First let me say that I absolutely couldn't have done this without my fantabulous and wondertastic beta and collaborator Azhure She's been an inspiration, an editor, a brainstorming partner, an ego-booster and the best co-writer one could ever ask for. If I ever get that multi-million dollar book deal, I'm going to request that she be allowed to work with me (if she can put up with me that much).

Next, I have to say that I doubt I would be doing this if not for all you wonderful readers! When I very first posted back in April of 2003 I never dreamed that my little obsession would eventually improve my writing skills, stretch my imagination, build my confidence and bring me new friends! Thank you all.

Now, on to other news:

We have created a yahoo group, so if you want to be notified of any story updates, or if you want to read the saucier versions of our fics, just head to the yahoo group called PageOfPeril. It's at groups . yahoo . com / group / PageOfPeril / (Just remove the spaces to copy into your browser), and join in, or just sign up for special notices if you only want to be updated on new chapters. Thanks!

One bonus of joining the yahoo group is the chance to see the wonderful pics that Azhure has created to go along with this story (not to mention her other fics). I'll give you all the heads up that there is a specific pic to go along with this chapter, and I hope you'll decide to check us out.

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter Four: Point of No Return

The random aspects of our lives
Come together once in a while
So blinding and decidedly
Naivete falls from our eyes
And we'll not regain
As we watch the tower falling down

Maybe things can change
Only if you want
You know, you know there's no avoiding
The lesson to be learned
The point of no return

Duran Duran

"No, Ron. Honestly." Although Harry didn't even think he was being honest with himself. Who was he kidding? Did he really want to stay alone in his flat over the Yule celebrations?

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron's always expressive face looked out from the fireplace in concern. Harry couldn't help but notice that Ron had that little twist to his mouth again, the one he always got when he was worrying about something.

"Yes, I'm sure. I have a feeling Oliver will be home, and I would rather be here to welcome him. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Well, you know if you change your mind, you're welcome. I s'pose Ollie would be miffed if you weren't there when he came home anyway. It's a few days yet until Yule. Still plenty of time to let us know, if he doesn't make it back. Besides, knowing Hermione, we'll have enough food to feed a small army. You'd think she was trying to turn into Mum!" Harry couldn't help but laugh at the involuntary shudder that overcame his best friend at the thought of Hermione and Mrs Weasley having too much in common.

"No worries, mate. Just don't let Hermione hear you say things like that!"

Harry heard a feminine voice in the background and recognized the sparkle in Ron's eyes. Hermione had walked in. "Well, now, things to do, Harry. I'll drop by in a day or so, all right?"

"Sure thing." Harry watched as Ron's face disappeared from the fire and the flames died down a bit. He thought back to the days when he and Oliver had just moved in together. They had been like that, too; always happy to see each other, always affectionate, always eager to spend fun afternoons on the town, or quiet evenings at home, or passionate nights in bed.

I miss him. More than I thought I would. I guess I was just feeling restless, but maybe I really do love him. I probably do, if I miss him this much, right?

He had always looked forward to holidays, but he had not anticipated being alone. He had planned on sharing many things with Oliver that week, including a day trip to some local vineyards in Kent. He'd been hoping for not only a wonderful wine tasting, but a chance for some romantic time for just the two of them. Now it looked like he would have to delay that one – again. It was the second time that Ollie had cancelled on that planned trip of Harry's. Maybe he just doesn't like good wine? I know he can knock back the beers and spirits, but he is always reluctant to try the wines.

Harry looked around his apartment, the sheer number of projects he had started momentarily overwhelming him. Finding himself alone, he had spent his days starting, but rarely finishing dozens of little projects. Projects he had been always keen to start, but he had always managed to find time to help his friends first, putting his own needs on the backburner. Finding more photos of his parents in Sirius's belongings had been the impetus for him to finally organize a photo wall. Harry had always been envious when seeing others homes, particularly the Weasleys, full of family photographs. Looking around the home he shared with Oliver, there seemed to be more Quidditch trophies than any other personal touches. It was very much Oliver's space, despite the fact it was Harry's name on the lease. However, there were a couple of photographs – one of Harry, Ron and Hermione on the last day of NEWTs, as well as one of Harry and Oliver that had been taken at Harry's birthday party.

Harry had spent the better part of a day rearranging and reorganizing the family photos, mixing and matching them, firstly as a collage, then in frames, then, after being unable to decide the best way to display them all, he just packed them back into a new photo album.

Naturally, he felt he had wasted a day immersed in melancholy memories of those who he had lost, but still, he hadn't thought too much about how much he had missed Oliver.

On the second day, he decided he needed to get out of the house, but had no desire for crowds. The weather was surprisingly fantastic to be out of the house. Deciding against Apparating, he packed a small lunch and flew to a shaded wood behind Porlock Weir, and set about to do some hiking. Just the flying had exhilarated him, but a good physical hike up the mountain was just the ticket. Trudging the paths through the forest, and down behind Foreland Point, he arrived at his favourite viewing spot in time for lunch. The picnic lunch had survived the journey, and Harry sat and watched the clouds above as the weather remained calm. Harry didn't really know how long he had stayed out there, but the sharp sting of the ocean wind was biting at his cheeks and the sense of rain clouds snapped him back to the present. He hiked back to his broom's hiding place behind the village, and was home before the weather turned bad.

Luckily, the rest of Harry's week had been mercifully filled with activities. Firstly, a Muggle mail order parcel had him totally excited. His new DVD had arrived! Never having had the luxury of being allowed television, Harry had instantly bought one the day he moved into his flat, a television and all the peripherals to go along with it – video, DVD and stereo components. He had taken great delight in watching shows he had been denied as a child.

A decadent day in front of the television, butterbeers and pumpkin crisps in hand had left him feeling a little sad and empty. Unfortunately, the TV marathon had left him feeling sad and morose, and missing Ollie even more now that he had witnessed some intensely emotional scenes. How could he get out of this funk? How could he make himself feel better? Perhaps he had possibly had one butterbeer too many.

Harry thought back to Saturday when he'd decided to write in the old journal. It really did make him feel better. He looked over at the desk where it was sitting under the pile of unread newspapers. Harry had only glanced at them this week. Seeing Oliver on the front cover of the latest Daily Prophet had not helped Harry's dismal mood. It was nice to just purge his thoughts and feelings without having to worry about anyone looking down on him or judging him. Ron and Hermione just don't understand sometimes. Hermione always tries to find a solution and Ron tries to pretend there's no problem. He seems to think plenty of distraction involving Quidditch and butterbeer solves any problem. Even talking about it. What if I don't want to talk? What if I don't really know what is wrong. At least when I write, I can just let it all out onto the page, and no one can judge me for it.

Feeling extremely frustrated, Harry went to the desk and grabbed his journal. Writing in it again would definitely be a good idea if he was going to stop wallowing in his own self made pity. He made himself comfortable and reached for the quill and ink. Nope, not that one, he thought as he put the black ink away again. He searched across the slightly cluttered desk, finally finding his favourite bottle of purple ink hidden under that evening's issue of the Daily Prophet.

Quill in hand, Harry opened the journal and dipped into his purple ink. As his eyes fell on the page, his hand froze in mid-air allowing the rich coloured ink to drip freely and create a rather interesting splatter on the front cover of the Prophet. Oddly enough, had he chosen to look at the purple splatters closely, he would have seen a highly indignant image of Oliver, failing to successfully dodge the purple droplets.

Of course, Harry didn't notice this. He had been too startled by the existence of other writing in the journal – writing that was definitely not his own. Confident and assured writing that was in green ink. He carefully read the words, wondering if he had absently written a shopping list or something like that in the journal. But I don't own any green ink, he thought as he began to read the words. Bonjour 'Flash'...

Harry read the words, and just as soon as he finished reading that the book was perfectly safe, he stood, and quickly closed the book. In his haste to get away from it, he knocked over his chair, and managed to crumple the quill under his boot. His brain was having a lot of difficulty connecting to his motor functions. Despite the writer's claims that there was no possession or dark magic involved, Harry immediately thought of Tom Riddle's diary. How could he not? He knew, on some level, that he was being ridiculous and that after more than ten years he shouldn't be this affected by the experience, but he couldn't help himself. Besides, didn't this 'Luc' tell me it was part of a set? Perhaps this is just another of those wizarding world things I know nothing about. Merlin, I wish Sirius were here. He could tell me just where he got that book.

Harry spent a good couple of hours pacing in front of his desk, every few moments stopping to stare at the journal on the desk. By the time he worked out what to do, he had worn a serious groove in the carpet, and had run his hands through his hair so many times, it was a wonder it hadn't fallen out. Of course! How could I be so stupid! Ginny! She'll understand! She can help! As he raced to his fireplace to call his surrogate sister, he once again had a smile on his face. She'll know what to do!

Ginny had finally realized in her fifth year, there would never be anything romantic between her and Harry. Instead, she decided to seduce her way through the rest of Gryffindor Tower, then on through the rest of the school. She had blossomed into a voluptuous young woman – confident and full of feminine wiles. Though Ron refused to accept it, preferring to live like an ostrich when it came to the actions of his baby sister, Ginny had become quite the man-eater. She had quickly seduced most of Harry's classmates and at least half of her own. It seemed, however, that she had a penchant for the older men. In fact, Oliver had been one of her more recent conquests, not long before he had started dating Harry. Harry snickered at that thought. It had taken some convincing to assure Oliver that there would be no hard feelings from Ginny. He had been disappointed to find that she wasn't home, but he immediately sent her an urgent owl; an indignant Hedwig looking most displeased at being woken up at such a late hour.

--oo0oo--

Harry had spent a restless night tossing and turning, having bizarre flashbacks of the journals. Empty pages, books that seemed to come from nowhere, writing that appeared on its own, flashes of light drawing him into strange places where he had no control. It was all far too disturbing.

He was pacing rapidly around his living room when Ginny stepped neatly through the fireplace not long after breakfast. He looked up, momentarily stunned by her dazzling appearance once again. Ginny was no longer the shy little girl he'd met in the train station. She'd grown up, and filled out, and despite his usual predilection for the male gender, he had come to appreciate her body and her sex appeal. He knew her well enough to know that most of the sex appeal was actually because she felt so good about herself. She had evolved into a very secure and confident woman who was most likely the hardest working curse-breaker in Europe. She had started working for the Ministry right after school, but quickly gained the reputation to allow for her own business.

After Harry walked over and greeted her with a warm hug, he took another moment to look her over. "How do you always manage to step from the floo looking so clean and neat?"

"Practice!" she said with a flirtatious quirk of her right brow. "So, what's the urgent matter that almost couldn't wait from Monday evening to Tuesday morning?"

"It's this old journal that I found in one of my boxes, Gin. I think it used to belong to Sirius, but it's got some strange magic on it."

"Like what?" She knew there was nothing to this. Harry would recognize any serious hexes, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd over-reacted to something.

"Well, when I first opened it, I'm almost sure I saw writing in it, but it was fading before I could read anything. I did a few revealing spells on it, but I didn't see anything but basic charms."

"What kind of charms?" She couldn't help but wonder what Harry was upset about. It sounded perfectly harmless to her.

"I, uh…" she recognized the sheepish expression and knew what it meant.

"You didn't actually identify them, did you?"

"Well, no. I just saw them as basic and harmless, so I left it at that."

She nodded at that, seeing it as something purely Harry. He was a walking contradiction at times and personally, she blamed Hermione. Harry had the natural attitude of jumping into things with both feet. It worked well for him, what with his heroic history and all. But it seemed that he would suddenly, at the most unusual times, dig in his heels and convince himself that there was something wrong. And so it was that he had jumped into this journal with all the faith and naiveté of a child, and was now doubting his earlier findings and worrying himself into a tizzy over it.

"So, if they're harmless, what's the problem?"

"The problem is," he hesitated and motioned for her to step closer to the desk. She looked at the journal as he reached for it. The cover was breath-taking, obviously not a run of the mill book here. He gingerly touched the edge of the cover and paused before flipping it open to show her the pages filled with writing. "I wrote in it," he motioned toward the even, pre-meditated purple writing. "And then," he turned the page to reveal the end of his entry and a small section of precise, yet elegant, green script. "Someone else wrote in it," he finished.

Suddenly, Ginny understood the issue completely; and, it was crystal clear why he had called her for assistance. She quickly became all business, reaching for her wand as she stepped even closer to the desk. "Back up a minute, Harry. Let me check on something." He watched in silence as she flicked her wand and muttered something low under her breath. A vivid golden aura surrounded the journal - the tendrils of magical energy ending in bright sparkles before dissipating.

"Well, there you have it Harry. Nothing to worry about."

"What's that mean?"

"It means, Harry dearest, that you have a wonderfully enchanted object there – a very old one if the intensity of that aura is anything to go by, but there is certainly no dark magic within a mile of it."

"But what about this other writer? This Luc? He said it was some sort of journal intima… intimate… hang on." Harry went to open the book and refer to the words. "A Journal Intime Partagé"

"Well then, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about. It's totally harmless." Ginny gave a wry smile. "Although I'd watch out for this other fellow, these journals are usually used between lovers... you better not get fresh with him, at least not while Ollie's around." She looked around the flat and tried peeking into Harry and Oliver's bedroom, but was bitterly disappointed.

"He's gone for a few days Gin. I'm hoping he'll be back in time for Yule." Harry sounded a little despondent.

She nodded. "I guessed as much. You wouldn't be this worked up about something like this if that randy Scots git was around to keep you busy." She smiled, giving the taller man a chaste peck on the cheek. Harry blushed, wondering how this girl knew more about his own feelings than he sometimes did.

"Thanks Gin. Care for some tea?"

She shook her head. "I can't Harry. They need me in Paris today. There're some ancient vaults under Notre Dame that need looking into. Apparently the goblins are keen to make a killing on whatever we find there. Deceased estate. You know. Just run of the mill stuff." She shrugged in a bored way, but the sparkle in her blue eyes told him that she loved every minute of her job.

Harry hugged her, and before he knew it, she had flooed away.

--oo0oo--

Harry awoke Friday morning from a very mixed jumble of dreams, but couldn't remember any of them. As he stumbled toward the closet, wiping his eyes in an effort to wake up a little more, he realized that the week had quickly slipped by him. Can't believe tomorrow is the Solstice! He thought back over the past few days and was pleased to see that he had managed to keep himself fairly busy and entertained, despite his discovery of just how much he missed Oliver.

After getting dressed and brewing a cup of his favourite Lady Grey tea with a sliver of lemon, wonderful, heavenly stuff, Harry found himself floundering for something to occupy the rest of the day. He considered a little shopping, but dreaded the thought of facing holiday crowds. He glanced at the new photo album and debated whether or not to give that photo wall another try. He purposely avoided looking in the direction of the desk, not ready to try writing in an enchanted journal. Finally, feeling like writing might be a good idea, he grabbed a Muggle ink pen and a blank notepad – one that he felt certain was NOT enchanted – and curled up on the sofa with a blanket.

The moment he touched pen to paper, he realized that it just didn't seem right to spill his thoughts here. It's just not the same. That Luc fellow seems nice, and Ginny said it was perfectly harmless. He moved to get up and retrieve the journal, but stopped himself, determined to leave it alone. He focused on the notepad and thought about the day he had ahead of him. Solstice Eve and he would be sitting at home, alone. And Friday night, to boot! He and Oliver had always tried to do something together on Friday nights. Before Oliver, he had, like most other single wizards, counted on Friday as his big "date night." Before he knew it, he was scribbling on the notepad.

Friday Nights, Lonely Nights,

He looked at that and chuckled to himself as the old Muggle Christmas carol seeped into his brain. He remembered hearing Aunt Petunia wander through the house singing it as she prepared for the grand celebrations that he was never allowed to attend. He found himself humming it, and suddenly more words came to fit the tune.

Ollie's gone, Life sure bites,
Round the globe he flies, Puddlemere's Pride
I sit lonely while he goes worldwide
Do I want him at a-all?

Beginning to notice the mood of this scribbling, he finally wondered if perhaps it wasn't Oliver he missed, so much as just not wanting to be alone. He had just returned the notepad to his desk and was about to head over to Ron's and accept their invitation when Ollie suddenly Apparated in front of him.

All musings about his feelings were immediately gone as he smiled broadly and welcomed his boyfriend with a warm, joyful hug.

"How've you been? How was training? Do you get to stay home long? Why haven't you owled or something? Do you…"

"Woah, Harry, slow down." Oliver laughed and led them both to the sofa. "I've been fine and I'm sorry I haven't owled. They've been keeping us really busy and it's all I can do to take a quick shower before I collapse each night. I have to be back at work on Monday morning, so we've just got three days." He paused, looking at Harry. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry spoke directly to the carpet as he shoved his hands in his pockets trying with all his might not to appear nervous. He was still a little worried about the way Oliver had left last week. It seemed like there was trouble between them and Harry was at a loss regarding how to approach the topic.

Oliver sighed, thinking he probably knew Harry's problem. He stepped closer and lifted Harry's face up by a finger under his chin. Once he saw the uncertainty in those vibrant green eyes, Ollie knew he'd hit the nail on the head. As he closed the distance between them to offer a kiss, Harry sighed and tentatively eased his arms around Oliver's waist. The moment never turned passionate; they each had too many other variables on their minds to think of passion or sex at the moment.

Love will have to wait a while, Oliver thought. As they broke the kiss he offered Harry a warm smile, purposely trying to lighten the mood. "I really am glad to be home, Harry." They both heard the emphasis on 'home.' It told Harry that his older lover was sincere and willing to work through the issues at hand. Oliver knew that this was Harry's first real long term relationship, and he suspected it was normal to have doubts about the strong emotions it brought.

Harry smiled his thanks and said, "I'm really glad you're home." It told Oliver that he was missed, but Harry's next statement started a nagging worry in Oliver's head again. "I've been lonely." Did he miss me specifically or was he just wishing for company? Oliver smiled and kissed Harry again, determined not to follow that line of thinking, at least not now. He just wanted to enjoy his days off and his holiday with Harry.

After spending the remainder of the morning catching up and deciding on plans, then a good part of the afternoon sitting in a quiet corner of their favourite French restaurant, the two mostly-happy, well-fed and slightly inebriated men stumbled their way back to their flat. Harry was trying desperately not to giggle as Oliver made his third unsuccessful attempt to unlock the door. Oliver finally turned to him in frustration. "You do it, then, if you think it's so bloody funny."

Harry obliged and let them both into the flat where they nearly tripped over each other's feet in their efforts to get to the sofa. Finally settled into the comfortable cushions, Harry pulled Oliver into a comfortable embrace. Oliver held on tightly, squeezing a bit, as if reassuring them both that it was real. The early hours of the evening saw more inebriation as Harry finished off the better part of a bottle of Pinot Grigio and Oliver helped himself to a few shots of firewhisky. They lay there together, sometimes talking, usually silent, listening to the sounds of each others breathing, allowing their minds freedom to wander without worry. Oliver snuggled his head onto Harry's chest and eventually dozed off listening to the steady rhythm of the heartbeat under his ear.

Harry was content. He enjoyed the warmth of Oliver's body resting against his own, the gentle rise and fall during each breath, the comfort of Oliver's arms around his torso. He thought back to that morning, the silly words he'd been writing just before Oliver came home. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course I missed Ollie. It wouldn't be the same if it were someone else. He was doing his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head that asked if different was automatically worse, when he heard a sudden rustle of papers from across the room. Craning his neck toward the desk, he watched as a newspaper fell off the desk; a newspaper that had been pushed off by the opening journal. Now that's something Ginny didn't mention. He presumed that the journal wouldn't be opening by itself unless the mystery writer was currently making another entry.

Suddenly anxious to see this entry, Harry gently prodded Oliver awake and suggested he take a bath and get into bed. Oliver nodded sleepily and headed directly toward their room, allowing Harry to get up and casually stretch, trying to tell himself that he wasn't that eager to read some stranger's words. Before he had himself fully convinced, he was sitting at the desk watching the green ink appear from nowhere. Whilst he read, he quirked an eyebrow at some of the words, and stifled a laugh at a couple of others. As soon as the writer signed off, he grabbed his quill and started to write back…

Luc,

I've been debating this for a few days, but have finally decided it might be nice to take you up on that metaphorical hand of friendship. Your reply does seem to offer something I can't get from my friends – acceptance. I feel like I'm constantly being judged for the family I come from and for the things I've done (or they did), rather than what I feel and who I am inside. My comments about Ollie, love, relationships… I could never tell my friends those things. They wouldn't understand. That's why I decided to start writing in this journal. I thought it would be a good way to get my thoughts and feelings out without having to worry about their reactions.

Now, as I see it, I can still express these things without consequence, but I'll have the benefit of someone who can reply – a sounding board. And of course, should you decide that I'm crazy, or start to look down on me because I can't make up my mind, or view me as insecure, well, it really wouldn't matter since I don't know you – right?

He immediately grabbed his wand, intending to erase that entire paragraph. There was certainly no point spilling that much of his inner thoughts to the mystery writer – especially in the first reply!

"Damn, he was right. It won't erase." He put his wand down in frustration and started sucking on the end of his quill again. The mindless habit became more frequent during times of anxiety or apprehension.

Merlin's bunny slippers, I see what you mean about erase charms not working. I should have known better than to start writing after having this much to drink. I guess I figured it wouldn't matter because you were drinking when you wrote back, and well, as I mentioned before, I don't know you anyway.

A few hours ago I, too, was alone and very much in need of companionship. My owl has been sleeping all evening, apparently tired from the gift deliveries. My friends had invited me over, not wanting me to be alone during the holidays, but I couldn't quite bring myself to go. I knew they would ask questions about Ollie, his work, our relationship, the whole bit. I just didn't want to deal with that – not from them. Now, however, it's a moot point. Ollie came home this morning.

We've spent a wonderful day together and he's actually in the bath right now… I knew he was going to come home. Guess Yule will not be cancelled after all for me…We have always been great friends, and even if we find ourselves on the outer, I know that we both have too much respect for each others' skills to ever lose that friendship… He'll only be home for three days, but we plan to spend every moment of it together making up for all we've missed. (I hope I have the stamina for that!)

Harry paused, looking over that sentence and once again berated himself for not thinking through his statements before committing them to paper. I really need to be careful what I say. Especially if I want to stay anonymous. Having a stranger to talk to just wouldn't be the same if they knew they were talking to Harry Potter. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts and will the wine buzz away. Feeling slightly more focused, he dipped his quill again and picked up where he left off.

So, in response to your suppositions, yes, I have cast multiple revealing charms and more on this book. I even had a close friend and highly successful curse breaker come in and check it out for me. I hope you aren't offended by my caution, but it's difficult to tell which books you can trust and which you can't. I've long lived by the advice that you shouldn't trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. I suppose this will have to be an exception, since I'm relying on the notion that you are a person and would therefore be keeping your brain in your own head, which of course, I have never seen.

Ah, and there I go again. Somehow I feel that my previous entry was much more intellectual. I wonder if it's because I didn't know it would ever be read, and therefore had no reason to be self-conscious about it.

You are right about my name. 'Flash' is a nickname from a long-time family friend. I honestly wasn't sure why I chose to sign off with my nickname, aside from it being a very sentimental and personal thing. I've never placed much power in names, but I suppose it's possible.

He couldn't help but think of all those who shivered and gasped every time they heard the name of Voldemort. He had spent years refusing to give in to that fear, but he had to admit to a feeling of respect for this wizard and his statement that he hadn't "earned the right" to use Harry's given name. It was a concept he'd never really thought of, but in retrospect it made a lot of sense.

You are also right about my gender and orientation. I've had a few brief relationships with both men and women, but I guess Ollie is the first to become 'long-term.' Ollie and I met in school, though we only started dating six or so months ago. He's great, and we've been friends for ages. Looking back over my previous ramblings, I think I was being a bit harsh and overemotional. I am happy; I've always been a fairly happy person despite the crap I've often been dealt. Oh, don't get me wrong, I projected my share of teen angst, and went through the anger and mood swings with the best of them. Overall, though, I have to say I've led a pretty good life. Of course the war threw a spanner in all our plans, but I'm just glad I came out of it alive, and I have the chance to live, unlike so many others. And with Ollie, well it just gets that much better.

I have to say that you sound very reasonable and open to suggestions for improvement. If you haven't been a good listener in the past, maybe Antonio should have said something sooner and given you the opportunity to make adjustments before he ran off. Of course, if you follow the conjecture that everything happens for a reason, then perhaps you needed him to leave in order to see the adjustments that were needed. I don't think it's selfish at all to want to spend time with him. That's supposed to be one of the wonderful things about a steady relationship, isn't it? The idea that just the two of you can be comfortable with each other; that sometimes you would actually prefer to shut the rest of the world out. See, with Ollie and I, we seem to have somewhat the opposite problem you mentioned. He's much more social than I have ever been, and his job requires the occasional "working party." I don't know that I get as many evenings with him at home as I would like, but I've learned to deal with it.

You asked about my time alone: It wasn't bad. I feel like I had time to sort out my mind a little, and started more projects around the house than I could finish. I've been off from work this week for the holidays and spent a great deal of each day puttering around looking for something to do. Once I decided to write in here again, and then saw your first response, I must admit to freaking out a bit until my curse breaker friend showed up to check out the journal and let me know it was legitimate.

I found the journal in a box of my godfather's belongings, and can't help wishing he were here to tell me what he used it for and who originally had the other one. Where did you say you got a hold of that?

So, Antonio is a bastard. You're obviously better off without him. I know it's a bad time of year for break-ups, though. I hope you won't be too lonely tomorrow… er… today. Why don't you let yourself get absorbed in a good book – perhaps one of those romantic novels the girls all carry on about? Or write some letters to some people you haven't seen for a while. I know that even though I lost many I loved to war, I am grateful every day for the friends I do have. Don't isolate yourself, or work too hard.

Your line about if you love somebody… set them free… is so true. Every time Ollie has to go away, I think of it, but I just knew he would be back for Yule, so call it my latent divinatory skills coming to the fore (not exactly my strongest skill).

There's no need for you to stay celibate just because you aren't in love, is there? I'm guessing from your casual dropping of French into your conversation that you are living somewhere over the Channel. Surely there are dozens of other gorgeous and wonderful European men out there… Why don't you sow your wild oats? Go ape crazy and shag anything that takes your fancy? Of course, I would never dream of doing something that sudden, so I shouldn't even be suggesting that to you.

Don't shut yourself away Luc. I think you're right. Writing to each other could be a good thing; we can help each other out. I have this vision of you sitting there in a smoking jacket stroking the cat's fur – just like some evil guy from a series of Muggle movies… not that I'm saying you're evil, but that's the vision I have of you right now.

Damn, I have definitely drunk too much wine, and Ollie has gone to bed without me. I really must sign off now,

Flash

-TBC-

Special author's note: "Merlin's Bunny Slippers" was influenced by another fic, though I have forgotten which fic and which author. If you know, or it was yours, please let us know so we can give you proper credit! It was simply brilliant and has stuck with me for months! And if it was yours, and you're reading this, I hope you don't mind me borrowing the idea!

Many thanks to all the readers and double thanks with butterbeers to all the reviewers!

Nyn, curiousdreamweaver, fayee, idril.tinuviel, honor, justxme, michelle – you're all wonderful!

Louise4 – Well, here's hoping you liked Harry's freaked out reaction, you hit the nail on the head with it, let me tell you! And blaming Azhure for the Ollie action – got that one right, too, although I must admit to have a little "thing" for Mr Wood myself. He's quite the handsome keeper, you know! As for the resurrection of Draco in FTF – well my dear, I'll just have to hope that you keep reading it! Don't worry, Azhure has taken your pleas to heart!

Shadow Bandit – Thanks! We've both enjoyed your work sooo much, it's great to see you here and get your feedback! Hope you enjoyed Oliver's return in this chapter.

Malfoysnogger – LOL, "mean old Oliver" you crack me up! Thanks so much for the comments, we love hearing from you!

Tangledhair – Awww, shucks! blushes sorry for the delay, but I hope it wasn't too long of a wait. I know Harry's backstepping now, but be patient…