Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone

by wintermoon2

Enchanted diaries bring solace to unlikely lost souls. It's a wizarding twist on the classic tale of penpals. What will happen when these mystery writers finally meet? HD Completed!

5. Careless Memories

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter Five: Careless Memories

Care"less, a. AS. cearle'as.
Without thought or purpose; without due care; spontaneous; rash

Outside the thoughts come flooding back now,
I just try to forget you.
So easy to disturb,
With a thought,
With a whisper,
With a Careless Memory.
Careless Memories - Duran Duran (1981)

---

The thrumming sound seemed to be getting louder. Draco tried to swat away the annoyance, whatever it was, but his hands were caught up and twisted in the sheets. Something didn't feel right as he thrashed and flailed, but in his fury he ended up becoming even more entangled. An arm eventually escaped the confining bedclothes, only to come down on the ball of fluff that had been purring and licking at his face. Petit Ami had decided that Draco was in need of a good bath, and the dry leathery feel of his own tongue tasted foul inside his equally parched mouth. Lost in between the memory of a dream that was slowly fading, and the harsh reality of a horrendous hangover, Draco resisted the urge to open his eyes. The shock upon attempting this rather difficult feat was sudden, as the jolt of the late afternoon sunlight bounced against the back of his brain. It took all his effort just to shut his eyes again, returning to the familiarity of the darkness.

The effort needed just to swallow kept him occupied for the better part of a few minutes. Unfortunately, his natural urge to just roll over again was defeated by his bladder's rather insistent need. Cursing everything from the mead, to Emmaline, to Harry Potter (just for good measure), Draco shuffled his way to the bathroom – his eyes still yet to open fully. He tried to clear the fog in his head, but was failing miserably. Again, he swore that he would never allow mead to pass his lips again.

Draco went through the motions that afternoon as he made coffee – extra strong – and brewed his own Sobrietus potion. Most wizards took the easy way out of a hangover and had someone cast the Sobrietus Charm to help bring them back to humanity; but the Sobrietus Potion, whilst gentler on the body, had to be freshly brewed. Of course, this usually meant that the hung-over wizard was in too much pain to be bothered with actually making it. Fortunately, Draco could brew fairly complicated concoctions with his eyes shut, which meant the most difficult part of the actual process was ensuring he didn't slice off his fingers whilst chopping the ragweed.

A good two hours after opening his eyes, Draco was clean, sober and dressed, ready to face what was left of the day. The cat's insistent pleadings for food alerted him to the fact that he too needed to eat, only to realise himself that it really was very late. Well, at least I've managed to sleep through most of Yule, he thought as he realised the late hour. The fact he had slept through such an important day did not upset him at all. He had spent a rather companionable night with Emmaline; the only person he cared enough about to want to be with on that day.

He didn't feel up to heading out, besides, he wasn't up to Apparating just yet (Sobrietus always increased your chances at being splinched). It was late enough that had he wanted to walk to the nearest café, it would no doubt be close to closing time, and the effort of walking seemed harder than ever. He pottered around the studio, seemingly at a loose end. It was only by chance that he noticed that his journal lay open on his desk. A dim recollection for the night before led him to believe that he had closed it, but upon closer inspection, he saw the confident scrawl in the amethyst ink. He became animated at the thought that Flash had replied. He suddenly recalled his own maudlin and drunken musings from the night before, and cringed. He hoped Flash had made some sense of what he had written. Curiosity got the better of him, and he was soon reading Flash's latest words.

His good mood soured slightly as he read that Flash's Ollie had come home to him for Yule. Some part of him wanted to know that at least somewhere else in the world, someone else was going to be alone on this important holiday, and that thought had kept him from getting too depressed. By the time he had finished reading Flash's words, he felt the need to just curl right back up and never wake up again. Flash had told him that he shouldn't shut himself away. Whilst the idea of getting out and shagging anyone in sight had plenty of appeal, Draco didn't feel like the most sociable pixie in the plot. Besides, it was easy for Flash to make that suggestion – particularly when he would no doubt be having his own private party with Ollie. Why did he have to spend Yule alone? For the first time in a few days, he looked at the fireplace in serious contemplation. Would Antonio want to talk to him? He thought long and hard until he realised that he had no idea where Antonio was, and whether or not the Italian would even want to talk to Draco. He was a mess. His earlier determination was gone as he lay back in bed with a glass of brandy in his hand.

In a way, he was pleased to have this contact with the anonymous wizard. He had always enjoyed good correspondence, and being able to talk things through with a faceless person was sometimes easier than having to make decisions on his own. He could not believe that he had written half the stuff the night before, but it seemed that Flash could relate to some of it. At least he hadn't laughed at his words. Draco mulled over the idea of writing something back, but the brandy had helped lull the strained young wizard back to sleep. Again his dreams were fraught with imagery.

On his broom, he chased after the snitch. He had spotted it, and he had worked harder and flown faster than ever before to seize it, but the ball was always just out of his reach. If he could only reach out and grasp it. The golden ball led him on a merry chase, and often, just when he thought he had it, it would dart out at another tangent, and he would take up the chase again.

--oo0oo--

The day after Yule was never going to be a joyous one for Draco. The full harsh light of his self imposed exile had brought him to the point where he had to choose whether to become even more introspective, or get back to his old life. Fortunately, the morning mail made that decision for him.

The insistent tapping of an owl woke Draco from his relentless dreams. A muttered charm under his breath as he waved his wand, and the window opened to let the insistent owl in. His own owl, Melchett, hooted at the intrusion into his own space, but he was in no mood to put up with the offended bird. Another wave of his wand, and the coffee was brewing.

It took a good half hour, and two strong shots of espresso to remember the mail. Picking up the envelope, he saw the distinctive seal of the Trustees of the Malfoy estate. Breaking the seal, he noticed a thick wad of yellowing parchments which fell out as he read the covering letter.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

As executor of your late father's estate, it has been a rather onerous task sifting through the Malfoy holdings to ensure all investments are properly accounted for in accordance with Wizengamot Ruling #2345 in relation to former Death Eater estates. As you are aware, all liquid assets are to be taxed at twice the rate of those held by non Death Eater families...

Draco was starting to drift as he realised this was just going to be another dry and dull report on the state of his inheritance. All he was interested in was the bottom line, and just what he would be worth when his twenty-fifth birthday rolled around. Why was he not surprised that the Wizengamot and the Ministry would try to tax as much as possible from the estate? They were money grubbing and still trying to make reparations after the war. Pity that the Ministry's coffers were running empty.

Lucius had bribed them well for dozens of years, and had almost owned it outright. He had no intention of doing the same. This was his inheritance to do with as he saw fit, and that did not include pandering to the likes of the idiots at the Ministry of magic. Besides, they knew full well that once the Malfoy titles reverted to Draco, it was untouchable. Draco played his part for the 'good side' in the war. Naturally they would want to take as much as possible whilst they still could. Lucius had accounted creatively for dozens of years, and the Trustees were still finding assets that had seemingly been hiding under pumpkins in the garden.

He was curious as to why they would be writing to him now. Usually he was given an update closer to his birthday, but his eye fell on the other gilt edged parchments that were enclosed with the letter. It was a series of title deeds. Upon closer inspection, he saw that his own name was on them. His heart raced faster, and a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. Could it be true? He skimmed the rest of the letter until he saw reference to it.

The enclosed deeds were discovered during our investigations. The property, and the surrounding interests described were unknown to us due to the fact that it is actually in your name, thus technically not a part of the Malfoy estate. A search on the details of this property returned that it is currently unoccupied, with back taxes owing. We request that you visit the property and ascertain if you wish to retain it, paying all back taxes; or whether you wish to dispose of this investment. We are only too happy to advise you in all aspects of disposal of the property, if that is your decision. We await your owl at your earliest convenience.

Draco looked carefully at the title deed. Why does it not surprise me that my father would have avoided taxes by buying property in my name? Not that he was complaining, not whilst the bulk of his fortune was untouchable. A broad grin grew from his crooked smile as he realised that not only was this property in his name, but it was the title to the family chateau right there in France. It was quite a long way from Paris, right down in the small Luberon village of Roussillon, in Provence. Draco had nothing but fond memories of the family chateau, and carefree summer holidays as a child. He had assumed his father had sold it when they stopped visiting after Voldemort had risen again.

The morning mail had certainly lightened Draco's depressed mood. He couldn't see any reason why he shouldn't go down and visit his property, but he would need a couple of days before he could get away. He was imbued with a renewed sense of purpose. Having something to hold on to was vital right now, and the sudden windfall had snapped him out of his lethargy and introspection, and back into reality.

He had another ten days before the start of term, and he really did have plenty to keep him busy. The extra research he had turned to the previous week had left him with a good dozen cauldrons brewing, and Draco needed to tend to most of them before he could even think about heading away. He felt guilty for abandoning his work during his day of depression, but he returned to them with renewed vigour. He was ever so grateful he had the foresight to cast suspension charms over the cauldrons before Yule. He would have been looking at a week's worth of wasted research had he left them to boil or simmer away unobserved.

The day passed relatively quickly once Draco became absorbed in his work, but he was truly startled when Emmaline knocked on his door in the early evening.

"Môn Cherie! Draco!" The older witch hugged him in welcome. She was always exuberant in her greetings with her favourite tenant.

"Emmaline! I didn't think you'd be back yet. You told me you were going away for a few days."

"Well, it has been a few." She scrunched her nose as she looked around the studio. "Môn Dieu, please tell me that you have not been locked in here since our little dinner the other night?" she sniffed the air in disapproval.

For some reason, Draco knew he could never lie to the woman. "Well your Yule gift certainly made sure I was well acquainted with the inner workings of my head petite mère. I'm surprised your late husband was never arrested for making that stuff. It should be illegal!" he smiled at her good naturedly.

"Ah my little friend, I bet if he were still here the pair of you would be swapping recipes and trying to make it even more potent!" she winked in reply. She watched as he excused himself to tend to a couple of cauldrons. He was indeed dedicated to his work, a lot like her late husband had been.

"You seem a little happier since I saw you last." She asked knowingly.

Draco smiled and nodded as he told her of the fact that he owned the family chateau outright, and was planning on making a visit.

"Ah yes, Provence. I remember misspending some time down in the Luberon in my youth. I dated an artist from around there once. Good for nothing layabout."

Draco laughed, unable to imagine her. "Saw the error of your ways then?"

"Oh no. I married him." Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. "It's a long story Môn Cherie, and one for another day." Draco nodded, not really ready to hear about love stories – happy or otherwise. "But now young man, I think it's time you went out for dinner. You can't stay cooped up in this place alone any longer." He looked ready to protest, but saw the set of her mouth, and knew that he would not win any arguments with her this night.

"You're kicking me out? But I haven't fed the cat..."

"Draco Malfoy, I would never have imagined the day that you would choose to stay home with a cat over heading out to enjoy yourself. You can't stay in here forever my child. Go out – mingle - have some fun! How else do you expect to meet someone else if you stay cooped up here? You'll end up a bitter and repressed potions master if you aren't careful."

Draco was ready to protest, when Flash's words came back to him. Even this unknown wizard was telling him not to isolate himself. Surely one night out on the town wouldn't hurt? Besides, he did have some good fortune to celebrate. Most of his classmates had headed to the Riviera for the holiday, but he knew of a few places where he would be able to sit back and watch the passing parade of talent.

He took the advice to heart, and took his time to look devastating as he prepared to go out. He dressed in his finest robes and wore a splash of his most expensive cologne. The effort made him feel better. His bathroom mirror wolf whistled as he cut a dash towards the door.

Who knows, he thought as he was heading out the door, perhaps I'll find someone to help me get Antonio out of my system once and for all. It was time to move on. He would only get more depressed if he stayed in and thought of the Italian again.

--oo0oo--

Draco felt he should perhaps broaden his horizons. He chose an establishment he had only visited a couple of times – one that was less popular with the students, mainly due to its inflated prices. He didn't care about that tonight, not after his good fortune. He knew his money pouch would be lighter by the end of the evening, but he didn't care.

The seething mass of bodies inside the club was unexpected, but Draco managed to find himself a relatively quiet corner to sit, drink in hand, watching the world as it writhed and pulsated its way past in time with the music. He was surprised to find one of his fellow students serving behind the bar. He only knew Davram from one of his study groups, but the bartender obviously recognised him. Being one of the top students made him instantly recognisable to many in the potions courses at l'institut des Magies. They kept up a companionable conversation during the evening, all the while Draco continued vigilantly in his people watching.

Draco had realised early on that this club didn't cater to any particular sexual persuasion, with both men and women drinking, dancing and generally behaving wickedly. He lost count of the number of times he was asked to dance, but he had noticed a considerable number of meaningful glances that had been directed his way. Perhaps there's hope for me yet, he hoped thoughtfully. He returned most of them. One fellow in particular had held his interest for a good while, but he had been disappointed when the fellow was greeted with a passionate kiss from someone who was obviously his partner. Still, the brunette had been eyeing Draco for the better part of an hour.

His good mood had soured a little once he realised he had traded his isolation in his studio for the isolation he had built around himself in the club. He couldn't help himself. He had made himself almost untouchable tonight, and the fact that the only interesting fellow all night had already been attached led him to drink more than he should have.

Draco had stuck to the usual firewhisky and water for most of the evening. After a couple of hours, Davram had worn him down, and he agreed to taste the bartender's personally brewed Absinthe. It had been quite a while since he last partook of the drink, and the slight disappointment at his perceived bad luck made him take the bartender up on his offer. It was indeed a potent batch, and after a while, Draco lost count of how much he had drunk. He still maintained his air of indifference as he watched a couple of young women, who had been sending him meaningful looks most of the evening. He raised his glass in salute to the pair, and they returned the greeting.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised when he started to chat to the dark haired girl who came over; the one who had been making eyes at him for most of the evening. She seemed to be interested enough, and Draco found her company not unpleasant, but then again, his judgement was clouded by the alcohol. She didn't seem to be like the simpering and giggly women he so often remembered. This girl was confident, and had obviously been looking out for him all night. The fact that he had been the target of her seduction surprised him for a moment, but he maintained his haughty Malfoy composure. It had been a very long time since he had been with a woman, and it comforted him to know that at least she seemed to want him. For some reason he recalled someone suggesting he go out and shag anyone and everyone whilst he was unattached. The prospect of this was looking very likely.

By the time he left the club, with her on his arm, it had seemed the most logical of choices. He had missed the touch of warm lips and a warm body beside him. She had gotten into his head. He then took her into his bed, all warm lips and body and hands... and all thoughts of Antonio were lost as the woman seduced Draco with her ministrations. He found himself consumed within the moment, not even remembering her name as he cried out at the height of his drunken passion. For some reason, he couldn't recall ever having asked for her name, but he doubted that he would even remember if he had, for he was asleep before the afterglow of his orgasm had faded.

--oo0oo--

He woke to the tattoo of the green fairy screaming in his head; a very different and extreme feeling hangover to that from his most recent experience. Absinthe was wonderful on the way down, exquisite as it worked its way through the mind, but horrific on the senses the day after. Again he recalled another of Oscar Wilde's brilliant quotes in regard to the drink. "After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world." He had a horrible suspicion he would discover the truth of that statement, but forced that thought to the back of his head. Through his befuddled and clouded mind, he recognised the languid feel of his body after a night of satiated sexual release. He mentally thanked the one who had suggested he shag anyone and everyone.

It was then that Draco's nose twitched at the smell. Perfume. Not an unpleasant smell, it had a rather earthy aroma, but it was not something he was used to smelling in his bed. He attempted to roll on his back, but was trapped. He surmised that the perfume most likely belonged to the warm body wrapped in his arms. Hazy, careless memories of the night before seeped into the coherent recesses of his mind. He slid his hand up and down the body, soft and supple flesh meeting his touch. He should have been surprised at the touch of a firm and rather large breast, but his memory conveniently chose that moment to replay his drunken fumblings. A woman. It had been a very long time since Draco had last slept with a woman. He tried to think back to the last time, but his brain was not co-operating. If only that wretched green fairy would go away, then he might think more coherently.

Indeed, he could not recall waking up with a woman in his bed since he was at school. Daphne Greengrass had been more than just a friend. He cringed as he realised this current encounter was very different. He felt great, but now came the awkward waking up stage. He had no intentions of being with this woman again; indeed, he couldn't even remember her name. Oh Merlin! She had better not start crying. I couldn't cope. If she's expecting flowers and chocolates and sweet nothings in her ear, then she's in for a shock. She'll probably break down and cry. Now I know why women make me cringe. He tried to roll away. Sure, he was sexually sated, but his body craved a different feel, and this warm and soft body in his arms was in no way equipped to help satisfy him in that way. He hadn't realised he had let out a sigh until he felt her stirring in his arms.

The woman moved and rolled into his embrace, and nuzzled against his chest. He was yet to open his eyes, prolonging the inevitable. He felt her arms and legs wrap around him as she woke and brought him into an even closer embrace. A gentle kiss on the mouth stirred him, and distinct memories of the night before returned. He smiled, but wasn't looking forward to the upcoming scene.

"Why Draco Malfoy... If I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoyed yourself last night. After all these years, who would have thought I would finally have the pleasure... of having you." He felt a well manicured nail trace its way down his chest, nestling comfortably around his member.

Alarm bells went off in the back of his mind, and the green fairy ran screaming out of his head. That voice. He'd heard it before. Where? Certainly the night before, but now, without the filter of alcohol, it was a cause for major panic. Opening his eyes, he had difficulty focussing as the bright sunlight poured in through the open curtains and splashed across the bedclothes, clearly identifying the woman in his arms. In the cold and harsh light of day, Draco took a good long look at the woman he had bedded the night before. Dark hair, brown eyes, voluptuous figure, knowing smirk... He doubled back as he focussed on the hair. It was indeed dark, but now he could see the rich red lustre as it fanned out in stark contrast against the pure white cushions.

Draco sat up suddenly in complete shock as he recognised that particular shade of red hair. It was indeed his worst nightmare. "Qu'est ce que tu fous dans mon lit? (What the fuck are you doing in my bed?) Weasley?" he added the last question in the hope he was horribly mistaken. Surely there were other red haired witches in the world? But that hair, and those eyes - it was too much of a coincidence.

"Why Draco, I'd thought you were pleased to see me last night. At least... little Draco was pleased..." her hand went to stroke him, but he swatted her away like a fly as he tried to get away. He succeeded in leaping out of bed, completely naked and giving Ginevra Weasley a display of his body in the full light of day. His head rebelled at the sudden movement, and he stood, not caring about his nakedness. The look of shock and revulsion on his face was evident as he quickly realised his lack of coverings, and he began dressing, fumbling to get his trousers on and buttoned.

"Merde!" he cried to himself more than anyone else. "What the hell was I thinking? Weasley?" he asked again just to be sure. Was it too much to ask that he was in the middle of a nightmare?

"Yes Draco, it's little Ginny Weasley. Remember? Of course you do. Surely you couldn't forget that little scene in the Quidditch locker rooms after your last game in your final year?"

Draco had tried long and hard to forget that particular incident. Unfortunately, seeing how the confident yet persistent teenager had transformed into the man-hungry woman before him had brought the memory crashing back to earth. "You might have rejected me then Malfoy, but I promised I would have you – one way or another. I know I had to wait, but I couldn't believe my luck..." By this time Ginny had casually made her way out of bed and had started to dress. "You were always so aloof, so smooth; so... well, so Slytherin. You know every girl in the school wanted you. I must admit you presented me with a challenge. Who would have guessed it only took a few glasses of Absinthe, and well... here we are."

"Happy now you've completed your set of notches on the bedpost Weasel?" it had been all too easy to use the childish name. Why did his cool façade and calculated wit abandon him at this moment?. "Because, as lovely as it has been reminiscing, I sure as hell can't think of any reason why you're still here."

"Oh Draco, Draco... always in a hurry one way or another." She smirked at the memory of their rather hurried liaison the night before. She casually cast a charm to freshen her rumpled robes, and tidy her hair as she looked refreshed and awake. She wandered around, perusing the décor of the studio, her interest piqued by the prints on the walls. "Like I was saying, I couldn't believe my luck. Here I was, alone and bored whilst working hard in Paris, when who should I find drinking himself into oblivion but the almighty Draco Malfoy." Draco stood there dumbstruck. He was still in a haze of hangover, not quite knowing what to say or do. His mind was totally appalled at the thought he had slept – willingly - with Ginny Weasley. He shook his head again as he tried to fathom the information.

"Well congratulations Weasley. I'm sure that's points for Gryffindor for your dogged tenacity. Once you Gryffindors get something in your head, you have to obsess over it forever, don't you? So I guess you'll be on your way then?" He indicated the door as he pretended she wasn't there. He sat back on the bed, trying desperately not to show the depth of his hangover. The effort of standing was all too much as he avoided collapsing by sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. He looked up to find her standing right before him, way too close for his liking and invading his personal space. He had his wand pointed at her throat before she could attempt any form of touch. His natural reflexes were still good, despite the lethargy coursing through his system, and the wand had appeared from under his pillow in a flash.

"Tsk, Draco. Is that any way to treat a lady?" she pouted like a little girl.

"Who says you're a lady?" What was she playing at?

She shrugged her shoulders. "Ah well, it's been nice, Malfoy. Pity though. I had been hoping for ... more. Your reputation preceded you. I guess Daphne had been mistaken. Her standards were obviously much lower than I realised."

"Daphne was ten times the woman you'll ever hope to be Weasley."

Ginny smirked and nodded. "Perhaps. But maybe you're just out of practice Draco. To think, I had to witness and experience the famous Slytherin lover on a drunken binge. I've had better from half of Hufflepuff. No wonder you were drowning your sorrows." Her stinging rebuke at his sexual prowess didn't hurt as she'd expected.

Draco's cool demeanour finally surfaced, and he smirked. "Yeah, well it's experiences like this that remind me why I prefer men. I'm pretty sure this experience has scarred me for life Weasley. If I hadn't completely sworn off women before, I sure as hell have now." She raised an eyebrow at him, obviously unaware that he was bisexual.

"Well then, there's something you don't see every day. I'll have to tell my brother Charlie then, you two could meet up... I'm sure he'd be better equipped to handle your special needs."

He couldn't believe her! As if he'd even be remotely interested in actually consenting to sleep with one of her brothers! Could it be any worse. He was still trying to fathom what he had done the night before. Now she was making him angry "Ne tente pas le diable, Weasley! (Don't push your luck Weasley). Sors de là! (Get out). NOW!" In his anger he reverted to French, but the red haired witch knew exactly what he was saying.

Ginny thought long and hard about provoking him again. "See you round, Malfoy!" She blew a kiss as she Apparated away. A cloud of sparkling light struck his face with the air blown kiss. Draco shook his head. Either he was still trapped in what he hoped was a nightmare, or he had just lived the nightmare.

--oo0oo--

The long hot shower was well and truly needed. He didn't care that the hangover was getting worse. He stood there for ages, just letting the water wash away his disgust. He vomited; several times. Whether from the alcohol, or his disgust at himself, he didn't know. After watching everything he had ever eaten come back, his mind cleared enough to realise that the bitch had hexed him. He eventually recognised the cloud of sparkling light as an uncommon sobering charm. One that made you sober more quickly than Sobrietus, but one that metabolised and enhanced the horrid side effects of the hangover tenfold.

Draco stayed in the shower for a long time. He couldn't face the fact that in his first attempts to get over Antonio, he had gone to such extremes. He had never had any qualms about sleeping with a woman before, but seeing how he had been manipulated and tricked into bedding her, he felt violated. He retched again, disgusted at himself more than anything. He vowed to never let that happen again. He no longer felt any gratification from the encounter.

The air in the studio was stifling. He could still smell her gaudy perfume throughout. He cast a rather overzealous air freshening charm, but the smell had burned its way into his nose, and he knew it would be a while before he could forget the taint of it. He didn't even bother to look as he Incendioed the bed linen once again. It could become an expensive habit; destroying the sheets after every sexual indiscretion. Even the coffee had been tainted by her stench, and he threw the dregs into the fireplace.

Stumbling around the room, he was at a loss. There was no way he could stay there - not today. His eye fell on the title deed to his chateau. His own chateau. Did he really have to wait until later in the week to visit? He picked up the deed – memories of carefree childhood holidays flashing through his mind. He recalled the fresh, clean air from the mountain retreat. The memory imbued him with a renewed sense of vigour. He knew what he had to do.

His bag was packed and he had Disapparated long before the remaining coffee in the pot had gone cold. In his haste, he forgot to tell Emmaline he was going, and Petit Ami would need feeding. This thought struck him as he Apparated behind the café in the city of Avignon. He nearly splinched himself in his haste to leave, and combined with his delicate head, he had no further plans to Apparate again that day.

It was still very early; only seven o'clock. The storekeepers in the city were slowly opening their stalls and awakening for business. It had been a good eight or nine years since Draco had visited the wonder that was the Province of Provence. The Luberon region in the south of this French province was one of Wizarding France's hidden treasures. The dozens of small villages hid some of the countries best and finest wizard craftsmen; with the best of the region's wines coming from wizard owned holdings. The Luberon region in the south of Provence was a spectacular series of mountains, with breathtaking views across the plains of Vaucluse, back to the Rhône River and the city of Avignon.

Draco could not have Apparated directly to the chateau even if he had wanted to. He would need to portkey to the nearest town, which was the local centre called Apt. From there, it would be a long walk to the village of Roussillon, and the chateau. Besides the Malfoy wards that no doubt surrounded the estate; the entire Luberon region was surrounded by anti-Apparition wards. The Muggles thought the entire area was some sort of National Park. The monies exchanged for entrance to the area helped the French Ministry to keep track of any Muggles in the area, and to help maintain the notice-me-not charms around much of the region's wizarding activity.

He needed to organise a permanent Portkey to get to the chateau, but that was costly, and he could do that later. For now, Avignon was the only centre that sold pre arranged single trip Portkeys. Had Draco given himself more time, he could have arranged a Portkey directly to the village, but he already felt better for having left his stifling studio. The weather was crisp, but clear. There had recently been a heavy snowfall, but there was unlikely to be more in the coming days. His knee twinged in protest at the thought of the long walk ahead of him. It was times like this that Draco wished he could still fly.

--oo0oo--

The fact he could not fly very well was a direct result of his injured knee. He would still be able to sit astride a broom and take off in an emergency, but he flew like a beginner, without the finesse and ease he was accustomed to. He was flat out maintaining balance, let alone attempting any one of the more complex seeker manoeuvres that he had mastered during his Quidditch training. That one joy was something else taken away from him because of the war. Something else to curse Harry Potter for. He had been denied that one simple pleasure. His one outlet for stress release had been taken away. Left with no hobbies, nothing he excelled at, Draco had turned to his books and his potions; the one other area he knew he could at least hold his own.

--oo0oo--

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the clouds, no use dwelling on things he could not change. He laughed cynically as he realised that the previous night's activities could now be added to his ever growing list of experiences he could not change.

He downed this bitter pill with the wretchedly disgusting cup of coffee he bought as he waited for the portkey centre to open. He could hardly believe what had led him to be sitting in this dingy café, drinking second rate coffee in the middle of Avignon. He could not believe he could have been so stupid. One minute he was all ready to move on from Antonio – to get back up and face the world. The next minute, he was sleeping with the last person he ever imagined. How could he have let Ginny get past his defences? How could he have been so vulnerable? He usually prided himself on his ability to sit back and control a situation.

He had to be firm. He would not let himself dwell on the horrid scenario. An all consuming rage was likely to overwhelm him if he let it, and he didn't think the Weasley girl was worth the effort. To be honest, he was more angry at himself for falling into her seductive trap. Malfoy's didn't do that. He traced his weakness back to the Absinthe. How could he have been so stupid? Hadn't Severus already warned him once or twice about the stuff? He had only ever drunk his own brew before. He swore that he would never consume strange Absinthe again. As an afterthought, he also swore to never drink such horrid coffee again either. Still, the brioche that accompanied the coffee made up for the vile tasting brew.

He promised himself that he wouldn't dwell on it, but he needed to process just what had happened the night before. He thought long and hard about the woman who had just turned his life on its ear. He distinctly remembered her effort to seduce him after a Quidditch match all those years before. He would admit that she had grown into a beautiful woman, but he had difficulty comparing the somewhat annoyingly innocent teenager with the worldly and assured woman who had managed to seduce him. Meeting anyone from his past usually put Draco on edge – why else would he be trying to make a new life for himself in France? The Weasley girl was the last person he would have expected to find prowling the clubs of Paris. He thought she would have been busy making babies with Saint Potter. After all, it had been obvious to the entire school that she had lusted after him for years. Surely he was gullible enough to have fallen for her feminine wiles.

The Portkey seller was now opened, and Draco took a deep breath. Last night's episode would be best forgotten, and he wasn't going to think of anything bad again; at least, not now. He was looking forward to revisiting his childhood holiday home, and all the wonderful memories it entailed, and the anticipation buoyed him up. A scant half hour later, Draco found himself standing directly in the village of Roussillon. Draco had managed to haggle with the portkey seller after realising that he could purchase one that would take him directly to Roussillon. It had cost more than Draco had anticipated, but it was well worth it to be back in his old 'home'.

Nestled high in the hills, the colourful village was as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered. The area had many rich ochre deposits, and the houses that lined the winding streets reflected the contrasting palette of colour that came from the earth. Wizards with a penchant for Earth magic had extracted ochres of dozens of hues, and the houses were painted in all colours of the spectrum. Draco had loved the haphazard splotches of colour the village presented to the world. As a child it had seemed like a giant colouring book – brightly painted walls contrasted with the shuttered windows and doors. In the summer months, even more colour could be found in the window boxes, which were currently bare. He was not surprised that hundreds of artists would flock to the village each year to capture the village's picturesque uniqueness.

The air was crisp and clean as Draco walked up the winding narrow streets on his way toward the chateau. The Malfoy chateau was situated at the highest point of the village. The snow was beginning to melt on the sides of the road, but the roofs of the village were still covered in the white substance – a stark contrast to the brightly painted buildings. In his reverie, Draco almost forgot the ache in his knee as he made the steep climb to the black gates he remembered so well.

A few villagers had spotted him as he made his way up the narrow and steep street. A couple of them recognised the hair, and waved in greeting. Even though it had been a decade, and he had been a child, the tiny village would not forget. He had only fond memories of the locals he had encountered as a child, and their honest greetings warmed him.

He stood, just watching the gates to the chateau. They were still as he remembered. Lost in reverie, he failed to notice the young wizard who bumped into him as he bolted out the nearest door. "er... Excusez-moi!" He smiled warmly. Draco looked up to respond, but the other man was already gone, a flurry of hair and robes heading off in the other direction.

The gates to the chateau were bold black iron; in stark contrast to the rest of the colourful village. He paused at the gates, sensing the magical wards tingling as he attempted to open them. Draco's blood recognised the wards, and he immediately cast a spell to temporarily spread them aside. Draco could recognise the ancient Malfoy wards, and erected them again once he entered the chateau's grounds. He felt a sweeping sense of nostalgia as the place remained unchanged from what he remembered. He could feel his mother's magical signature in the cleansing and stasis charms that encircled the two bedroom chateau and the surrounding gardens. Despite being empty for nearly eight years, the gardens had not needed tending, and the house had remained in the exact state Narcissa left it when they last departed.

He felt a reluctance to enter as he let this lasting memory of his mother wash over him. He could just stand on the step all day; looking out at the mountains behind him, and the vineyards on the plains of Vaucluse on the other side. The view was still breathtaking, and he breathed in the heady scent of the gardens. This was all his. The ministry could never take this away from him, and for once he thanked his father's foresight in putting his name on the title deed. He reluctantly broke the wards and charms on the front door as he entered the foyer of the chateau. It was exactly as he remembered. He was startled as the fireplace sprung to life upon entry. For the first time in a very long time; Draco felt a sense of normalcy return to his life.

For the first time in a very long time, he was indeed home.

It took the Draco the better part of two days to wander through his memories as he reclaimed his new home. At least, he had wanted it to be his new home. The reality had been a little less romantic. There were indeed taxes to pay on the property, and there was no way that as a student he could afford to do that on his own. He doubted the Trustees would help him either. He fire called Emmaline after he was settled, and had her send his owl along with the papers he had received from the Trustees. He would take his time and examine the full extent of his holdings.

Emmaline had been disappointed that he had left abruptly, but sensed that he had needed the space and time to heal his still wounded heart. He hoped she had not heard his confrontation with Ginny. He need not worry about the cat, for Emmaline promised to take good care of the wandering feline. Melchett had arrived with the papers late that evening, and Draco had begun the task of thoroughly examining his new acquisition.

He had been delighted to discover that not only did he own the chateau outright, but the title deed also referred to a small vineyard. Draco had always liked the idea of owning his own vineyard, and now that had become reality. The vineyard itself was managed by a small community based group run by the local cellar master. It felt rather special to realise he produced an extremely respectable Rosé – one that was counted among the great Provençal wines.

Despite this, there was no way that he could afford to live in the chateau whilst he continued to study. He surmised that the Trustees wanted him to sell the property and live off the proceeds, thus washing their hands of another Malfoy asset. He barely trusted the Malfoy Estate Trustees, but he had no intention of letting this piece of his past slip through his fingers.

Over the next few days Draco began to reacquaint himself with his chateau, and with the sleepy village. He took a few short walks, lest his knee give in on him. A couple of days after arriving, he wondered why the shops were closed, when he realised the date. It was not uncommon for some wizarding communities to celebrate both Yule and Christmas. The pureblood families stuck to the ancient traditions, with the Christian traditions becoming more common with the increase in Muggleborn wizards.

Draco held no firm opinion of Christmas. People could celebrate whatever they wanted, just as long as they didn't try to judge him for his own beliefs. He had discovered a form of reverse prejudice during the war. His father had spouted anti Muggle propaganda at him all his life, but it had come as a shock when he was confronted with anti pureblood propaganda. That was about the time when he realised that not everyone in the world would share the same opinions.

The locals were more open to the ideals of the Muggles – having to regularly entertain them alongside the wizard community - so the Yule celebration extended to include the Christian celebration. With none of the stores open, Draco took the opportunity to do some browsing and window shopping. Looking through the open glass window of one of the shops in the town square, he grinned widely as he figured out a way to keep his chateau. He would rent it out!

Later that evening, he calculated that he could even make money from renting out the chateau for the better part of the year. He could still live in the studio during the semester, and head to the chateau during the summer. If the place was rented during the rest of the year, he could make quite a few galleons per year, and still manage to keep most of them after taxes. Draco didn't know why his father had never thought of that in the first place.

It was a much happier Draco Malfoy that fell into the bed of the master suite that night. Part of his future was assured, and he looked forward to the rest of his week in the village. He intended to visit the cellar master the next day. He wanted to see how his own label was made and bottled. He could easily get used to the idea of owning his own winery. It was times like this that Draco felt that things were beginning to make sense, and he could see some happiness in his future.

Despite his good fortune, he was still alone. This didn't sadden him as much as it would have the week before, but he realised he would dearly love to share his joy at his windfall with Flash. He regretted leaving the journal in Paris, but knew he would share his good news upon his return. Besides, he guessed that Flash would be no doubt enjoying his limited time with Ollie.

Draco's good cheer almost made him forget his relationship woes. Still, as sleep overwhelmed him, he imagined sharing all this with someone. Someday.

--oo0oo--

Draco's self confidence had returned with vigour after spending two days in the fresh air and fond memories of his childhood home. The entire village knew that the blond child had returned all grown up. They were thrilled to see that the chateau was once again occupied. Draco made arrangements with the agent to stay until the New Year, after which time he would set up special wards on the property. The agent was confident he could have bookings by the end of the week.

He celebrated his good fortune in his favourite café in the quiet village – Mincka's. The café was run by a Spaniard, Carlos, who claimed to have brought the secret of his fine food with him from Barcelona. His wife, Mincka, would tell Draco otherwise. The traditional and fresh menu had not changed in the past decade, and Draco was grateful for another piece of familiarity.

Draco attempted to start his usual behaviour of watching people, rather than participating, but being such a close knit community, the villagers always tried to engage him in conversation. He rarely got the opportunity to just sit back quietly, and for once, was enjoying the verbal interaction. But the café was quiet this mid morning. He spotted the newcomer as he walked casually into the café and threw his rather heavy backpack onto a seat. He recognised him as the wizard he bumped into upon his arrival in the village.

Draco would have immediately suspected him a Muggle, had it not been for his robe casually thrown over the jeans and mustard coloured turtle neck. A blatantly Muggle sweatshirt with some logo splashed across the front completed the ensemble. The wand sticking out of his trouser pocket was also an obvious indicator of his wizarding credentials.

He watched as the newcomer ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture as he consulted a small bound Muggle book. Draco smirked as he realised the dark haired man was trying to order a meal and converse in French. He was no doubt a tourist, but the nasal twang and drawled emphasis on the words left no doubt in his mind that the newcomer was an American. Or a Canadian. He had awful trouble differentiating between the two. Still, he was a tourist, and he smiled as he watched the attractive young man attempt to order coffee and some sort of cake. He seemed distraught at the lack of something called Pecan Pie, but Mincka spoke slowly as she tried to force her delicious honey and almond profiteroles on him. Draco knew he would be a fool to turn her down.

Draco sat back in the dark corner he usually commandeered for his people watching, as he spent the better half of an hour just watching the way the young wizard ate. It was fascinating to watch the fellow's nervous habit with his hands. After downing the coffee and showing appreciation for Mincka's cooking, he rummaged around in his bag before pulling out what looked to be parchment and a small wooden box. As he moved to get a better look, he recognised the Muggle tools of the artist. He had seen enough art students at l'institute to feel uncomfortable when they brought out their tools. So many students had wanted to sketch him, and he felt a familiar sense of dread creep over him. He hated being on display like that, and he doubted he would be sitting for a wizard portrait any time in the near future.

But the dark haired man hadn't noticed him. Draco sat mesmerised as he watched him draw the town square and the mountains beyond. It was rather pleasant to watch him absorbed in his work, oblivious to the fact he was being watched. Looking at the time, Draco sighed as he realised he could no longer indulge in the wonder of watching this fascinating young man. His obvious mix of Muggle and Wizard intrigued him no end.

As he moved to leave, the American looked up and their eyes locked. Draco saw the look of surprise in the face as the hazel eyes smiled back and nodded. Draco returned the smile, but they did not exchange words. He quickly made his goodbyes with Mincka, and headed to the market.

It wasn't a true market day, with many wizards still taking holidays, but Draco just needed some fresh produce for cooking. As much as he loved Mincka's food, he had been itching to cook something in the chateau's kitchen. Perhaps it was the withdrawal symptoms of not having something brewing over a cauldron, but Draco wanted to cook up something; just like Narcissa would when they holidayed here.

The few market sellers who were in attendance had recognised Draco. He didn't think he would be at the markets for long – he was only after a few items, but he forgot the villagers penchant for a good conversation. After a good hour spent explaining once again that he would be renting out the chateau, and their incessant enquiries about his family, Draco finally had the produce he came for. Fresh tomatoes, firm plump eggplants, fresh eggs, chicken and local olive oil all filled his basket to overflowing.

He walked slowly back to the gates of the chateau, basking in the unseasonal warmth of the cloudless day. He had made a good decision coming here. His mind wandering as he gazed at the colourful houses. It was a total surprise when he was bowled over by a body as it left one of the doorways and headed out into the street. He became tangled in arms and limbs, with tomatoes and eggplants flying in every direction. A quick wand wave from the bowler stopped them in midair before they became colourful blotches on the sidewalk.

"Goddam! Look, I'm so sorry there! Shit!" It was the American tourist. He helped Draco up, and started flicking through the small French phrasebook, hoping to apologise in French. "Je suis désolé... er... hang on..."

Draco laughed at the dark haired man. "No, it's okay. No harm done. Thanks for looking out for my shopping."

The American was stunned, but let out a great sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness! Finally, someone who speaks English! I was beginning to think I would have to memorise this book before I could leave the apartment again!" The fellow was flustered, and began running his hands through his hair as he helped put the floating vegetables back into Draco's basket.

In his eagerness to please, the American dropped his own phrasebook, then his wand. Draco smiled at the sweet innocence of the guy, who talked incessantly. Draco barely heard him. He had watched him that morning, but only now did something about the young man strike him as familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it wasn't something sinister, of that he was certain.

Draco casually bent to pick up the other wizard's wand. "Allow me." Draco gracefully reached down and picked up the small book. He quickly flicked through it before giving it back, realising it was indeed a Muggle publication.

Handing the wand back to him, their hands brushed. He gasped visibly at the contact and Draco's eyes widened at the electrifying touch. "You know, you should really think about a Translation Charm. So much easier than using that." Draco pointed to the phrase book as he regained his composure.

The American blushed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep that in mind." Draco turned to leave. "I'll see you around. Have a great day!"

Draco nodded and waved as they made their goodbyes. "Adieu."

The smile on Draco's face could not be removed all the way back to the chateau. It had been a pleasant encounter, and the familiarity of the American had been unexpected. He knew, looking into those eyes, that the young man found him attractive, and he admitted his own attraction to the young man. He certainly hadn't expected that to happen, but he was willing to let nature take its course. He had no plans to rush into anything romantic, not now, not ever again. At least that's what the rational and angelic part of his mind was thinking.

The little devil sitting on his other shoulder was reminding Draco just how wonderful the other wizard looked in such a tight pair of jeans; and just how cute that mouth looked when he smiled. It also didn't fail to remind him how easy it would be to get lost in those hazel eyes. Draco shook his head, the little devil flung away. He would not think about that now.

--oo0oo--

Draco had met with Allen, the lessee of the winery. He had arranged to take a tour of his vineyard, and spend a few hours touring the plant, watching the process in full swing. Wizards used a number of charms and spells to enhance the harvesting, fermenting and bottling process, but it was still fairly labour intensive and very close to the Muggle methods of making wine. The spells on the vines to protect from inclement weather meant that the grapes could be harvested all year round. Draco was in luck, as he could help with the picking and crushing and bottling that would be taking place that very day.

It had been an eye opening morning for Draco. He didn't think twice about getting his hands dirty, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Being able to taste the fruit of his labours had been an added incentive, and he had been more than pleasantly surprised by the high quality of the final product. He had been extremely pleased to see that he recognised the wine's label from some of his own dining. It was a highly acclaimed drop.

After corking the bottles, Draco was down in the cellar, stacking them away to rest. He heard a familiar drawl coming from the storefront above; the stammering between broken French and the frantic rustling of pages as the American tried to explain what he was after to the cellar master. He had reached to top of the stairs and was once again watching the young American. It was amusing to watch the tourist's discomfort, but he had been caught out.

"Oh, it's you! Thank goodness. I've been here for ten minutes trying to explain to this... this... arrogant twerp just what I want to buy. I was wondering if you could help me translate?" the American smiled in relief at the sight of Draco. "You know, I sometimes wonder about these French. I've been told they can understand English all too well. I'm sure he understands me, but I think he's just being difficult." He eyed the Frenchman with suspicion.

"What were you looking for?" Draco smiled and was willing to help the young man. He explained the type of wine he was looking for; indeed, he was looking for a Rosé, which was what Draco had been bottling all day. He translated in fluent French, and Allen reluctantly went to get what he was looking for.

"I don't know how to thank you! I'm going to be a wreck. My friends told me to immerse myself in the culture, and I'd pick up the language easily. It's a lot harder than I thought." He admitted sheepishly. "Oh, how rude. I've met you three times, and I haven't yet introduced myself. The name's Devon. Devon Prescott."

Draco took the proffered hand and smiled at the hazel eyed beauty. "Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure." They held hands just a moment longer than necessary, but neither really wanted to be first to break the contact. Eventually their hands reluctantly parted. Draco felt the little angel and devil settling on each shoulder, as he knew he wanted to keep talking to this intriguing young man.

Draco was curious. "I thought you were going to use a Translation Charm?" He was surprised that Devon hadn't already tried his earlier suggestion.

Devon looked at him sheepishly, and blushed – his hand running through his hair before pushing it deep into the pocket of his jeans. "Well... um... It's kind of embarrassing..."

Draco understood. "You don't know how to do one, do you?" he smiled helpfully at the young man. He shook his head. Perhaps he was younger than he originally thought.

"Is it difficult?" Embarrassed at his lack of spell knowledge, he looked at Draco hopefully.

"Not at all." Draco gave him an impromptu lesson in casting the charm, and found that Devon was actually a quick study. He took the opportunity to touch Devon as he enclosed his hand over the other wizard's to demonstrate the correct wrist movement for the wand, to activate the charm.

"Gee, thanks Draco. I can call you Draco?" the blond nodded.

"You'll have to renew the charm every day, and just change the incantation depending on which language you are attempting to understand."

The cellar master returned, and Devon paid for his purchases. Draco had been intrigued by the young wizard. Three times he had bumped into him now, and was totally surprised at his naïveté, yet something about him mesmerised Draco. He still couldn't place what was so familiar about Devon, but he intended to find out before too long. Having finished his own work, he bid farewell to Allen, and left the store with the American.

"Can you believe those prices! Two Galleons a bottle! I just wonder who the owners think they are, charging such ridiculous prices just for a bottle of wine. Back home, you'd get something at least this good for around 5 sickles." He looked at Draco. "What about you? What's the going price for a good bottle of Rosé where you come from?"

"Oh, about Two Galleons." He smirked at Devon, who looked utterly confused.

"They pay that much in Britain? Wow. I didn't think the prices were so inflated here in Europe." Devon paused for a moment. "Er, you are from Britain, aren't you? It's just... your accent..."

"Oh, I don't live in London. I'm actually from Paris these days. I just grew up over there, hence the accent." Draco offered in way of explanation.

"Really! No wonder your French is so fluent. So, what brings you to this beautiful part of the world if you live in Paris?"

"Oh, just thought I'd check out how my investment in a little vineyard is doing... perhaps cork a bottle or two of the family label..." the look of shock on Devon's face made Draco smile, "And embarrass the passing tourists."

"Oh Shit. Aren't I a prize idiot then? Open mouth and insert foot! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you when I spoke about the price of the wine. I'm always doing that. Sorry." He looked unsure and disappointed at the realisation he had possibly upset this guy he had just met. It was plainly obvious that Devon had also found Draco intriguing, if the heart on his sleeve was anything to go by.

Draco laughed. "No harm done. I won't take offence. I'm inclined to agree with you - the price is rather inflated, but with so few bottles a year, you get what you pay for. You could get a half decent Rosé for a quarter of that price, but you just walked into one of the most exclusive cellars in the entire country."

Devon hung his head in embarrassment. "See, this is exactly the sort of thing I need to learn. I'm so glad I've come on this trip now." He stopped and hesitated, unsure if he should continue. After an internal struggle, he turned to talk to Draco again. "Look, I know we've only just met, but I'd like to say thanks for helping me with the Translation Charm... and to apologise for putting my foot in my mouth. C-can I buy you a drink?" he looked hopelessly forlorn and Draco could tell that he would be bitterly disappointed if he said no.

Draco found Devon's innocence rather endearing, "Sure, but how about a coffee. It's still too early in the day for a drink, and after spending all morning with that wine, I'm kind of a bit sick of the sight of alcohol."

The pair made their way to Mincka's. It was a very refreshing and light hearted chat with Devon. It turned out that he was from Boston, and was in France for his holiday, hoping to sketch some of the great countryside like the famous French artists.

"So you like to draw? I saw you this morning as you sketched."

Devon nodded. "I study Art at Boston University."

"I didn't know there was a Wizarding University in Boston." Draco frowned in puzzlement.

"There isn't. I go to a Muggle University."

Draco was honestly surprised. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Mum's a Muggle, and father was a pureblood wizard. When he was killed – he went over to England to help during the war – when he died, she pulled me out of school, and I finished up in a Muggle school."

"You never finished your NEWTs?" Draco asked incredulously. Devon shook his head.

"Didn't see a point really. It's great being a wizard and all, but I'm so immersed in the Muggle world, it's hard sometimes. I'm not bothered. Although," he admitted sheepishly, "I could have done with that Translation charm a few days ago."

Draco had become fascinated with Devon. He could not fathom the concept of a wizard who voluntarily lived like a Muggle. Conversely, Devon had difficulty with the fact that Draco knew little more about Muggles beyond the fact that they existed, and that they lived without magic.

It had been a wonderful afternoon, and Draco found Devon's company extremely satisfying. The younger man's innocence, teamed with his boyish charm and good looks kept Draco's attention the whole time. For a good while, he had completely forgotten about what drove him to come to Roussillon in the first place. He was now reluctant to let the other wizard go. It had been too long since he had talked so freely, and offered his opinions so honestly to anyone.

"You know Draco, this has been great! I haven't laughed that hard in ages." At least that was the truth. "I don't want to monopolise your time, but... would you care to have dinner? With me of course?" The American's easy slip of the tongue was rather infectious.

"That would be wonderful." Draco tried not to sound too excited at the prospect, but Devon was already bouncing excitedly at the prospect. He suggested the since Draco was the local, he should perhaps choose an appropriate restaurant.

--oo0oo--

For Draco it had been a wonderful dinner, although he barely remembered what he ate. Devon's company was truly refreshing. The American lived life to the full, and wanted to experience so much that Draco found himself somewhat overwhelmed. Draco was quite happy to sit back and let the other wizard talk; after all, he doubted that anything could stop the enthusiastic wizard when you got him started.

Besides studying Art, Devon spoke of his joy for all things physical – flying, hiking and especially Quidditch. That was one thing he sorely missed about being away from the Wizarding world. Part of the reason for his trip to France was to take in the magnificence of the countryside as he sketched some of the great landscapes. The fact that the Quidditch World Cup was soon going to be held in Paris had also helped him decide his travel destination.

"So you're saying that pretty much all this" he waved his hands at the empty plates, "is considered traditional fare? But it's so simple. I mean, it's just mostly vegetables prepared with some cheese sauce, and some well casseroled chicken."

Draco laughed at the explanation of their meal. "What did you think we ate over here?"

"Well, there's soufflés, and croissants and chocolate éclairs..." Draco laughed even harder at that image. "What? You're laughing at me now, and I don't think it's funny." Despite this, the infectious grin was plastered all over his face.

"Trust me Devon, those things are a part of French cuisine, but we still have to eat our fruit and vegetables, no matter how enticing the sweets are."

The night had been an innocent and refreshingly different change of pace for Draco, but it was over all too soon. Devon's rented room was on the way back to the chateau, so they walked together. He hadn't been expecting it, and was thoroughly surprised when Devon kissed him, lightly at first on the lips, but seeing no resistance, he offered it more firmly, and Draco found himself responding to it. It was over in just a few seconds. Not only had it come as a surprise to Draco, after all, it was such an innocent kiss, but it was full of so much promise. Devon grinned as he said goodbye, obviously feeling on top of the world.

He had enjoyed Devon's company, and had sensed some attraction – after all, they had practically spent the whole day together. He found it so easy to be in the younger wizard's company. His quaint charm and quirky habits reminding him so much of someone – of something that he couldn't quite place. Perhaps it had been in his dreams. His dreams that night were definitely still trying to tell him something. When he awoke it was once again gone.

The two wizards had not made any firm plans to meet again, but Draco knew that Devon would be around for a while, and with a village that small, he would not be hard to find. Indeed, it was not coincidence a couple of days later that Draco just happened to be having breakfast at Mincka's when Devon walked in. He feigned surprise as Devon came over and pulled up a seat at the same table.

"Hi Draco."

"Bonjour." Draco grinned. "What's in the basket?"

"Oh, well, you know, just a few basic supplies. I asked Mincka to pack me some stuff to tide me over whilst I go hiking, but I think she misunderstood. There's enough food here to feed an entire gang of trolls. I need your assistance!"

"What? You think I'm a troll?" Devon thought he was being serious for a moment, but laughed as he saw Draco smirk.

"You like messing with my head, don't you? Hey, I thought since you're on holidays too, and if you haven't already got plans that is, that you'd perhaps like to join me and we can go hiking and then possibly we could have this nice picnic lunch and enjoy the view." Devon was obviously nervous, Draco noticed. He spoke so fast, and was fidgeting the whole time. There was definitely something intriguing about the other wizard. He was certainly very attractive, but not in the same way as Antonio had been. Merlin! I'm comparing him to Antonio now. It was at that moment he realised that he could get used to having Devon around. There was no doubting the fact that Devon was attracted to Draco – it was written all over his face.

"Sure thing Devon, I'd love to go on a picnic with you, but there's just one problem. I can't really hike too far." He indicated his injured knee, and Devon once again smacked his head at his own stupidity.

"I knew I'd make a hash of this!" Berating himself as he cradled his head in his hands. "Gods. Can I do anything else so stupid? Of course I knew you had a limp. What an idiot."

Draco pulled the American's head out of his hands. "Hey, I only said I don't do hiking. I never said anything about not coming on a picnic. You tell me the place, and the time, and I'll Apparate there in a jiffy."

"But I thought there were anti Apparition wards around..."

Draco shook his head. "Only to Apparate in or out. There's nothing to stop us from doing what we please once we're in the village."

The grin on Devon's face lit up the whole room.

--oo0oo--

It had been an extremely pleasant afternoon. Devon had chosen a spot under a large tree, but with the weather just unseasonably sunny, they chose to sit just beyond the branches. There was the ruins of some wall a few feet away, a crumbling ivy choked arch and half wall all that remained of a once fine and grand estate.

The warmth and the wine, along with the good food (Devon had been right, there was enough food to feed an entire tribe of trolls in the basket), had made Draco sleepy. They spoke of inconsequential things; not important in the grand scheme of it all, but essential during those first tentative stages of any relationship.

Is this what it is? A relationship? Draco wondered as he dozed off, totally relaxed. He was a little reluctant about that step. After all, wasn't this sort of thing that got me into the mess that lead me here in the first place? Hmmm. Perhaps it was why I was lead here – to meet Devon. He's so young! I mean, I remember being a lot older than that when I was twenty. It played on his mind most of the afternoon, but Devon was so easy to like, he couldn't find any reason to not want to be with the idealistic young man.

A long while after the last glass of wine had been consumed, Draco had fallen asleep up against the tree. Devon had been sketching the view. With the end of the snowfalls, the vista was breathtaking. The vivid greens of the plains of Vaucluse below, and the rugged reds of the ochre cliffs topped off by the snowy peaks was the delight of many young artists. Devon was truly gifted as an artist.

He woke from his doze with his sixth senses blazing. He was being watched. Too long as a spy and too long watching behind his back told him when others had the audacity to gaze at him. Creeping his hand slowly to the pocket of his robe to grasp his wand, he looked out slowly beneath his lashes. Devon was watching him. Watching and smiling in that inane, yet cute manner of his. Draco opened his eyes, but Devon quickly sat back, and began sketching again, embarrassed that he was caught.

"Surely there are more interesting things to gaze at Devon."

"Well, I kinda got bored of the view over there. I found it much more fascinating in this direction." He paused over his drawing. Tearing off the page, he handed it to Draco. "I... I hope you don't mind."

Draco took the proffered sketch, and was totally blown away by the sketch of him sleeping. He had managed to capture Draco perfectly. "It's... well... wow!" It really was spectacular, and for once, Draco was speechless. Devon bent over Draco touching the edge of the parchment, pointing out the flaws in his sketch.

"You see right here, the crook of your neck? I don't think I quite got it right. And your hands. You have such wonderful hands. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were the hands of an artist as well."

"Devon. It's just wonderful. Thank you." He turned to look at the American, and was startled by a kiss. The kiss that had been promised from a few night's before. It was hot and firm, and Devon's tongue was tentative, but soon found its confidence. A warm hand snaked its way behind Draco's back, and he soon found his own hands snaking into the robes, and under Devon's shirt. The body was firm and Draco sensed his ticklishness at the cold hands invading his space, but they didn't separate.

The picnic basket and wine glasses remained forgotten, and surprisingly, Devon's sketches and charcoals were scattered across the picnic rug as they clung to each other, searching out and feeling their desires through the contact. Devon's kisses were insistent, eager. Draco slowed him down by not giving in too easily, but by returning the kisses even more intensely. Time held little meaning to the pair as they sat locked in their embrace, neither man wanting or caring for anything beyond the here and now.

The wind had picked up, and a sudden squall of biting rain had begun to fall before either noticed the outside world, and broke their hold.

"I didn't notice the weather went bad." Devon looked up, blinking the rain out of his face, but then realised his sketches were scattered about getting wet. "Oh no!" He fumbled to get up, and in the process of trying to stay dry as he collected his sketches, Devon managed to get even more wet. Draco watched him, charmed again by the innocence of his manner. He had waved his wand, and the picnic remains found their way back into the basket.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Draco drawled as he waved the wand, instantly bringing the now dry sketches into the American's outstretched hands. Realising in his panic that he could have magicked the sketches instead of running around, Devon just rolled his eyes and laughed at himself. "You're all wet Devon." He held out his hand. "I don't think this is over yet."

He Apparated them back to the chateau, the fire blazing in the hearth against the unseasonal storm. "Come on. Let's get you out of those wet robes." Draco moved to help Devon from the soaking folds of fabric, but the younger wizard just laughed.

"Why Draco, I thought we had magic for that. Can't I just charm the water away?" The cheeky grin was infectious, but Draco soon had the wizard out of the robes, before casting the drying charm on the remaining jeans and shirt.

"It's all about economy of effort Devon." He drawled back. "Why waste the effort on drying the robes too." He gestured to Devon to sit before the fire, as he poured the pair of them a brandy.

The memory of their passionate snog was not forgotten, but the momentum was gone, and they sat and talked companionably, picking up their conversations from before. Draco barely listened, mesmerised by the hazel eyes as he animatedly spoke of things – he guessed it must have been Quidditch – if his hand movements were any indication of the conversation. What is this? Where are we headed? Do I really want this? Hell yes. It's like we were pushed together... it's too coincidental for it not to be. Am I ready for this? Is it too soon? His introspection was turning him upside down, but he soon forgot as a pair of eager and helpful hands had now wrapped around his neck, and continued where they had left off. This time, the hands were keen to pursue other things, and they were soon reaching out to each other through their touch.

The kiss became something more. So much more. Draco didn't know who started it, but before long they both found themselves naked, and they had somehow managed to make their way to the bed, where neither man had the time for whispering sweet nothings. Their lovemaking had a sense of urgency about it, like there was no tomorrow. Devon responded to Draco in the most erotic way possible, and it had been so brief; so intense that it hurt. Hurt in the emotional sense. The sight of Devon lying there utterly debauched from his own touch was one that would stay with him forever. There was no doubt that the younger wizard felt the same way.

Devon hugged Draco in close, not wanting to separate; not wanting the moment to end. "I love you Draco."

That's all it took. Those dreaded three words and it all fell to pieces around him. He wasn't expecting them. He couldn't say them back to Devon – not say them and mean them. Devon fell asleep, not knowing if Draco heard, or whether he had replied. Draco held him tightly, for he knew that with those words it would be soon gone. Sleep eluded him at first, but he sensed that things between them wouldn't be the same, and that horrid sense of unease struck again, and he tried all within his power to shoo it away. He was blessedly relieved when sleep finally came. Unfortunately, the dreams returned.

For once, the dream was different. He managed to catch the snitch right out from under the other seeker's nose. He paused in midair on his broom, watching as the fluttery wings stopped their incessant beating. He frowned as he looked at it. 'This isn't what I'm after. It looks like it, but it isn't the real thing. Where's the real golden snidget?' Taking off on his broom, he once again began the relentless search for his ultimate goal.

Draco awoke slowly, pulling himself from the comfortable dream world where he had everything he'd ever wanted and back into reality where he had no idea what those things were. He twisted in the unfamiliar sheets, working through his customary morning stretch, and realized from the warm skin next to him that he wasn't in the bed alone. The feel of the mattress and pillows was also wrong; and he remembered where he was.

Right, he thought, Devon… mmm... He sat straight up in bed, memories hitting him full force, along with a gut-twisting feeling he couldn't identify. Oh Bloody Hell! He turned his head slowly, hoping he was about to be proven wrong. He took in the bare arm, the warm shoulder, the messy dark hair. It was the first time he had woken beside the delightful young wizard, and despite the feeling that Devon felt so right to be with, it somehow felt completely wrong. That feeling twisted through his gut again, triggering some deeply ingrained knowledge that he shouldn't be there.

Draco climbed gently from the bed, hoping against hope that he could avoid waking his bed mate of the previous evening. He allowed himself to move about by instinct, and soon found himself washed, dressed and brewing coffee in his kitchen with barely a thought for having done so. He was torn between wanting to be with Devon so badly, and knowing that realistically, it would never work – not in the long term forever sense of it all.

This feeling had been playing with him all week. He had come to Roussillon to get away from his failed relationship. He needed to clear his head. He needed to forget, and what does he do? Jumps straight into bed with the first (albeit very willing) guy he meets. His dreams seemed to be getting clearer, and clearer. It was obvious that he was searching for something – reaching out for that perfect... whatever it was. They had been all the more vivid when he was with Devon, and his subconscious was letting him know that Devon wasn't the one.

He looked back to the young American snoozing in the bed. Why can't it be Devon though? He's made me feel so good and that's just what I need right now. Draco's inner spoiled brat was toying with the idea of staying with him, but ultimately, he would be miserable for leading him on. He dreaded having to place himself in the same category as Antonio, but he knew there was no denying that he'd been using Devon, even if he didn't know it until now. It had been all about Draco, and that was selfish. It wasn't right, and he couldn't let it continue.

He started pacing. He had never felt so torn inside. Right. This is it. I'll let him down gently, try not to let myself feel too bad about it, and just get on with my life. He saw the young American stir and waken, the grin across his face tearing his heart in two as he knew what he was about to do.

--oo0oo--

Two hours later, and Draco was back in his Studio in Paris, feeling worse than when he had left. What had originally been a wonderful and peaceful time, had been turned on its ear by his libido, and the fact that his subconscious had been screaming at him that it was all wrong.

Devon had been upset, but Draco knew that the younger man would become all the better for the experience. Devon loved too easily, and wore his heart so heavily on his sleeve; it was bound to happen to him sooner or later. Draco knew the American deserved someone who was totally faithful – someone who wasn't looking over his shoulder for something more perfect to come along. Devon had been very quiet after Draco told him he was going home to Paris. Too quiet. He didn't need to tell Devon he was going alone. The nervous gestures began again, and asking Devon to walk away at that moment was probably one of the hardest and cruellest things Draco ever had to do.

Devon's parting words stung, and he doubted he would ever forget them, no matter how long he lived. "I did learn some French you know. Mal Foi. It means 'Bad Faith'. I guess you enjoy living up to your name." The words stung Draco, and he barely felt the tears that fell on his cheeks as he watched the American walk briskly out of the gates of the chateau, and out of his life. He barely remembered packing before he had left his wondrous memories, his carefree memories, and returned to Paris.

--oo0oo--

Môn Dieu, I hate being so introspective. I'm tired of the emptiness inside of me. I'm such a cad. I've turned into Antonio! Although something told him that Antonio probably didn't feel so bad when he left Draco. It was too late to even think about changing his mind, but the inner spoilt brat wanted it all, and right at this moment, he wanted to go back to Roussillon, and bury his head in that wonderful nest of hair. He had expected screaming, hell, he had even expected tears from the American, but he had not expected the sullen silence that followed him as he walked out the door and into this new nightmare.

Draco looked around his studio, looking for some way to vent his own anger at himself. He looked at the bed. Emmaline had obviously cast some simple cleaning charms on the place – nothing offensive there. He spotted those prints on the wall – those damn prints. He recalled Ginny's interest in them, and with that thought, repressed visions on the woman returned. With a snap of his wand, he blasted the prints into oblivion. He couldn't bear to look at them again.

He spied the bottle of brandy – the only alcohol in the place. He could drink himself into oblivion again. That worked. No wait. It didn't. It lead to the Weasley debacle, and that would lead him into a vicious cycle that he would never repeat again. What am I doing? What do I want? He threw the brandy into the fireplace, a surge of flames rose with a whoosh of air, momentarily startling Draco. He vowed to not get caught in anyone's trap again. All the problems of the past weeks could be attributed to either too much drinking, or sex.

He fell back into the armchair by the fire, not wanting to think. He could hardly make sense any more of what he wanted. He had wanted Devon. He had wanted it all, but he had also wanted more. Is it too much to ask? I've slept with a Weasley and broke the heart of an idealistic young man all in the space of a week. I don't want to be that kind of guy. I can't believe Devon threw the 'Malfoi – bad faith' line in my face. It was true though. Very true! I'm such a bastard. I am not going to become like my father! Never! It had occurred to him that he had been behaving just as badly as Lucius would have, the only difference being that he had scruples, and they were eating him up inside.

He sat in the chair for hours, unmoving, but not sleeping either. He was trying to make sense of all that had come to pass. He blinked, realising that he did have a way of making sense of it all. He could write it all down. He could talk to Flash. He might know what to suggest. A couple of times during the week, Draco had wanted to share his good fortune in the journal. Now, he just wanted an outlet to stop all the confusing thoughts from swimming around inside his head.

He clamoured over the arm of the chair in his rush to get to the desk. He really needed to talk to Flash, and he hoped against hope that the other wizard would be able to help him out of his current self destructive introspection. He opened the book and noticed that Flash had not written anything since his last entry. That was more than a week ago! I hope he's okay. The deep green ink was already out as the words began to pour onto the page.

---

Bonjour Flash,

I can't help but admit to some sense of jealousy at hearing that your Ollie came back to you last week. No doubt the pair of you are either out having fun tonight, or you're enjoying a private tête-à-tête and you certainly don't need the likes of me interrupting you! But I sensed the happiness in your words at his return. You seemed a lot happier now he's back; but denying what you originally wrote in this diary doesn't mean those thoughts and feelings will go away. You expressed some doubts. They must still be lingering in the deepest recesses of your mind. Trust me, I've been examining those areas of my own head this week, and they aren't pretty.

Perhaps I'm just jealous that at least one of us has our lives on track. I guess I lived up to my 'evil' reputation you painted for me last week (alas, no smoking jacket, but the cat is again curled up in my lap.) Despite this, your words have come back to haunt me at the most inopportune times, and I can tell you I've had plenty of those this week. Please indulge me for a bit; I've nobody else to tell this to, and if I think about it any longer, I'll go insane!

I thought things couldn't get any worse after Antonio left me. Guess what? I was wrong. I probably shouldn't have taken your advice quite so literally. I did go out and get a little drunk... okay, a lot drunk (it's not a habit, I swear) and I kind of picked up this girl. Yes, I know, a girl... well, a woman actually. I know... I prefer the company of guys, but it was either very slim pickings, or someone spiked the Absinthe (I think it was the latter. Never let a potions student make your Absinthe. Occupational hazard – everyone wants to experiment). Anyway, woke up, not remembering a thing about my night, only to find that it's the little sister of this right royal prat I went to school with. Was I ashamed? No. Was I embarrassed? Hell yes! Was I humiliated? Absolutely. She's a complete man-eater and now my reputation is ruined. Not only was I feeling rather vulnerable, but she took complete advantage of me, and no doubt she's already gone home and boasted to her righteous friends just how lousy I was. The thought of her has put me off women for life, Flash. I hereby solemnly swear off women for the remainder of my days.

But that's not all in my week of woe. I had to get away after that debacle, so I visited my family holiday chateau down in the Luberon region (in the south of France). Had to get away from the city. I was feeling stifled, and the thought of this girl in my bed really stirred me up. The place is just as wonderful as I remember. It's actually mine now, seeing as I am all that is left of my family. I hadn't been there for at least eight years, so full of peaceful and very fond memories. I could look out over the plains of Vaucluse for hours, or get lost in the clouds. But you don't want to hear about my daydreams.

But then I met a guy. A wonderful, honest, innocent and gorgeous guy.

Don't cheer for me just yet.

Why does one's subconscious make you feel guilty at all the wrong moments. We spent a wonderful few days together. He's American. Devon. Completely and utterly unabashed. I could learn to love him. Very easily. But something told me not to. My subconscious was telling me he wasn't right, or that I wasn't right... just something. I dumped him, and I don't think he was very happy about it. I couldn't lie to myself, and I know it was better to do that now than to lead him on for months and just do it all later when it will hurt all the more. I didn't want to be selfish, and I was listening to my heart. I feel like such a cad now. Am I a bastard for doing that?

I've been so torn by these events that I barely wonder any more if I can make it through the day. I wonder if this is it. Is this all there is, or is there more to this existence? I wanted to make my own name in Paris – not to repeat the mistakes of the previous generation. Is the way I'm living now what I truly want out of life?

I've lived beneath a façade for so many years it's hard to know when I'm being honest with myself. First my family, then through school and the war I was expected to behave a certain way. Those around me expected it. It's probably why I enjoy watching others so much now. I long to see behind their barriers and try to see the real person. I've spent the better part of 23 years doing what others expect of me. Is it too late to change? Is it too late to find the real me?

I suspect this is what my subconscious has been telling me. Why else would it make me reject the nicest guy I have ever met? Still, there was something about him, something rather familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Well guess I shouldn't dwell on that any longer, lest I continue in this same maudlin and very depressing vein. You know, I was totally lost and confused, but putting quill to parchment, I've managed to sort through a few things in my mind as I lay them out before you. I suppose I could have put them into a pensieve, but first of all, I'd have to get a pensieve, and secondly, I really don't want to relive the past over again. I want to forget it and move on.

To that end, I've made a couple of decisions. Of course, I've only made them in the past half hour, so forgive me if they seem a little idealistic. They sound wonderful this late at night. I've decided that if I'm going to stop my self inflicted slide into hell, I'm going to need your assistance. I'm making a whole bunch of new year resolutions, and by writing them in here, no doubt I'll be forced to confront them when I feel like going off the rails.

I'm hoping to keep my resolve, and to beg your assistance my virtual friend, when I find times troubling. Feel free to reciprocate, after all, I promised you I will try to listen, and that is my first resolution. Right after swearing off females for the remainder of my natural life. To avoid any further confusion, and before I turn into a complete bastard like Antonio, I am swearing off all relationships, at least for the year. A whole year to learn about the real 'Luc'. If I happen to meet anyone this year, I'll be a complete Gentleman. I might wine and dine, but there is no way I'm going to let lust get in the way any more. I can't be brutally cruel to anyone, and I can't go through the pain of rejection again, let alone put anyone else through it.

So will you help me Flash? Just tell me how to get in touch with my inner feelings? You seem so attuned to your own happiness. Yes, that's it. I'm looking to find my own happiness, and I know that I don't need a relationship to do that. I'll try to keep up with my friends, and I'll try to follow my heart, but I won't give in to my selfish instincts. I should just cut myself off and not show any emotion, that would be the easiest course, wouldn't it?

Who knows, perhaps this is what has been missing for all these years. You seem worldly wise my friend. Perhaps when you find the secret to your happiness, you might want to share it with me. Besides, I might just prefer to live vicariously through your own love life. Much safer that way, don't you think?

There I go rambling again. And I'm stone cold sober. Not even a glass of wine my friend. You thought you were originally being harsh and overemotional? I doubt that. Somehow when I'm writing here, I just seem to know what to say – the words just seem to fly off the quill on to the page. You don't want to know how many times I've wanted to erase this as I've gone through.

You say you're a fairly happy person. I'm glad. I often tell people I'm happy, but to be honest, I don't think I've truly been happy since I was a little boy – since before I had to see so many of my childhood notions shattered to pieces. Mostly by growing up I think.

You talked about the war throwing a spanner in the plans. Firstly, what's a spanner? I'm guessing it's some Muggle thing. Sorry, not muggleborn, but I'm guessing you've had some exposure to their culture, considering your reference to Muggle entertainment as well. Well the war managed to lead me to this very place, and to a wonderful bookstore where I managed to pick up this journal. It literally jumped off the shelf at me!

Okay, so I'm feeling much better now for putting my thoughts into words. Again I apologise for being selfish enough to waste your time with my ramblings, so I'll let you get back to your Ollie. Alone for Yule, and now I'll be all alone for the New Year as well. I can't say I'm totally happy about it, but then it is rather nice to know exactly where I stand with myself! At least I've made my resolutions, and I'm kind of looking forward to meeting the challenge.

I've rambled again, and I promised I wouldn't. So I tend to get a little verbose and over wordy at times. My lecturers tell me that as well. I dread to think how many parchments I've destroyed in my assignments.

So here's to the New Year. 2003. The year of happiness. I hope you can help me in any times of need this year, and that I can reciprocate in any way if you need someone to pour your innermost feelings out to. I have to say that I'm looking forward to hearing from you again. It was a lovely surprise to see your words on Yule, and to know that there is someone out there who, like me, just wants to talk every now and then. No strings attached.

Au revoir, and Happy New Year to you and your Ollie.
Luc

---

Draco sat back in the chair, satisfied that he had managed to organise some of his woes, and had even decided to take some positive action. A loud clap and many cheers signalled the turn of the clock to midnight. Looking out the window, he saw sparks of all colours as wizards throughout the city took the rare opportunity to show off in front of the Muggles, their 'fireworks' displays quite spectacular. He felt wistful for just a moment, wishing someone could have been there to share it with him, but he realised he already had. He had shared it with Flash, and that was enough to satisfy him for now.

Draco slept that night without guilt. He knew that it was a new year, and new opportunities, and now, new friends, no matter how virtual they were.

The dreams came, but for the first time in a while, Draco confronted them with a smile on his face.

---

TBC

Publish Date: (this chapter) 14-February-2004
Updated: 28-February-2005

Thank You: Huge thanks to mysteryqueen73, myladysara and Kwin for helping Azhure fix her horrid French!

Author Notes: 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!

Azhure wishes to extend her extreme apologies that this chapter is longer than War and Peace. She claims the muse took over and refused to leave, and despite cutting some rather witty scenes, this is the result. Apparently Draco had to suffer every word that happened during this chapter. Don't expect any further chapters to be this long, although Azhure's muse makes no such guarantees. ;)

---

Review Thank You's from Azhure for Chapter 3!

Wow! What can I say... I am totally blown away by everyone's reaction to this little story! As I mentioned up top, this chapter refused to lie down and die, and when Ginny Weasley stuck her little red head into the story, well, things just took on a life of their own. Originally it was just going to be the chateau and the American...

It could have been a couple of angsty and self indulgent chapters for the blond, but I thought it better we get this horrible self wallowing out of the way and Draco can move on... in oh so many ways...

But thank you to everyone who reviewed my last part of the story - chapter 3... especially to...

ageostar, A Tortured Soul, silver-sunn101, CelestialDrgn, cheer4life, moonysgurl, driven to insanity, Honor.

fayee - well! Self deprecation and wisdom... you know me too well girl! Promise you won't hold me at wandpoint when I spend the weekend at your place? I promise Black Magic's next chapter is in the works as we speak, and I'm hoping a couple of nights in a motel room might round it off nicely! And I can hear you groaning from here over the title of this chapter... not my fault Simon Le Bon just kept screaming out the lyrics as I wrote. Could have had something to do with it being on the mp3 playlist at the time though...

Nilblaze - wow - profound! Glad you like their individuality - Innocent!Harry is totally gorgeous, and tortured!Draco is just too beautiful for words sometimes! Thanks for that! I don't think we'll be rushing the time frame of the story too soon... We have plans, and it could be AGES before the two writers discover (if ever) each other...

Kaaera - since when has the muse been whispering in your ear? Hmmmm. You hit the nail right on the head with some of your guesses! Glad you like Emmaline, and coffee drinking Draco... Hope this chapter wasn't too much for you...

louise4 - hehehehehe. We know we don't want Draco encouraging Harry to stay with Ollie, but at least he was depressed over it when he found out Ollie came back. Draco is kinda-sorta going to be a bit Tom Hank-ish, but then again he won't... does that make sense? No, I didn't think so. You'll just have to keep reading if you want to know more. BTW, hope you don't mind your image of James Bond villain in smoking jacket and stroking cat made its way into the story... we just couldn't resist! LOL

CuriousDreamWeaver - Thank you heaps! I hope you keep enjoying this story, and that we can keep up the insightfulness, and empathy, and keep everyone entertained at the same time. We'll try to keep up the good work:)

Queen Antigone - glad you love the idea of intelligent conversations. We plan on plenty more of those, with a bit of humour throughout! BTW, I have read Crown Duel, and I do love it... thanks for the recommendation!

Hades' Phoenix - I hope you are still with us and that we haven't made the diaries too cliche... we had to put Ginny into it somehow, but I think her involvement in the story is well and truly over... I hope so anyway. Draco's not really a weak and whimpering little sod - he's just a little introspective right now, and hopefully he'll be back on the straight and narrow now that he will (hopefully) correspond with his new penpal. Yes, the possibilities about when the meet are endless. Wintermoon and I have had numerous chats to that effect with a few scenarios having played in our heads. Everything from one finds out, then the other, someone else works it out, they meet up... endless possibilities. I think we've worked out the final one though... at least, the final one today!

menecarkawan - yes, Harry is a sentimental softie, and he will no doubt talk on and on and on. Draco will soon be over his verbose and inarticulate drunken ramblings, so Harry might just get a chance to chat about some intelligent things.

The Shadow Bandit - Glad to hear your daughter is on the mend, and you've had an opportunity to get back to your own writing! Hope that this chapter wasn't too angsty for the blond, but it had to happen, and I rather thought we could get it all out of the way in one hit, instead of dragging it out over a few chapters! Thanks for your words of encouragement!

Malfoy Snogger - Hope you liked this glimpse into the life of Draco, and that you either feel he's a true Malfoy, or just utterly confused. At least now he's over his bisexual bent, and he knows that his one true love is a man... that's some progress, isn't it?