to Sirius for him to have it placed in the vault for safekeeping.

His inherent curiosity finally overcame any qualms he might have had. Surely it can't hurt to read this. What harm will come from reading about his thoughts and dreams? Perhaps I might come to some better understanding of him. Harry hesitated once more, but he needed to grasp on to something firm. Perhaps finding out more about this man he loved as a parent, yet lost, might just be what he needed. Harry gently ran a finger over the gold clasp and was slightly surprised to feel the magic of a mild protection charm as it dissolved and allowed him access. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover and was extremely disappointed to see the faint writing disappear quickly, leaving only blank pages. He was mildly startled by this, but presumed Sirius must have had a very good reason for the words to vanish upon opening. It saddened him to realise he didn't know the man well enough to begin to hazard a guess. His relationship with Sirius had been built primarily on written correspondence until that summer before his fifth year. Now, looking back on things, Harry realised that both he and Sirius had been in poor states of mind that year. And thanks to Harry's stubbornness, they'd never had the chance to get to know one another better.

That thought led Harry down the path of attempting to remind himself, as he'd been doing for years, that he was not to blame. No matter how much he regretted his actions on that fateful night, there were many other forces at work, some leading to his decision to go, some caused by that same decision. He'd finally convinced himself that he was not the reason for his godfather's death. He'd finally stopped looking for ways to contact Sirius, get advice from Sirius or bring back Sirius' ghost. He'd finally moved on with his life, graduated from Hogwarts, fought and trained for two more years until Voldemort was defeated, then stepped out into the real world to start his life as an adult. He got a flat of his own, took the time to go through some official university level training, and found this wonderful thing called a social life. That social life was the very thing, two and a half years later, that had brought Harry to the point perusing through a box of Sirius' personal items that had spent over two decades buried and forgotten in vault 723 at Gringotts.

Harry sighed deeply, closing the book. He was snapped out of his reverie as he heard the clock above the mantle chiming. Ron was due to come by soon and the flat was an absolute mess. Despite the earlier bout of cleaning, his subsequent rummaging had managed to leave more of a mess than he started with. Not that the place was really dirty, but Harry was quite the perfectionist when it came to cleanliness. Harry jumped up and started straightening cushions, gathering clothes and washing dishes without a thought. Just as he was finishing, he paused, looking at his wet hands buried under a pile of suds in the sink. I suppose I could have used magic, he thought. Shrugging, he quickly finished the job and dried his hands. Old habits die hard. The chores he did for the Dursleys had stuck with him and he found himself somewhat of a neat freak once he left Hogwarts and had his own place with no house elves to tidy up after him. Even at the age of 22, he couldn't break some of the habits drilled into him by his relatives. Still, the mindlessness of the work had kept him from thinking too hard about his current woes. The chime signalling Ron's visit startled Harry into a final bout of renewed cushion plumping. Harry nearly ran to the door in his enthusiasm to see his best friend.

"Ron!" he grabbed the tall redhead and pulled him through the doorway. He was always enthusiastic about seeing his old friends, but was beginning to suspect that his unexplainable feeling of abandonment at Oliver Wood's sudden departure that morning had made him a little more anxious for company.

"Whoa, mate. What's all the excitement about?" Ron came in, glancing around the room to see if he could find some reason for Harry's behaviour.

"Oh, er, nothing really," Harry feigned innocence as he nonchalantly ran his hand through his hair, his fidgety hands a dead give-away about his feelings. He settled for putting them deep into the pockets of his jeans. "Just glad you're here. How've you been? How's Mione? Will she be coming by later? Maybe we could all go out for dinner or something!" Harry was talking non-stop and Ron could do nothing but grin at the excitement from his old friend.

"Me too. Fine, Thanks. Love her dearly. I haven't asked. Sounds fun. Ollie, too?" Ron replied to each question, leaving Harry to try and sort out the answers (which wasn't easy since he'd barely been paying attention to himself when he asked all the questions).

"What about Oliver?"

"I was asking if he'd be able to go out for dinner with the rest of us. I was actually going to suggest just that for tomorrow night, if you're not busy."

"No, I'm not busy, but Oliver won't be able to come."

"Oh, has he got some extra practice before the game against the Cannons? I kinda wanted to have both of you there," Ron sounded slightly disappointed, but suspected that if Oliver was busy with extra practice, then the Cannons sudden rise in form must be scaring the Puddlemere team. That thought cancelled out any disappointment at Harry's partner not coming to dinner.

"What difference does it make, Ron? He won't be there. I'm the one who's been your friend all these years, why does it matter so much to have him at dinner tomorrow?" Harry's irrational response and snappy tone was enough for Ron to figure out the problem.

"You had a fight, didn't you?" his understanding tone was just what Harry didn't need to hear.

"What makes you think that?" Harry tried to cover up his feelings by getting even snarkier with his old friend. "I just said he wouldn't be able to come. I've never been attached to him at the hip or anything, you know. It's entirely possible for us to actually engage in activities separately from each other."

"Bloody hell, Harry, keep your robes on. I know you can function without him. It's okay, though. Even the best roads have a few bumps in them. You'll work everything out and make up. That's just what you do when you're in love. I'm right, aren't I? You're feeling down because you had a fight with him?"

Harry glared at Ron for a moment, trying to hold onto the last shards of his pride. He didn't want to admit it; that would make it real. Once he saw the understanding gaze of his long-time friend, his resolve crumbled and the denial turned to angry hurt. "Not really. He's gone, though. We didn't even have the time to fight about it. He had to run off to visit some old team-mates before the start of the new training season. He left this morning, but didn't even let me know until he was already packed," his tone became bitter. "It's not like I need him here. We aren't married or anything," of course, Harry was a bit worried that he would end up spending Yule alone. Oliver hadn't mentioned any plans for the holiday that was only a week away.

Hermione did indeed come by the flat later on and was convinced to join them for dinner. Deciding on somewhere quiet, they headed into their favourite local Italian Bistro in Glastonbury.

-oo0oo-

Harry arrived back at his flat, having said goodbye to Ron and Hermione at the restaurant. He had to admit that there was some merit to Hermione's suggestion that he try writing through his thoughts. She and Ron had always been able to read him quite well. They knew there was more to his mood than met the eye. They seemed to inherently pick up on his suppressed anxieties and Hermione's suggestion that a journal could allow him to work through things, almost like talking things out with himself, felt right to him.

He found himself standing, once again, in the guestroom, looking at the now blank journal. I see no reason not to use it. Of course, if it were some frightening enchanted book, like Tom Riddle's diary, that could be bad, but honestly, what are the chances of that?

Just to be on the safe side, he cast a few revealing spells on it, searching for any trace of dark magic. Finding nothing but a few simple, yet unidentified enchantments, he decided it was safe enough. He took the journal to his desk, grabbed his favourite quill and the purple ink that always made him feel a little more cheerful, took a deep breath, and dipped the quill.

December 14th, 2002

I can't believe I'm writing in a diary. I'm not sure why, but I've always thought of it as a rather girly thing to do. Especially when said diary is being written in primarily because I'm having love issues. It reminded me of those silly lovesick girls from school, so caught up in their desires to be loved that they never learned how to stand on their own. I couldn't stand to watch them, acting like having the perfect boyfriend was the only thing that mattered in life. Of course, that was back when my life was busy enough that I didn't have time to think about what I was missing. Now, well, I'm afraid I'm starting to act just like them.

I don't want to rely on having a lover to make me happy. I know, deep inside that I need to be happy on my own before I can truly be happy with anyone else. But Ollie left and I don't know when he'll be back and it just makes me feel so mopey and sad that I want to gag myself!

Harry paused a moment, chewing on the end of his quill – a habit he'd had for over a decade. He regretted not picking up more Sugar Quills the last time he had been to Honeydukes.

I have to admit, I've always felt that there was just something wrong with me. There seems to be no other explanation for all the people I've lost, all those who couldn't be bothered to care for me no matter how 'good' I tried to be. It's stupid, I suppose. I'm old enough not to whine about it. It's Ollie that's making me feel this way right now. I have to admit I miss him. I just can't bring myself to say that I love him – not truly.

He's just gone. He didn't even tell me that he would be leaving. Oh, I understand when a job requires you go away for a few months, you go. Especially a job like his. But you'd think he could have mentioned it, asked me if I wanted to go with him. If he would have wanted me there with him, that is. I honestly don't know what to think anymore. After six months, you think you know someone, you think you can read them, but you can't. Just when you think everything is fine and love and life are grand, it all gets flipped upside down.

Oh, I don't kid myself into thinking we're meant to be together forever. It just isn't like that. Ollie is a great guy; fun to hang out with, a good friend and fabulous shag (I'll go out on a limb and say he's the best shag this side of the Channel), but I don't think we have that deep, passionate love. I'm talking about the kind of love where you truly understand each other, but in any instance where you don't – there's a natural desire to understand that bit too. The kind of love where you have your own life and he has his own life, but when you share those lives it makes the world seem brighter. The kind of love where you don't necessarily 'complete' each other (because you are both complete on your own) but you sort of supplement each other – becoming something larger than the sum of your parts. Where you can honestly get lost in his eyes and just find yourself in wonder at the depths that seem to be there, for only you to see. A relationship where you have deep, meaningful conversations about everything from the Minister of Magic to Merlin philosophies and from sausages to biscuits. Those conversations are deep and meaningful, not because of the topic, but because you really care about each other's opinions. The kind of love where you don't wake up each day wondering if it's the day they're going to leave you. I'm not so sure I believe that kind of love really exists. If it does, well, I guess it'll just have to show itself to me. I certainly won't be looking for it.

I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight, all alone in our bed. He's been there most every night for so long. Even the few nights we've spent apart I could still feel his presence, almost like his personal aura was still emanating from his clothes and other belongings. Those things are all gone now. It feels empty. I feel empty. Gods, listen to me, once again sitting here like some little fool. I can stand on my own two feet! I know I can! We didn't break up. He kissed me before he left. That's a good sign. And I'll have a little more time to myself now. This could be really good for me. It'll give me a chance to catch up on some reading I've been meaning to do (especially considering the books I get for Yule and my birthday every year!) and I can start figuring out what else I'm interested in. I was so busy through school and during the war that I never got the chance to develop any particular interests or hobbies.

This afternoon was rough, but I was lucky enough to have a few distractions. I went to dinner with some friends, spent the evening catching up and feeling like I'm lucky to have best friends that understand me enough to give me such great advice. Let's just hope it works. The food was delish! I had the best Fettuccini Carbonara, and they bake their own garlic bread!

So, overall, dinner was nice. It's always good to see old friends again, and they really do try to help, but it's also hard to talk about things when it's obvious everyone's avoiding any kind of relationship discussion. Can't talk about anyone who's part of a couple, can't discuss their own relationship (despite the fact they asked me to dinner to announce their engagement), don't want to act too lovey-dovey around the poor loser that's having love troubles. It really sucked. Sometimes I feel like there's no one in the world that can understand me.

Flash

He stared at the page just long enough for one last drop of purple ink to slip from his quill and leave a small blotch next to his signature. He smiled at the thought of using his old nickname. Remus had been the one to come up with it after watching a particularly gruelling Quidditch match against Slytherin. Harry had managed to speed past the Slytherin beaters, once again besting Draco Malfoy in the race for the snitch. He never knew what was different about that game but there were a great number of comments about his excessive speed that day.

He'd cherished the name, having realised that Remus played a big part in the nicknames of the Marauders during their school years. It made him feel closer to his father and to Sirius, and as such, he had decided to keep it quiet. Somehow, it would have cheapened the feeling if the whole school, or worse yet, the whole Wizarding community were calling him Flash. No, he didn't want this private nickname to become as commonplace as "The-Boy-Who-Lived". Ron used it sometimes, as did Oliver. But Remus was the only one who used it on a semi-regular basis. Harry liked that. It was just for those he was close to. Just for those who really cared.

Harry put the journal away, surprised at how easily the words flowed once he got started. He felt so much better for releasing the thoughts on the page. He wouldn't have thought he'd be keeping at journal at 22 years old. He gazed at the Yule decorations adorning his flat, reminiscing about the Saturday afternoon when he and Ollie had picked them out and decided where to put them. Oliver had always loved decorations for any special occasion. In fact, Oliver loved celebrations in general. Last summer just after they started dating, Ollie had thrown a surprise birthday party for him – a Muggle-themed surprise party with all manner of electrical gadgets, everyone in Muggle clothes and a stereo full of Muggle music playing throughout the evening. It was an interesting throwback to some of the few good memories he had of his childhood. In an odd way, Harry had felt like he was getting the chance to experience all the things the Dursleys had kept him from. Harry had thought it a very sweet gesture and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had a feeling he'd be missing Oliver this year. No one wanted to face holidays and birthdays alone.

He sat watching the flames as he pondered the thought of being alone for Yule. He had not realised how tired he was from the rollercoaster of emotions he had ridden that day. He fell asleep amongst the overstuffed cushions – a treat he rarely indulged in. He dreamt that night of finding his true love. It was to his regret, however, when he awoke, to find that his dream lover was just that – in his dreams. He snuggled back into the cushions and caught some more sleep – hoping to find his dream lover once again.

-TBC-

First Published: January 2004
Edited: 28 February 2005

Review Thank You's! Thank you all for your chapter 1 reviews:
Aliexx, Chipmunk, Curious Dream Weaver, Griffencub, Justxme, Madith, Menecarkawan, SunGoddess1, Tangledhair.
AoiHyou: Yes, coffeehigh!Draco is an image I can't seem to get out of my head.
Fayee: Yes, it would be your idea of heaven. Pity I can't show you the shop I imagined, it's now gone :(, but it did exist once upon a time in the lands up north! As for your mind dashing off at tangents... well, I'm not going to say anything about that or you'll slap me!
Marsky: Thanks. We hope we can write a coherent story together, despite the different countries, time zones and languages! LOL
Queen Antigone: Bingo! You worked out my secret plan... I'm very much inspired by 'You Got Mail', but Wintermoon has a few different things up her sleeve!
Rena: Yeah, we like the idea of pen pals, but in the old fashioned sense. the only modern thing about their conversations is the fact that they will possibly be able to converse in real time, just like the internet. Beyond that, it's all about old fashioned, wizard style correspondence.
The Shadow Bandit: Wow! Thanks for your wonderful words! We aim to please, and we hope you continue to enjoy the fic. We love 'A Moment in Time' and think it's fantastic! We'll try to update as much as possible, but as you know, real life kinda gets in the way (not to mention the difference in time zones and continents!) Besides, we are also surprising each other with the next chapter (we have a rough outline, but I'm leaving the finer details of Harry to Wintermoon, & Draco is all mine! Mine!)
The Review with No name! Great review, thanks whoever you are, glad you think we are two of your favourite authors! Wow! You'll be surprised what Harry will do when he finally gets around to reading Draco's words! Yes, the Riddle Diary debacle will figure dearly in his thoughts!

Just a quick note from Wintermoon – I second everything that Azhure just said and hope to be starting on the next chapter within a day or so. Harry's words are already whirling around in my head like some crazed Tasmanian Devil!