Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter Three: Precious Pain

Everybody's got a hunger
No matter where they are
Everybody clings to their own fear
Everybody hides some scar
Precious pain
Melissa Etheridge

Draco watched the words materialise on the page of his enchanted journal. He felt a little guilty – as if he were trespassing on the other writer's thoughts by reading them. Once they had signed off, he debated a moment before gathering the presence of mind to summon his quill and ink. Pausing briefly, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the deep green ink.

His hand paused; the quill hovering just over the parchment. Rereading the other writer's words, he sensed their idealistic, but insightful view of love. After his own tragic break-up, he was feeling just a little bit cynical about the whole concept of 'love'. The writer was truly expressing themselves from the very depths of their soul, but if he were being honest with himself, he felt just a little bit of kinship to this other lost soul. Draco hadn't pondered the idea of love quite to the same depths as this 'Flash' character, but he held out in the hope there would be someone he could share the rest of his life with. He snorted to himself as he realised that person would not be Antonio.

Draco wanted to respond in his usual cynical way, but hesitated. Flash seemed to have written it as if it were a private diary entry. I don't think he realises it's a partnered journal. If Flash was expecting someone to reply, then surely he would have phrased his words differently. Pondering his eagle feather quill for another moment, the exact response came to him, and he began to write.

Bonjour 'Flash',

Before you go pouring out any more of your rather intimate feelings into this journal, I would just like to point out that you have been writing in a 'Journal Intime Partagé' – a partnered journal. You've got one half of the journal, and I have acquired the other journal that's connected to yours. Whatever you write, I can see, and vice versa. It's funny how I only got this journal this afternoon, and you write in it not long after – ironic timing, isn't it?

Rest assured, I promise you I'm not some disembodied spirit or an inbuilt Agony Aunt enchantment. I'm a real flesh and blood person. If you feel like your privacy has been violated in any way, then I suggest you burn this book right now. I did read your words, and apologise for the intrusion on your privacy, however accidental. I honestly have no idea who you are, so I guess there's no harm done, really.

If you wish to keep pouring your heart and soul into this journal, then I can't guarantee I won't read your words again. I find your ideals somewhat intriguing and I would love to discuss them with you at length. Perhaps I could give you some constructive advice – although I doubt my qualifications on that score. Who knows, maybe you could even return the favour. As fate would have it, we seem to be in similar predicaments in our love lives (or lack of them on my part).

If I don't read anything further from you, then I'll assume you have followed my instruction and 'Incendioed' this thing to ashes.

Draco scanned his words. There, that seems harmless enough. If the other writer had no idea about the connection between the journals, then they could just destroy it, and start again.

Looking down at the page, he realised his quill was still in hand, poised and waiting to write more. Not tonight, he thought. Wouldn't want to waste the effort, not if Flash is going to destroy this book. Flash. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at the nickname as he wondered about its origins. The connotations attached to that were endless.

Bien à vous, Luc.

That should keep me anonymous enough if this Flash gets a little irate. He signed off with his own nickname, not well known, but it was used often by his own mother. Draco Lucien Darien Malfoy. Narcissa had wanted to name him Lucien, but Lucius had insisted that he be named Draco. Narcissa rebelled, and called him Luc as often as possible. He hadn't used the endearment in a long time. He hadn't even used it with any of his lovers. Draco figured if Flash wasn't going to use a true name, then he didn't see any reason to either.

Upon re-reading, it occurred to him that his writing was a mix of both French and English. French had always been Draco's second language, but having to speak, read and write it daily, he barely thought about it. He could easily move between the two languages, and sometimes forgot which language he was using, like right now.

Draco closed the book once the ink had dried. A twig snapped in the fire, and he looked up in surprise, noticing just how late it was on the clock above the mantle. It was well past time for him to finally head back up to his studio. He had been avoiding going back there all day – hence his earlier desire to stay down in the store. The memory of his fight with Antonio the night before was still fresh in his mind. He hoped he had successfully tired himself out. It was well past the time for him to get into his own bed. Alone. He had avoided it for long enough, but his body was protesting the lack of sleep. He stood slowly, yawning and stretching the muscles that had seized up during his awkward rest at the table. His injured knee cried out in protest at this reflex action. Curse the bloody war injury. Curse the Death Eaters and curse that Harry fucking Potter.

He hobbled slowly up the winding staircase to his studio apartment above the store. With each step, and each twinge in the injured knee, he cast another curse upon that damned war that had scarred him for life.

Draco refused to act like an invalid, despite his limp. He didn't want anyone's pity – he had too much pride for that. In the bloody aftermath of that final skirmish (Draco refused to call it a battle), the medi-wizards arrived too late to help the atrophied ligaments and bone in the knee. Magic could mend broken and shattered bones, but it couldn't do anything about destroyed muscle tissue, or cursed bone. It wasn't that he was upset at being injured, it was more the fact that it had just been a case of bloody bad timing, and it had been all Potter's fault.

Draco's cover as a spy had been blown at a most inopportune time. If he had been given another ten minutes – ten lousy minutes – he might have managed to get away unscathed from the Death Eater's camp. Of course, he didn't blame anyone but that Harry fucking Potter. Why? Potter just happened to kill Voldemort at a most inconvenient time. Draco had infiltrated the Death Eater ranks as a spy. Being a Death Eater had never really appealed to Draco, but he reluctantly took the Dark Mark out of duty to his father, although he came to regret the choice almost immediately. His mind was made up upon seeing first hand the madness of Voldemort, and he quietly denounced the megalomaniac's outlandish ideals as he turned spy for Dumbledore's Army.

It was by sheer chance that the side of light had discovered a way to banish the Dark Mark and lessen the link to Voldemort. Draco and Severus Snape - both spies for the cause - had their Dark Marks removed, only to be replaced with a harmless Muggle tattoo to hide their changed allegiance. Nobody knew what would happen to those marked when Voldemort was ultimately defeated, and Dumbledore didn't want his two spies to die a painful death from the connection.

Unfortunately for Draco, Dumbledore misjudged the connection between Voldemort and his minions. Rather than dying a horrible death at their leader's demise, they found that the link was severed, and the marks vanished. Of course, Draco's mark was false, and his tattoo remained. His cover was blown. A misplaced hex in the skirmish that followed resulted in the now permanently injured knee. Frustrated at his sheer bad luck, he cursed the war, and the Death Eaters and Potter at every twinge of the damaged joint. He refused to use a walking cane, the memories of his father and his cane were still too fresh in the minds of many wizards. He had a hard enough time of it trying to disassociate himself from his father, as the physical likeness was uncanny.

He knew that many would try to draw comparisons between Draco and his father, so he tried as much as possible to lessen their similarities. It hadn't been easy, not after he had spent his formative years attempting to emulate the indifferent sophistication of Lucius Malfoy. A year after the war, Draco gave up trying to unlearn the habits of a lifetime and gave in to his breeding. He did however try to lessen the physical resemblance by keeping his hair short and slick, and not using a walking cane.

Studying in Paris had been another brainwave to disassociate himself from his father. Fortunately the French had only remembered the benevolence of the ancient line of Malfoys, before they had crossed the Channel. To his delight, his father's deeds barely turned the heads of the French wizarding community. If he ever chose to return to England, he hoped that the memory of Lucius Malfoy had faded.

His studio was small, but quaint. It suited Draco's desire for solitude perfectly. Growing up an only child, he had found dormitory living to be most distasteful, and this small, secluded area was a haven for him. Although the entire studio was smaller than his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, Draco had managed to live with a minimum of clutter. During his first year at Hogwarts, Draco had learned that house elves were not at his beck and call. He had to learn to look after himself – the hard way. He no longer needed to rely on house elves, but he was looking forward to the day he could order them around again.

The studio was really just one large split-level open area, with a couple of false walls to hide the bathroom, and a step up to the sleeping area. A self-contained kitchen aligned one wall of the living area; but Draco rarely used it for its intended purpose. Living in Paris meant that he rarely had to cook for himself. His dependence on coffee could be easily sated whenever he was in the store. When the need for solid sustenance overtook him, he would usually go out to one of the many cafés around the Wizard Quarter. The variety of restaurants in Muggle Paris had initially surprised him. He was impressed by the wines, and the sheer choice of cuisine on offer.

Draco had to admit that the French Muggles certainly had some idea about good food and wine. Of course, he wouldn't admit that aloud. Instead, he would tell others that his modest stipend went further when converted into Muggle currency. This, of course, wasn't too much of a departure from the truth. Thankfully, with Emmaline around, he rarely had to cook. He knew that she was just being motherly, but it seemed that she had often cooked 'a bit too much', and always had enough to give him a spare bowl. He would never go hungry whilst living in Paris, that was for sure.

Besides, if he ever had the urge to cook, he would need to find space between the half dozen cauldrons simmering or steeping quietly in the kitchenette. He automatically made his way over to the cauldrons, sniffing and briefly stirring the contents in a couple of them. He added a pinch of some shrivelled up herbs to one of them and stirred again, seemingly satisfied at the result. He quickly jotted some notes on nearby parchments, feeling pleased with the progress of his latest research projects.

He wasn't planning on living in this studio forever, but he had taken pride in decorating it in a somewhat understated, yet lavish manner. However, he took no pleasure in that now, the reminders of Antonio still fresh in his mind as he looked upon the miniature oil paintings on the walls. He could still see the day that they purchased the canvases from the markets. Looking out the window, he could not help but also remember the day they charmed the glass to show different scenery. In a fit of pique, he removed the charm from the window, showing the true view, although the excessive snowfall hid the rather drab rooftops of the surrounding studios and shops.

He shivered involuntarily as the cold crept into the studio. A couple of well-placed charms had warmed the place up and set the fire blazing in the hearth. He curled up in the comfy overstuffed armchair beside the fire. He could not face the bed – not yet anyway. He wouldn't be able to stand the emptiness of their bed. As weary as he was, and despite the protest coming from his aching knee, the thought of being in that bed alone was too much for him this night. He knew if he lay down amongst the duck down and satin that he would still be able to smell his departed lover. He couldn't face that just yet. The comfort given as he snuggled against the back of the armchair made him feel like he wasn't alone. He was soon dozing, and for a change, blissfully untroubled by bad dreams.

The week before Yule was usually a busy one – the holidaying university students could usually be found shopping, or partying, or lazing around in the cafés or bars, or just for a change, partying again. You might find some of the students working reluctantly on their theses, or research or dissertations, but most young wizards would take the time to enjoy the festive season with their friends and loved ones.

Draco was keeping a low profile – not feeling terribly festive, yet not quite wallowing in his own self-pity at being newly single again. He didn't go shopping for gifts, but there was one trip he had to make. He decided that sleeping in the armchair had to stop. He reduced the last vestiges of Antonio's scent to ashes as he Incendioed the mattress and pillows. The joy of shopping for new and even more luxurious bedding had satisfied his sudden urge for retail therapy. He was starting to move on.

The rest of the week he could be found reading, or finalising his current projects. He was most satisfied at the results of his latest experiments, and he knew that his professors would also be impressed. When Emmaline eventually managed to drag him away from the cauldrons for a few hours, he would sit in his favourite spot at the top of store and watch the passing parade of Yuletide shoppers.

He had almost forgotten the journal, but occasionally he would cast his eye upon it, and wonder if Flash had taken his advice, but he never bothered to open it up and find out. Venturing out to a number of cafés during the week for lunch or dinner, he would often spot couples in the crowd. A twinge of regret would pass through him as he watched them kiss or cuddle. He wondered if Antonio had been correct in saying that Draco was selfish and self-centred. He began to overanalyse every interaction he had with others, and it began to play on his mind. He would find himself sometimes thinking over the words that Flash had written as he watched those couples who appeared to be in love. Was that couple over there really in love? Perhaps one of them was seeking something more. Could they be soul mates? He wondered if he would ever be destined to find his soul mate.

People watching became Draco's newest pastime. It was a trait he had followed for years, but he found himself doing it more often than usual now that he was single. Draco had always held centre stage at parties – it was part and parcel of his heritage and his upbringing. But if truth be told, he would just love to take a back seat and watch everyone else as they interacted. Perhaps this was why Antonio thought he was selfish – his occasional need for solitude, and his desire to stay out of the spotlight and sit back in the shadows. He couldn't help it – he had spent a great deal of time as a spy - it was now a part of his nature to watch others. It dawned on him that perhaps Antonio was the selfish one – always wanting to party, never wanting to allow Draco his quiet time.

He didn't attend any of the parties that were going on that week. He didn't feel up to the explanations, or the self-pitying stares. It was hard being the lone single, and he didn't need a pity fuck either, so he kept his distance from the social circuit. Those few that knew him well enough didn't badger him to join in. During the week there were times he sought the company of others, but it came as a shock to realise he had no true friends to call on at a time like this. There were plenty of acquaintances, but no true mates to share his grief, or his ups and downs.

Emmaline, of course, was the exception to the rule. She was indeed a true friend, a confessor, and a mother figure. She kept an eagle eye on him during that week. Had they dared to ask, Draco would have told anyone that he was coping with his new found single status, but Emmaline could see right through that façade. He was slowly isolating himself, and that wasn't healthy. She smiled to herself as a plan to help him formulated in her mind.

By the time Yule Eve rolled around, Draco had to finally admit that he was indeed feeling the loneliness, and he wasn't looking forward to spending Yule alone. That very afternoon he declined a rather exciting chance to spend the weekend on the French Riviera. He nearly jumped at the offer before realising that he would have been the odd man out – the only single guy there. The invitation was regretfully declined.

Emmaline surprised him early in the evening by cooking a festive dinner just for the two of them. He relished the delightful flavours of her traditional Coq-au-Vin, and he had been pleasantly surprised by her gift of a bottle of home brewed mead. Her late husband had brewed many bottles, and she felt that Draco could use all the cheer he could get on that night. She had been just as surprised when he handed her a gift. Draco had nobody he wanted to exchange Yule gifts with, but Emmaline was an exception – to every rule. She had been most gracious when she opened the gift to find the small rose-gold locket. She tried to give it back to him – it was too much, but Draco wouldn't hear of it. He had given the same locket to his mother when he was nine. Narcissa had treasured it until her untimely death at the hands of the Death Eaters. Draco had found her stiff and lifeless body clutching desperately at the locket. Emmaline had replaced his mother now, and he wanted her to have the treasured token. They both shed a tear over the sentimental gift.

Of course, the night had to end, and Draco eventually dragged himself back to his studio, a good few glasses of the mead under his belt.

He had grand plans to drink himself into a stupor and wake up the other side of the festive season, but first, he had to complete his journey to the 'drunk side'. The mead was definitely helping, but he needed to keep the mind occupied until he collapsed.

His eye caught the mail he had forgot to open that morning. He was not surprised to find a short note from Severus Snape. Their semi-regular correspondence was usually related to their work, but Draco raised an eyebrow at the short, festive missal from his former professor and fellow spy. Draco sat and wrote an equally pleasant return greeting for the Yule season, and for a prosperous New Year, although he knew that Severus would probably just laugh at that. His spotted his owl, Melchett, nesting high up in the rafters. The bird just looked at him when he tried to call it down to send the letter. A panicked hoot as it looked out the window told Draco that it was definitely not the best weather to send mail. The blizzard was getting worse. He reconsidered, and would send the owl in the morning, weather permitting.

A scratching at the back door told Draco that his newest houseguest wanted entrance from the cold. Pointing his wand at the back door, he transfigured the lower panel into a cat flap. It was high time he did that; after all, the stray tabby had decided to adopt Draco.

Apart from his owl, Draco had never really been one for keeping pets. The tabby had been scrimmaging around on the balcony earlier in the week, and he had taken pity on it in the cold weather. Naturally, he had no idea that once he fed it some chicken and ham scraps, the cat had decided to move in permanently. He named her Petite Amie, and had no idea what she did when she disappeared during the day. Of course she came back in the evening to be fed, and to curl up in his lap, or by the fire. Still, she seemed to be housebroken, and that could only be a bonus.

Draco was surprised when the tabby didn't jump up into his lap, nor did it head for the fire. Instead, she leapt onto his desk, scattering the parchments in all directions. He moved quickly to rescue the inkbottles from being knocked over as well, but the cat leapt away to relative safety by the time he made it to the desk.

He stared down at the journal; almost forgotten under the research parchments he had been working on all week. The cat's little adventure unearthed it from the pile, and brought the sentiments of the other writer to the forefront of Draco's mind. He opened the book, only to find that there were no further entries. He was a little disappointed at that, but not truly surprised that there were no more words. If he had been in the same situation as Flash, he would have no doubt burnt his journal and vowed never to write in a book again.

He slowly reread the words as he sipped on another glass of the mead. The words and sentiments about love had been in the back of his mind all week, and Draco felt an obligation to respond. Surely it couldn't hurt? Perhaps it would while away the time until he was drunk enough to collapse and forget. He finally admitted to himself that he was avoiding his feelings, and had been doing so all week. But Yule Eve was not the time for grand epiphanies, or was it?

Before he had time to change his mind, his best quill and the green ink were out again and he had already begun to write.

December 20, 2002

Bonjour again Flash!

Yuletide eve finds me alone and very much in need of some sort of companionship. Oh the cat is no doubt keeping my lap warm, but it would be nice if it could hold a decent conversation!

I hope the words I wrote the other day are not making you flip out. Of course, if you had followed the suggestion I made at that time, then you will have already gone out and burned this book; and you are already writing in something else.

Now, here's the thing, I'm already rambling about myself, and we haven't even been properly introduced! Not that it will make much difference – you'll probably never read this. Guess I was meant to be alone with my demons this Yule.

Merde... I've just discovered you can't do an erase charm on what you've written... Guess you will just have to let it all pour out on to the page. I meant metaphorical demons, not real ones. Guess there will be no slip of the quill here. I've never written in one of these things before, so it's all new to me too.

Perhaps I should start again. Sorry, I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this stuff, and not being able to erase things is a little frustrating. In the slim chance that you ever stumble across these words, then I'll assume that on your journal, you've cast every type of anti-enchantment charm and spirit erasing hex you can think of to ensure I'm not an enchantment. Of course, my wonderful penmanship could be the reason you're still reading. Apologies for the bad humour – it's a kind of self-defence mechanism that's helped me cope during the war. Merlin knows some of us needed a good laugh to help us through.

Though in total honesty (which I admit I've never been really good at) I don't know that the humour was as much to make people laugh as it was to keep them from laughing at me.

Again, I'm waffling. I tend to do that, although the mead is certainly helping. I thank the makers that this tome will never run out of pages. How do I know that? Well, I remember that there was a set of these journals in my family, and I was once fascinated by them. I think a distant family member ended up with them. I had totally forgotten about them, but when I acquired this book – only earlier this week actually – I recalled everything I remembered about partnered journals.

Indeed, once Emmaline had told him about the journals, he remembered that his mother spoke about a set that had been in her family. She had been most upset when they had not been handed down to her and Lucius. He had no idea what had happened to them, but as Draco was now the last remaining member of the Malfoy and the Black families, then he would probably never know.

Of course, you have absolutely no idea about me, have you? Well, I doubt you would believe what I tell you, but I can assure you that I am not a homicidal wand-wielding maniac. I consider myself just a fairly ordinary young wizard. I'm guessing that 'Flash' isn't the name your parents gave you. I won't pry for your birth name. Anonymity sometimes makes things easier. There's a lot of power in names, and I haven't earned the right to use yours yet. Please, call me 'Luc'.

The cat had now returned from her safe haven across the room, snuggling apologetically against his leg. He let her jump into his lap, the soothing of her purr helping him to relax. Draco found her warmth most agreeable, but still, at night, it was small solace for the missing warmth of a lean and hard body. He wrote some more...

I was honestly compelled to respond when I read your words Flash, even though it's taken a week for some of them to sink into my rather stubborn skull. We seem to be a pair – both having love issues. I can assure you; keeping a diary isn't a girly pastime. Forgive me if I misunderstood, but if you think a diary is girly, then I take it you are a Wizard.

He thought back on the girls he had gone to school with – there had been some fairly flighty ones in his class. He remembered Pansy Parkinson; there's a girl that would turn the straightest of guys gay. Draco recalled some horrific encounters with the girl and her rather over zealous tongue. It was just Draco's bad luck that she had designs on becoming the next Mrs Malfoy and had pestered him for the longest time. He couldn't believe that she had even tried to pursue him during the height of the war. There had been other girls who had tried to gather Draco's interest at school, but he ignored most of them. There had been several twittering and flighty girls at school. The only one who had piqued his interest, long before he had discovered that he preferred the company of men, was Daphne Greengrass. She wasn't quite as giggly as the others, and even he had to admit that it was the best sex with a woman he had ever had, albeit what limited experience that was. But he didn't want to think about her just now. Pity that she was now another of the victims of the war.

He quirked his lip in a smile. Something about Flash's words suddenly struck him. It was the only explanation for the wording. He decided to ask outright.

I'm wondering if your Ollie came back to you this Yule. You mention Ollie several times, and you refer to him as 'he'. I'll go out on a limb – and please don't be offended if you aren't – but I'm guessing you're gay, or at least, bisexual? Not that it bothers me, because I'm of the same persuasion – at least, I'll take love where I can get it, and since the war, that's been exclusively with other wizards. Both my longest relationships have been with guys. So apart from being unlucky in love, we have another thing in common!

You're unsure of your relationship with this Ollie, well, I've just been dumped by the biggest cad this side of the Riviera... actually, I think he's on the other side now, gone home to his Mamma in Rome... C'est la vie...

He found himself wondering again if this Ollie had returned to Flash for the Yule season. He hoped so. Nobody else deserved to be alone at this time. He was proud of himself for not wallowing over Antonio all week.

You struck a real chord when you said that you need to be happy on your own before you can be happy with anyone else. You've really made me think on that this week. You are right. Initially, I was wallowing over his leaving, but I have spent this week alone, and guess what? I'm still here! In one piece. I'm under no illusion that it has been easy – hell, I've even picked up a stray cat for some companionship this week – desperate, aren't I?

I've actually found my time alone to be quite liberating! I've had so much time on my hands this week. I've finished all my semester assignments, and now I'm just finalising a few loose ends of research. What did you do to keep yourself busy this week? Catch up on any of your reading, or any of those hobbies you were hoping to pick up?

Sure, I've had my down moments this week – don't ask me how much alcohol I've downed this evening, I lost track hours ago. Perhaps it is a sign. Believe me, I have little faith in Divination, but I do believe in fate. Fate and timing. Unfortunately for me, it's always about bad timing. I'll tell you about that some day, if you ever get around to reading this that is. Perhaps you need this time alone for some higher purpose, like sorting out your true feelings.

When Antonio left me last week, it was unexpected. Actually, I thought it was unexpected, but now I can see that he was probably right, to some extent. I would never admit that to him, of course, and I would never admit it when I'm sober. He left me with a long list of my faults... I'm apparently self-centred; selfish and I don't listen. I say he's the selfish one. I didn't go running home when things got too hard!

Perhaps we just weren't that compatible. Sure, like you and Ollie, the sex was magnificent (he's an Italian - you know what they say about Italian men...) I do like to socialise, but unlike him, I do like my quiet times. Is it wrong to want to spend an evening at home? Is it wrong to spend time just with him, and nobody else? Is that being selfish? He told me I didn't listen. I admit to some failings on my part in that area. If you ever do happen to read this again, then I vow to make sure I attempt to listen to you, and offer any advice that I can, no matter how unqualified I might be.

So one week down, and I think that I might just be able to live without love – at least – until I finish my studies some time in the next eighteen months. See... now there I go again... talking about myself. I am a bit selfish. Can't help it – only child syndrome.

I'll attempt to make up for my lack of selflessness by trying to directly answer some of the concerns you wrote in your journal entry. You wrote a lot about love. Surely there is more to life than love. I guess, now that the war is over, we are all trying to find some semblance of normalcy in our lives, and love is probably one of those normal things.

Perhaps we aren't meant to go and look for love. Perhaps the wondrous kind of love you describe isn't found, but it will find you. I lost those I loved during the war too – not a lover as such; just my family. I'm all that's left of it now. I remember once having an epiphany about love (or it could have been the absinthe, who knows). Love doesn't discriminate. It will hit you at the most inopportune time, and sometimes we love what or who we shouldn't. I loved my father dearly, but he was a heartless bastard. Do I still love him? Yes, he was a huge part of my life – a developmental part, but I've learned from his mistakes, and I don't plan on repeating them. Maybe we are meant to make lots of mistakes along the way – I know I'll never make the mistake of falling in love with a work colleague again. That was a horrible mess! And as for Antonio, well, as I said before, it was lust at first sight. It was doomed to fail from the start. Of course, if I could grab a time-turner and go back and tell myself that now, I probably would. Not that I would have listened. I probably would have hexed myself.

Draco thought back again on Millard, his first real long-term lover. Love in the workplace just doesn't mix. Downing the final dregs of his mead, he knew that he had drunk way too much, and was now being way too over-sentimental.

So, now that I'm a maudlin drunk (what works better for a hangover from mead? A Sobrietus Charm; or the Sobrietus Potion? Guess I'll find out in the morning – but wait, you can't cast the charm on yourself, can you? Guess it's the potion for me!); here's the offer. I honestly think that between us, we can work well for each other. You say you are unsure if you love Ollie - truly love him. I think deep down we are all searching for the kind of love you describe, but not everyone can put it so eloquently. I believe the kind of love you are talking about is the love between soul mates. Those that find their soul mate are so lucky. You see it so rarely. I doubt my parents were soul mates. None of the people I know are with their soul mates either. Do you know anyone who has met their soul mates? What about your family?

What I hate the most about breaking up is the loss of friendship. Does Ollie love you? Has he told you this? Are you just being scared to commit, or are you afraid you'll lose the friendship if you break-up? Sometimes we start our love affair with a friendship. When it all turns sour, the friendship usually goes too. I'm sure you've heard the line – 'but we'll still be friends...' Yeah, I don't think that ever pans out once you've had a break-up. It seems as if you and Ollie share a wonderful friendship, which has turned to more. Millard was my last lover, before Antonio. We work together at Uni, and we were friends long before we were lovers. Unfortunately the friendship has soured and is long gone.

I once heard a Muggle saying – If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was and always will be yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with. I don't know why I remembered that particular saying – I don't get out and about in the Muggle world much, but, much like your words, they struck a chord. You say Ollie has left, but he left you with a kiss. I don't think I can say anything to enhance that piece of wisdom, but think about it whenever you are missing him.

If you are feeling lonely, please remember that there is a sympathetic ear right here, willing and ready to listen. (See, now if only Antonio read that, then perhaps he'd still be here).

So I offer you a metaphorical hand of friendship, if you'll have me. I don't know if you'll even read this, but I will be checking back regularly to see if you have replied.

Au Revoir,
Luc

Draco waited for the last drop of ink to dry before carefully closing the book. It was getting late, and he didn't really expect any response. He doubted the other writer would ever use their journal again, let alone read it. It was well past midnight, and the snow flurries silently hit the window. The cat miaowed at Draco after being unceremoniously dumped from his lap. She stretched languidly as she woke up, only to bound over to the bed, leap up and methodically plump her spot on the pillow before going back to sleep. She opened one eye to check on Draco, questioning his next move. Draco smiled. "Okay my Petite Amie, it is time for bed, isn't it? Let's see if we can't sleep our way through the festive season," the mead had definitely gone to his head, and he was feeling rather drowsy. He managed enough sense to cast a warming charm as well as one to keep the fire going. He was looking at the inside of his eyelids before his head hit the pillow. Satisfied that Draco was asleep, the cat moved into the hollow beside his stomach, and delicately curled up as she too went to sleep.

Neither of them heard the flurry of rustling pages as the journal was opened and more words materialised on the page.

-TBC-

First Published: February 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 Tazmanian Devil!