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!

10. Ordinary World

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter 10: Ordinary World

The moment Harry Portkeyed to the outside of the black wrought-iron gates, he knew he had made the right decision. This rather large piece of property sat high on a hill in the small village, and the ornate, yet not quite ostentatious gates were a stark contrast to the earthy tones of land and structure that surrounded them. He glanced quickly over the elaborate "M" etched into the iron work of each gate. The purple grapes and gold accents seemed very fitting for the wine rich area. He'd even been told that this chateau had a vineyard behind it and that he would find a complimentary bottle of the house label waiting for him.

The quaint but spacious two bedroom chateau boasted a well-stocked kitchen and plenty of space to spread out and enjoy himself. He chose the bedroom with the lush royal blue velvet bed-coverings, awed by the wizarding photo of the ocean that hung over the bed. It wasn't often that he saw wizarding landscapes, or seascapes as the case may be. He'd never known if they just weren't popular, or if they were more expensive to create and procure. Regardless, this one was beautiful. The aquamarine water splashed gently on the shore while the white foam tipped waves broke further away from the sand. It was a clear day with bright sun and clear water, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the occasional fish under the surface of the water. There was no one within view, which made Harry wonder if there were people who visited this photo occasionally, or if it had been taken when there was no one on the beach. He did see the gulls that flew in and out of the frame, and a sailboat that drifted slowly in the furthest reaches of the water. It was a very peaceful image, one he was certain he wouldn't mind sleeping under.

Harry found himself relishing his vacation as it provided him with day after day of no responsibilities, no adoring fans, no relationship conflicts, no boring paperwork and essentially, nothing but the freedom to do exactly as he pleased! He browsed the small shops in the wizarding village of Roussillon; he flew around the cliffs and through the trees, exhilarated by the cold, crisp air as it whipped by him, tugging on his cloak and swirling his hair into even more mess than usual.

Sleeping in some mornings, Harry desperately hung on to the dream images that continued to plague him. That snitch… Harry couldn't understand why now, after all these years; after giving up Quidditch when he left Hogwarts, he was being haunted by dreams of an elusive snitch that continually turned out to be something else. Despite this, he had the most peaceful sleep in ages. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the peaceful crashing of the waves in the seascape must have had something to do with it. Besides, for once, he wasn't waking up to the bedclothes in their usual shambled mess. He woke well rested in spite of those crazy dreams.

After his late lie-in, Harry quickly developed a mid-morning routine of stopping in at Mincka's for coffee and croissants. Still, he thought wistfully, it would be nice just to have a decent cup of tea now and then. He silently mused over his dreams and his reality as he ate, and tended to stay there until the lunch crowd started pouring in, enjoying the warmth of the coffee and the light texture of the flaky pastry. He sat back and took joy in watching the passing parade of people. There were Muggles wandering through the village, and from what he could gather, they were mostly tourists who didn't know they were in a wizarding village.

It was Thursday, just after noon, when Harry saw a middle aged couple walk in for lunch with their dog. He had decided to stay for lunch that day and was thrilled by the Velouté de Potimarron on the menu. The warm pumpkin soup with a touch of chestnut flavouring was just the thing for the crisp weather of early spring. He tried not to be obvious about it, but as he savoured his soup, Harry couldn't help but admire the Golden Labrador that had come in with the couple at the next table. They were French, but obviously travelling, and had brought their dog along on their holiday. The dog, Cozette, was quite well behaved and wagged her tail politely in thanks when Mincka's son brought over a bowl of house specialty dog food along with the humans' order.

"She's beautiful," Harry found himself saying, unintentionally. He was normally content to keep to himself and avoid drawing attention.

"Merci, she's, ah…our baby, you could say." The woman's response was friendly and casual. It took Harry a moment to realise that she didn't know who he was. Being in a wizarding village, Harry had already received a great number of second glances and a few questions and requests for autographs. Speaking to this woman was refreshing.

"She's also so well behaved. How old is she?"

"Trois," the woman seemed to be thinking about it for a moment, trying to remember the English word for it.

"Three?" Harry smiled at her. He had picked up a little French just listening to Jacques, and was pleased to provide the answer for her. He reached across the walkway, offering his hand in greeting. "I'm Harry."

After introducing himself to Camilla and Tristan, Harry felt a wet nose nuzzling his hand. He looked into the soulful brown eyes and knew that the dog understood him. He knew that animals were very intuitive and that this dog was likely aware of his inner confusion. She seemed to smile at him before licking his hand and returning to her food.

--ooOoo--

After spending nearly a full week perusing the wizarding shops and eating his fill of the delicious homemade pastries at Mincka's, Harry felt the urge to venture further and explore the Muggle shopping district in Apt. Having converted a bit of money, just in case he decided to buy anything, Harry activated the return portkey given to him by the real estate agent and found himself just around the corner from the shops. He spent the full day there, walking through the shops and stalls, enjoying the novelty of just spending time alone and seeing things from a different perspective. The Muggle shops of Apt were actually run by wizards, but they operated as Muggles, and their patrons were none the wiser. The French were not as adverse as the British when it came to mingling closely with Muggles. Harry was careful to allow his dark fringe to cover the famous scar in the hopes that he could get through the day without being recognised. It almost worked. He noticed a few people giving him second glances and was fairly certain that they suspected who he was, but he was grateful that they didn't attempt to verify their suspicions. Perhaps the French weren't as obsessed with celebrity as they were back home; something he was grateful for. Harry learned a great deal about himself that day, about his likes and dislikes, about his interests, and about his personality.

The antiques shop quickly became his favourite, offering so much history to anyone who cared to venture in and peruse the various items there. He lovingly ran his fingers over the polished wood of an old library table, and marvelled at the carvings on a two-hundred year old solid mahogany headboard. Someday, when my life settles down, I'd like to have some furniture like this. Something solid, stable, long-lasting. It reminded him a bit of the furniture at Hogwarts. Oh – not the students' furniture, of course. Their dormitory furniture wasn't quite that elaborate, nor was it that old. But the few times he'd been invited into the quarters of a staff-member, all for extremely important meetings regarding the war, he had noticed the rich colours, sturdy woods, and the fine workmanship.

As he continued to browse, he found himself enthralled by the feeling of spun silk in an Indian shop. The brightly coloured Saris caught his attention and he found himself wondering if it would be odd to buy an article of clothing just because he was fascinated by the patterns and the feel of the fabric, despite the fact he would never wear it or have any real use for it. The moment he entered the next shop in the row, he smiled to himself thinking of Ron. His old friend would have been in heaven at Sucreries, Confections et Spécialités. The assortment of candies could have put Honeydukes to shame, despite the fact there wasn't a wizarding sweet in the place. Harry walked the aisles, taking in the Petit Fors, the chocolate coated nuts, the candied fruits, the various flavoured truffles. He broke down and bought himself a mixture of chocolate ganaches, pralines, caramels and fruits. Over the next few days as he relished his indulgent purchase, Harry discovered that he had a particular fondness for the chocolate dipped apricots and anything with hazelnuts. He made a mental note of this to add to the list of things he was learning about himself on his voyage of self discovery.

It was on Harry's second day in Apt that he walked into the camera store. He suddenly had the desperate desire to own a camera. He didn't want to become Colin Creevey, but there was a definite urge to have photos of his friends, his experiences, the things that mattered to him, and to know that he had taken those photos himself. He managed to find a very helpful sales clerk and thanked Merlin he had remembered to cast a translation charm before entering. Genevieve patiently answered all his questions about the camera and all the necessary accessories. She didn't seem surprised that a grown man had never used a camera, and he supposed she was a Muggle, since she didn't seem to recognise him, and the store had no apparently visible wizarding section.

As he left the store, the new but comforting weight of his camera back bouncing gently on his hip, Harry decided that this trip had been the best thing to ever happen to him. He had gone from being a freak in a cupboard, to an eleven year old celebrity, then began fighting for his life on a regular basis. By seventeen, he was fully embroiled in one of the worst wars the wizarding world had ever seen, only to become the Saviour of said world and bring the publicity to his doorstep again. He'd been amazed that no one caught on to his relationship with Oliver, but all his other relationships, be they good, bad, serious, casual, happy or sad; became front page news for the Prophet, the Quibbler and Witch Weekly.

As soon as he arrived back at the chateau, Harry pulled out his new camera and thought about what he wanted. Family. His parents and Sirius were dead, the Dursley's had never been family to him, not truly, and Remus, though he was wonderful, could never be a father figure. He thought long and hard and decided that Mr and Mrs Weasley were the closest thing he'd ever have to parents. The rest of his family would be the one he created. He had Ron and Hermione, Remus, Ginny, Neville, Luc – these people would become his family – a family of choice rather than chance. That settled, he realised that he wanted to take pictures of his family. The realisation hit that he wanted to start a family photo collection to remind him of all those who loved him, and whom he loved. Anxious to get started on this, Harry laughed at himself as he reached for the journal that had been quietly lying on the end table. It seemed silly in a way, but Luc was fast becoming one of his closest friends and a very important person in his life. He wanted to commemorate that in some manner, and so, despite feeling a bit silly about it, he propped the journal up on the sofa and took a picture of it.

--oo0oo--

His time in France was quickly drawing to a close and Harry was of two minds about his return. He hated to leave this relaxing atmosphere and the chateau that had quickly come to feel like a second home. However, he had spent so much time mulling things over, being introspective and learning more about himself than he'd ever imagined, that he was somewhat anxious to get back to his routine and start making the changes that he knew needed to come.

--oo0oo--

Harry sighed as he set his bag down at home, thankful that he was able to Apparate directly into the apartment, without having to go through the unnecessarily tedious immigration process. He set about making himself a cup of tea, having had so much difficulty getting a decent cuppa whilst in France. With the cup ready and the kettle on, Harry found himself looking over towards his desk in search of the journal. Only then did it occur to him that he hadn't written in it during his entire vacation, despite the fact that he took it with him. While the kettle continued to heat, Harry quickly pulled the journal and inkpot out of his bag and placed them almost reverently on the desk. He was anxious now, only just realising how much he had missed his new friend. Perhaps it was the time recently spent among Luc's countrymen, but he just knew the Frenchman would understand the things he had done and discovered while he was away. Luc seemed to understand most everything about him, in a way that even Ron and Hermione never had. And in a way that Ollie and Jake and Theo certainly never had.

"Hedwig!" Thinking of his other friends reminded Harry that Ron was keeping Hedwig for him during his vacation. He crossed to the fireplace and, throwing in a pinch of Floo powder, called out to his old friend.

"Hiya, Harry!" Ron's grinning head appeared and his familiar voice rang out through the flat as Harry pulled out his wand and began magically unpacking to save himself a little time.

"Hey Ron, how are things?"

"Fine here. More importantly, how are you?"

"I'll be all right," Harry smiled, "the time away did me good." Harry had sent Hedwig from the chateau with a brief note asking if she could stay with Ron. She had seemed a little restless after a couple days there and Harry knew that she always enjoyed a visit with Pig. He had just been grateful that Ron hadn't tried to find out where he was and start asking questions.

"So, you planning to tell me what prompted the sudden trip? Not that I'm being nosy. I'm not, you know. You don't have to tell me a thing. Not a thing, Harry. Honestly. But if you wanted to, you know I…"

"Ron!" Harry couldn't help grinning as he interrupted Ron's rambling. "It's fine. Nothing to worry about, really. I'll tell you all about it, just… not right now." He couldn't believe he was so anxious to talk to Luc in the journal that he would give his long-time friend the brush-off, but, there it was. "I was just Flooing to tell you that you can send Hedwig home whenever you want, and to see if you and Hermione would like to have dinner or something in a couple days."

"Sounds good to me, mate. I'll check with her and send a note home with Hedwig, okay?" Ron tried to see if anyone was in the flat with Harry, but Harry had blocked most of his view of the lounge room, and he couldn't tell if Harry was alone.

"Yes. That'll be fine. I'll see you later, then?"

"Okay. I get the hint, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he winked. Ron's good natured humour was like a welcoming gift, reminding Harry of yet another of the wonderful things in his life. He was lucky to have such a great friend.

"Thanks Ron. Really, thanks a million." It was with those sincerely spoken words that Harry terminated the Floo connection and turned toward the kitchen where the kettle was quickly beginning to whistle. He knew he could have simply spelled the water hot, but there was something very satisfying about doing certain things in the Muggle way. Fixing tea was one of those things. A cup of tea, especially in a home, just wasn't the same without hearing the whistling tea kettle first.

Finally, with steaming tea, crackling fire, and warded Floo connection, he donned his favourite warm Weasley jumper and sat at the desk and opened the journal. Pouring out his feelings, Harry had somehow reached an epiphany, and began to understand even more. It was as if the journal were pulling the knowledge out of his subconscious and forcing him to face it. He felt a nagging urge to apologise to a few people. Making amends and owning up to his mistakes would do him some good and allow him to get on with his life. He felt, however, that he couldn't thank Luc enough for what he had done. Luc's recommendation of the chateau was just what he needed. Though he didn't go into much detail, he did feel that he would one day tell Luc all about his trip and the lovely chateau. It was truly a beautiful vacation spot. Perhaps I should recommend it to Ron and Hermione for their honeymoon, he thought. He finished his entry, and with a deep sigh, put the journal away carefully, along with the pot of ink. It was time. He knew what he needed to do. Another deep breath for Dutch courage, and he was standing in front of the fireplace.

After removing his wards, Harry grabbed a handful of international Floo powder and took a deep breath before throwing it into the fireplace. "Charlie Weasley," he said clearly. Only moments later, the familiar face appeared in the flames.

"Hey there, Harry! What can I do for you?" He was smiling. Harry took that as a good sign. He wasn't entirely certain what to expect from Charlie right now, but he supposed a friendly greeting and a smile couldn't possibly be too bad.

"I was wondering if you would have a few minutes to chat in the next couple of days. Maybe over dinner or something." He knew the evening would be most convenient for the both of them, but was trying with all his might to keep that from sounding like a pickup line or a date invitation. If Charlie's casual expression was anything to go by, then Harry had nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, worry he did.

"Sure thing. How's tomorrow, seven o'clock?"

"That sounds good. I'll leave the Floo open, just come on over."

--oo0oo--

Harry couldn't help the flutter of nerves when he heard the Floo chime precisely at seven. Charlie was known for being punctual, and Harry was beginning to think Charlie should be known for his spectacular appearance as well. The sky blue shirt he wore matched his eyes perfectly, and the disarming grin he offered left Harry speechless for just a moment. Finally finding his voice, Harry stepped forward to greet the man, surprised when the handshake turned into a hug.

"It's good to see you. I was so busy with the new crossbreeds that I didn't realise it had been so long since I'd heard from you. Are you doing all right? Still handling things okay?"

Charlie's friendly attitude and sincere questions put Harry at ease immediately. He nodded, "Yes, I'm doing all right. I took a vacation - only got back yesterday. It was relaxing and very much needed. Besides, how are you? No trouble getting into the country? Normally they are a little fussy over at Wizard Immigration."

"I'm glad to hear that. And no, there's no trouble. I flooed straight here. I'm working in Wales with the crossbreeds at the moment, so none of that tedious queue waiting. You're looking good, Harry," Charlie commented as they moved to sit on the sofa, Harry offering a Butterbeer. He convinced himself that he was imagining the look in Charlie's eyes during that compliment, the roving glance suggested Charlie was thinking back to their night together.

"Thanks," He took a deep breath, trying to force himself not to resort to his familiar nervous habit of running his hands through his hair. "Um, I…" He wasn't quite sure what to say now, having initially invited Charlie over to talk to him and apologise for showing up in his home that night. The attempts to pretend that Charlie wasn't still looking at him in interest simply weren't working. He latched onto the first extraneous piece of information that went through his brain. "Crossbreeds?"

Charlie looked a little confused for a moment, then remembered his earlier statement. "Yes, it appears that some fool decided to try to breed a Hebridean Black with a Ukranian Ironbelly. It makes for a very pretty animal, dark metallic hide and violet eyes with a slightly reddish tint. But behaviourally, it's a nightmare. The poor thing is skittish and docile, but it's so huge that it injures everything and everyone around it when it jumps around. And have you seen a frightened Black? They can shoot their flame almost as far as a Horntail!"

"So what are you doing with it? Is it just the one?"

"Yep, just the one. She's a baby now, just hatched last week, but when she gets older, she'll be a sight! Those are two of the largest breeds in the world. We're just trying to take care of her right now, best we can. Trying to find someone who can work with her on an emotional level is the biggest challenge we have. We've got to make sure she learns to trust people before she gets too big for us to handle. This is one animal that could be a real danger if we aren't careful."

"Wow. That sounds so interesting." A buzzer went off in the kitchen, alerting Harry that the chicken casserole was ready to be taken out of the oven. Charlie followed him into the kitchen, asking if there was anything he could do to help and within minutes the two of them had dinner on the table, a steaming casserole, hot, crusty bread, and a chilled bottle of white wine that Harry had brought back from his trip to France.

"You made this?" Charlie asked after a couple bites, "I mean, really made it, the Muggle way?"

"Yes," Harry was rather proud of his culinary skills, but couldn't help the uncertainty in his voice. He wasn't sure if Charlie was impressed or disgusted.

"It's delicious! I've never had anything quite like it before. I mean, nothing goes past Mother's cooking, but this is just..." Charlie finished the sentence by savouring another bite, a very satisfied look on his face.

Harry smiled, ignoring the mental voice that asked why he wanted to impress Charlie so much. "It's pretty simple, really. It's just some freshly chopped vegetables and herbs in a cream sauce, and then mixed with chicken and noodles. It's sort of my own creation."

They chatted amicably throughout dinner, going through the entire bottle of wine before they realised it. As they sat there, full from the good meal and sipping on their final glasses of wine, Charlie commented on Harry's cooking again.

"That really is a wonderful creation. You must have been a whiz at Potions in school."

Harry laughed at the thought, "Merlin, No! I was horrid in Potions. I never got the mixtures right until my second or third try and I couldn't create a new potion if I had to. Snape hated me; suffice to say, and that only made things worse. I never knew what I did to that man to make him hate me so much."

"Well, I kind of remember him from school," Charlie mused, "You know, he and your parents were a few years ahead of me. He didn't get on well with anyone, but I think he was interested in Lily at one point." Harry was floored by that thought.

"Ewww! That's just too weird to think about! Mum didn't… I mean, she never… did she?" he asked, wide eyed with fear. If his mother and Snape… the cogs in his brain were desperately churning through some distasteful scenarios, each one more unlikely than the last.

Charlie quickly put him out of his misery as he laughed. "Don't worry, I think she and Snape were friends, but she was a feisty individual until she fell for James, and then she had eyes only for him. Snape seemed to get over it soon enough. I remember rumours about Severus and Walden McNair having a fling during their seventh year. It didn't last long, though. I was only a second year then," Charlie seemed lost in his thoughts for just a moment. "I must admit that I was rather thrilled when he came back a year or so later to start teaching."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You liked his teaching?"

"No. Not particularly," Charlie admitted. "But I liked him. I managed to convince myself during my last year there that I actually had a chance with him, considering that his previous interests were both redheads. I fancied myself his perfect match and decided he just hadn't realised it yet."

Harry simply gazed at his older friend with pure incredulity. After several moments of silence, he finally replied, "I just don't get it." Charlie offered a grin which clearly stated that Harry didn't have to get it, and they laughed together as they stood up from the table.

"I guess you could say I'm the reason that he probably gave my younger brothers hell. He er… might have a bit of a bias against Weasleys after my unwanted advances." Charlie said in embarrassment. "Well, I should probably be going. We both have to work in the morning, right?"

"Oh, er, um, yeah. I, erm, I was going to…" He fidgeted with his empty wine glass, before absently running his hand through his hair, wishing he hadn't drunk so much. Why hadn't he done this earlier in the evening – at least then he could actually get a sentence out without sounding like a bumbling fool. He resorted to staring intently at the floor because at least it couldn't laugh at him.

"Harry, take a breath. Whatever you're trying to say can't be that hard." Charlie moved closer, laying a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and causing Harry to look up in surprise. They both paused for the briefest of moments before Charlie leaned in and offered a gentle kiss. Harry's breath caught somewhere between his heart and his throat and he felt himself - almost as if he had no control over his actions - leaning into the kiss and deepening it by flicking his tongue over Charlie's wine flavoured lips.

Something about that kiss took away the last of Harry's conscious thought. He remembered the last time he had kissed Charlie, and all the times he had wanted to before that. Distantly aware of what was going on aside from that kiss, Harry vaguely registered them setting their glasses down on the table and moving into the living room. He didn't even realise that his eyes were closed until he felt Charlie's hands in his hair. He opened his eyes just in time to see the lust in Charlie's crystal blue eyes as he was moving in for another kiss. Harry felt his own lust take over, reminding him of how incredible he felt after his one night with Charlie, how the older man had taken his mind off his troubles and drawn out the pleasure with a torturous slowness.

He grasped Charlie's hips and pulled them to meet his own, drawing a low groan from both of them. Charlie's slightly rough hands cupped Harry's neck and his fingers were buried in the tousled dark hair. They kissed at a frenzied pace, both recalling their encounter of a few weeks ago and the levels of pleasure they had reached that night. Harry felt Charlie's hands on his waist and was hit with a vivid memory of those hands. He remembered how firm and knowledgeable they were. He remembered how sensual they made him feel. He remembered the dragon-hide gloves. He remembered the passion he had felt and the desire to lose himself in Charlie's attention. But he also remembered the feeling that there was something missing.

That same something was still missing as his fingers traced the line of buttons on Charlie's shirt. It was still missing as he twirled his tongue around Charlie's and was rewarded with a low moan. That something wasn't there when he started unbuttoning Charlie's shirt, and it didn't appear when Charlie moved to suck on the tender spot on the side of Harry's neck. Harry gasped, but it wasn't because of that something, because that something still wasn't there. He thought about how to explain this, certain that Luc would understand his dilemma. On thinking of Luc, suddenly Harry's head cleared. Here he was, in a passionate embrace with a gorgeous man, and he was thinking about his friend. He couldn't do this. He had explained to Luc about his thoughts and introspection during the past two weeks. He told Luc he was planning to make amends, to try and fix the mistakes he had made in the recent past. That certainly did not include repeating those same mistakes.

"Charlie, stop," Harry heard the rasp in his voice and had to forcefully prevent the whimper that threatened to escape his throat when Charlie's tongue stopped its delightful swirling pattern on his neck.

"What is it, Harry? Is something wrong?"

Harry stepped back, taking a breath to clear his lust-addled brain. "Yes, actually. This is wrong. I can't do this again. I'm sorry."

"Okay." Charlie didn't say anything else, but he seemed angry. No, wait, that wasn't anger. That was… concern? Harry wasn't quite certain, but it definitely appeared that Charlie was concerned about something.

"I'm really sorry. Again."

"Harry," Charlie began slowly, "tell me exactly what you're apologising for?"

"Well, for leading you on tonight. For giving you the wrong idea, I suppose. For barging into your flat a couple weeks ago and starting up a… er… situation."

"You have no need to apologise for any of those things, Harry. Last time, that was, well, it was unexpected, but I've already told you I had no regrets about it. I'm not upset with you, I'm not sorry it happened. Hell, Harry, the only thing about it that I was concerned with before was that either you'd be upset and feel used, or my Mum would find out and tan my hide for defiling someone 16 years my junior!"

"You hardly defiled me, Charlie. That was done long before you," Harry muttered.

Charlie shook his head. "You know how Mum is. She'd never see it that way. Tonight, well that was my doing, and you needn't feel bad about it. It's truly been great catching up and getting to know you better. I suppose in the past you've been more of my baby brother's friend than my friend. I'd like that to change. I think that is changing, and I'd like it to continue. I…" He paused a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "I won't say I don't want to take you to bed right now, Harry. But I will say that I'm not going to be upset or hold a grudge or think badly of you if we don't. I guess I chose a bad time to kiss you. I know you were trying to say something, and you never quite got around to it."

Harry found himself speechless again. He'd been having a hard enough time trying to say this before Charlie kissed him. Now it would be nearly impossible. "I… I've just said part of it, about coming to your flat and such. Charlie, your family means a lot to me. Molly and Arthur, they're like the parents I never had. You know Ron's like a brother to me, and I just won't even go into the weirdness of sleeping with the brother of my brother. But, see, I don't want any problems either. I've lost my real family, and my first friend, and some of my mentors, and my godfather, and, well, I just can't lose another family. I don't want there to be any tension between us, because it would make things so hard."

"Harry, that's something you don't have to worry about. I know how important Ron is in your life. And I know that my whole family loves you. Yes, Harry, even me. I couldn't put a label on it if I had to. I mean, it's obviously not a brotherly love. But I guess a close friend. You matter to all of us, and I would never do or say anything to jeopardise those relationships."

"Thanks, but that's not all of it." Harry paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts so that he could truly get them out clearly. He had to do this right. "The thing is, I've had a lot of time to myself while I was gone, and I've realised that I really cared for Ollie. I can't really put it into clearer words, or explain how I feel now, but it's something I'm working on. And I think, or rather, I know that I don't need to get myself tangled up anywhere else until I sort this out a bit more."

"I understand. That's a very wise and mature decision you've made there, Harry. Not all of us can be that in tune with ourselves and what we really need. You stick to your guns on that one. You deserve the best and if you keep on this track, I think you'll find all the happiness you deserve a little sooner than you think."

Harry was relieved to see that Charlie truly understood and wouldn't look down on him for this. He was also relieved in a sense when Charlie gave him a friendly hug and a light lingering kiss on the forehead and stepped through the Floo. The trouble was, though he felt emotionally settled and relieved, he was physically caught in the sensations and results of Charlie's attentions. Sighing, he cast a quick self-cleaning spell over the kitchen and dining table before taking himself into the bedroom to relax. He had a certain build-up of tension, and thanks to his resolve, he would have to take matters into his own hand.

--ooOoo--

Claire Guffries was just an inch or two shorter than Harry, with the type of curves that had created the original hourglass comparison. She had long wavy hair as dark as Harry's and deep brown eyes that seemed to have seen a lot. In short, she was beautiful. On the days when Harry was even slightly inclined to swing that way, she could easily tempt him. Considering the fact that she was his immediate supervisor, he was lucky she'd never noticed or returned that interest… until today.

Harry knew the moment he walked into Claire's office that she was eyeing him up. What is going on, he thought. It's as if someone put a bloody attraction spell on me. He couldn't help wondering sometimes, how many of the appraising glances and blatant offers he received were a direct result of his celebrity status. Perhaps I'm just noticing it now that I don't have anyone at home waiting for me, he thought.

"Harry! I'm so thrilled that you stopped in. It's been simply ages since we've had a chat!" Claire practically pulled him into the room, motioning toward the chair sitting just to the left of the desk. "Sit down, Harry. Tell me how you've been? How are those students doing? I saw you in the Prophet with the Minister's family a few weeks ago. That was a really nice picture of you. Do you know the Minister well?"

Harry sat and waited patiently for her obligatory gushing and rambling questions to come to a close. He'd become accustomed to this shortly after he came to Somerset, and usually found her bubbly energy to be either refreshing or bitterly condescending. Today, however, when that energy was combined with a longing expression and a gaze that swept up and down his denim-clad legs, Harry was feeling a bit of discomfort.

"Yes," he began once she paused for breath. The minister's son is my best friend. I've known their family for years."

Her brow creased slightly in confusion as she considered this information. "Oh. I see." Claire tilted her head far to one side in thought. "So that's why you were in the photo with them?"

"Why else would I have been at a family celebration for the Minister of Magic?" Harry was truly confunded. What was Claire thinking? It seemed perfectly obvious that he must have been a close family friend.

"Well, because you're Harry Potter, of course! It's only natural that you would be asked to welcome the new Minister."

Harry took a deep breath, trying not to be indignant at the insinuation that he would have been welcome only because of his name. It crossed his mind briefly that he may well have a hard time finding anyone to truly see him for who he was inside. He decided not to comment on that, and instead cleared his throat and broached the topic on his mind.

"Listen, Claire, I should be getting back to work soon, but it was actually the training I've been doing that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I've really enjoyed training the new recruits and I seem to work well with them."

"Oh, definitely!" Claire gushed. "I've heard wonderful things from our senior Aurors. They say the things you're tutoring the recruits on are going very well."

"Um, well, you see," Harry paused, realising belatedly what she had just said. "Tutoring? I hadn't really thought I was tutoring. I've been teaching them observation and surveillance. I've discussed duelling, investigation tips and even demonstrated how grounding can help in a battle. That's above the call of just tutoring, wouldn't you say?"

She blinked at him. It had to be the first time he'd seen her speechless. "Well!" She finally seemed to snap out of her stupor. "Well, of course! I had no idea! I suppose you're here to report those who aren't giving you credit for all that?"

"No. I wasn't planning to. I'm here to ask for a transfer, Claire. I'm a fully certified Auror, and have been acting as a part-time trainer for months now. I want to do it full time."

"Ahhh!" Her relief was almost comically evident. It appeared that she was worried he was about to cause a fuss over the 'tutor' issue. A fuss, in actuality, was the last thing Harry ever wanted, but he kept that thought to himself. He felt his Slytherin side emerge as he allowed Claire's presumptions to influence the outcome of the meeting.

The meeting ended quickly, with Claire setting up a meeting between Harry and Gordon Bridgewater, Claire's immediate supervisor, to discuss the possibilities of a trainer position. He left her office while she was extending a repetitive offer to see if she could 'do anything, anything at all.'

--oo0oo--

Wednesday night was nerve-wracking for Harry as he fumbled around in the kitchen preparing dinner for Ron and Hermione. These were his closest friends, but he didn't know how he felt about telling them all the things on his mind, and the events that had happened. It seemed almost like a betrayal that he hadn't told them about Oliver yet. Nearly a month had passed since that Valentine's Day fiasco, and he had been such a hermit, curling up within himself, that the only person in his life who knew any of it was Luc.

That was another thing that he wondered about. Was it wrong to be so close to Luc, telling him all about the goings on of his life, getting to know this guy and counting him among the list of good friends, without Ron and Hermione knowing anything about it? He had a nagging feeling that he should mention it to them, but on the other hand, he rather liked the fact that no one knew. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Ginny knew. He hadn't seen her much since the day she checked the journal over for him, and they certainly hadn't had the chance to talk. Still, she knew, and that reminder cinched it for him. He couldn't keep a secret from Ron unless it was a secret not known to anyone else – anywhere.

As he finished tidying the flat, he realised how empty it now looked without the small touches that Ollie brought to their home. The room suddenly seemed cold and uninviting without his few trophies and medals adorning the shelves. The photos taken with Ollie that had previously adorned the mantle had been smashed and thrown into the fire during his fit of pique. Naturally, he regretted that now. An idea suddenly struck, and he raced into the back room.

By the time they arrived, not only did Harry have the pork roast ready and the potatoes mashed, but he felt extremely satisfied with his impromptu decorating ideas. As he cast a warming charm over the fresh herbed vegetables and the smooth gravy, he looked up at the photo montages that now adorned the vacant spaces over the mantle, and the sideboard. Uncorking the wine, he realised he was being stupid. Of course they would notice that none of Ollie's belongings were around the flat – they had both been there often enough. Better that he get the whole mess over with, and hope against hope they would be relaxed enough to not get angry with him.

Naturally, the first thing Hermione noticed was the new décor. "Harry! These photos – they look… they're amazing!" she stepped up to the mantle, reverently touching the montage of photos of the Marauders. Ron stepped up and squinted at a Quidditch themed montage. The pictures of two generations of Gryffindors winning the Quidditch cup were eerily similar, and Ron found it rather touching.

"Hey guys," both Hermione and Ron turned to the blinding light of the flashbulb, as Harry took their photo. His look of smug satisfaction surprised them.

"What the bloody hell you doing, Harry?" Ron was still blinking to get the bulb burn out of his eyes. "You fancy following in Colin bloody Creevey's footsteps?" Harry put down the camera, and in way of apology for taking the candid shot, he handed each of them a glass of the wine.

"Please tell me you aren't becoming a camera obsessed loon, Harry," Hermione continued. "I mean, these photos are lovely and all, but… well, I just remember what Dad was like when I was little. I couldn't bear having to sit through one of your slide nights as well."

Ron looked at her askance, not having any idea what a slide night was, and whether or not he would ever be asked to sit through one with his soon to be father-in-law.

"I promise Hermione, I won't be that bad. I just bought the camera last week, and as for the rest of the photos, I've been meaning to organise those for some time now…" Harry kept himself busy, and his guests distracted by serving dinner almost immediately. Ron was instantly distracted as he munched on the moist and crispy pork crackling that accompanied his roast.

Harry managed to distract his guests with his fine meal; the simple, yet well cooked fare was something that made him feel somewhat normal. The conversation took on the same familiar and casual tone, with Ron commenting on Hedwig's behaviour whilst she was staying with them, and Hermione asking after Harry's health. Ron passed along the regular message from Mrs Weasley to be sure and eat well and come visit, and Hermione inquiring about Harry's job. It wasn't until he brought out the Tarte Tatin, (an upside-down caramelised apple and pear tart – Harry had been inspired by his French sojourn), for dessert, that the inevitable happened.

"So," Ron said after draining his wine glass. "How's Oliver been? I hear they're playing the Canons this weekend. Is he busy training up? You know, they were close in that last match."

"Right." Harry took a minute to gather his thoughts, wishing he could have somehow felt more prepared for this. He'd known it was coming, but that didn't help matters any, especially since he hadn't been the one to bring up the topic. He busied himself cutting the tart and dishing it out for all three of them. He refilled Ron's glass and topped off his own. He straightened the napkin next to his plate and very meticulously lined up his flatware along the bottom edge of it. Finally, he was startled out of his musings by Hermione's voice.

"Harry?"

He looked up, raising his eyebrows. "Hmmm?"

"Are you quite all right? You seem rather distracted. Ron's just asked about both Oliver and Quidditch and you've barely acknowledged it." A knowing look crossed her face, "have you and Oliver had another fight?"

Harry couldn't help but feel glad that she knew him well enough to begin to understand what was wrong. He just hoped they would both forgive him for withholding this for so long. "Actually, Hermione, Ron, I have a few things to tell you. I really should have said something before now, but I really felt that I needed some time to sort things out in my head, you know. That was part of the reason I went to France. I needed the break, from everything. You see… I'd been thinking a lot about my relationship with Oliver. In January, when I took him out for his birthday, I was trying to make it special, and well… I kinda messed it up – but I ended up telling him that I love him."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry held up a hand to prevent either of them from replying. The last thing he wanted was a misunderstanding that led to any happy responses before he had the chance to explain the whole situation. It was still difficult to believe that he hadn't told them any of this. They had lost touch so much in the last few months.

"So, we were fine – at least I thought we were fine - after that and I went to his hotel room to surprise him for Valentine's Day. I had a romantic evening planned and, well, I'll spare you the details… I walked into the bedroom of his suite and found him in bed with two other men. I know one of them ran into us at a wine tasting a while back. I didn't recognise the other one." He spared a quick glance up to see that Hermione looked horrified and Ron looked slightly confused. "I was so angry and hurt and confused, that I came back home right away and destroyed most of his things," Harry continued. "I told him to leave for good when he came in the next day."

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments before Hermione's sisterly protection finally took over. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." She jumped up and gathered him in a hug which pressed the side of his face into her fairly ample breasts. Some distant part of his mind thought Ron would probably get upset by this, if not for the fact that Harry was gay. Another part of his mind wondered if this is how it would have felt to be comforted by his mother, had she been around longer. It was Ron's voice that he heard next, slightly muffled by Hermione's arms and chest covering the majority of his head.

"So this happened last month? Like almost a full month ago? And you're just now telling us?" Ron sounded incredulous.

Harry pulled himself out of Hermione's embrace, facing the consequences of his horrid actions. "I… I'm sorry Ron. I should have told you sooner. I really hadn't told much of it to anyone. I just…"

"Harry," Ron interrupted, "I think you misunderstood me. I'm not upset that you didn't tell me, I'm just upset that you didn't tell me… us."

Harry blinked. "I'm not certain I see the distinction there, Ron." Why doesn't he sound angry, he thought.

Ron waved him away, "I mean…it doesn't matter that I didn't know. I just wish you'd had someone to talk about this with. It's a big deal and you shouldn't just keep it bottled up inside you for so long, which you're wont to do. You just let it fester until it gets so big…"

Harry looked at Ron in amazement – completely unsure how to react to this. Hermione seemed to be at least a little surprised by Ron's reaction as well. She watched in silence for a moment, then walked forward to kiss him. "I love you, you know, Ron Weasley. And I'm proud of you."

Harry was also amazed at the maturity and understanding Ron was showing, and then realised that he had actually talked to someone, and that brought him to the next thing he needed to confess. "Well, actually Ron, there is someone I've been talking to… about this… about a lot of things… sometimes about absolutely nothing."

"Sorry mate, I don't think I followed you that time." Ron raised both eyebrows in surprised suspicion. He sensed that Harry had something to confess, but he just wasn't sure what his best friend had got himself into now.

"I guess you could say I've got a pen pal… His name is Luc and he's really nice and he's a great listener. He's helped me through a lot of things over the past few months." Harry nervously ran his hand through his hair. It felt good to tell them the truth, but he knew there was more. It was nice to tell someone about Luc, especially since he was now such an important figure in his life.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, her brow furrowed in that familiar way which clearly stated that she was thinking and about to start researching. "Where exactly did you find this pen pal? And how long have you been writing to him?" her suspicions were also raised.

"Well, we started writing around Yule, and he sort of found me. Or we found each other. I'm not entirely certain how these things work, but I found an old journal of Sirius'. I opened it but all the writing disappeared and then later I decided to use it for my own. Remember when you suggested I write things down? Well, that's when I started using it. After my first entry, Luc wrote back to me. His writing just suddenly appeared."

Ron's eyebrows disappeared under his hair. "Harry! You're talking to a book! Didn't you learn anything from You-Know-Who's diary?"

Harry simply smiled patiently. "Yes Ron. I did learn something from Voldemort's diary. That's why, as soon as I saw the first reply, I called the one person who is extensively trained in curse-breaking, dark arts, and has first hand experience with evil books! Ginny did a very thorough check of it and assured me that there was nothing to worry about. It's just a charmed journal, created so people can communicate with each other. It just so happens that Luc found the partner to this journal and we've been writing regularly ever since."

Hermione's concerned look became thoughtful, as if she were trying to remember something important, then slid into mildly stunned and quickly faded into casually interested. Harry noticed this, but Ron spoke up before he had the chance to voice his curiosity.

"So, how do you know this guy is sincere? I mean, what if he's just trying to get some dirt on Harry Potter so he can sell it to the Prophet, or blackmail you, or hurt you?"

"Well if he wanted dirt on Harry Potter, he would likely try some source other than an average guy in a journal, right? I'm not using my real name, Ron. Honestly, do you take me for a doddering fool?" he huffed.

"No – of course not. I just…" Ron looked down at his plate, and started swirling interesting patterns in the left over cream. Harry knew Ron was trying not to lose his temper. Hermione blissfully interrupted before Ron could shove any more of his rather large foot into his mouth. "So, Harry… you talked to Luc about this after you broke up with Oliver? And you're doing okay? I mean, as okay as you can be?"

Harry thought for a moment, "Yes. I mean, yes, I'm doing okay," He nodded, "I'm getting over it. I spent plenty of time thinking about a lot of things during my vacation, and I've been feeling rather introspective for a time anyway. I think it's good for me. I mean, hell, I'd rather it hadn't happened like that, of course, but I think it's a good thing that it did happen. Ollie – great as he is at times – he isn't the one. I know that now." Harry shifted uncomfortably as he realised that the time had come to tell them about Charlie. He was entirely uncertain how Ron would take that, but he knew it had to be done.

He quickly got up and started to busy himself with clearing the table. Hermione lent a hand as they gave Ron some time to process Harry's news. He knew he was procrastinating, but suddenly, he was as nervous as the first time he had knowingly faced down Voldemort. After a few more minutes of arranging the cheese platter, he headed back out, knowing that it was now or never.

"Look guys, I guess I should also tell you… there's something else." He waited. They waited. Harry knew this could go in a thousand different directions. Ron and Hermione simply knew that he was very serious about whatever he needed to tell them. They continued to wait. Harry finally took another breath, thinking that he shouldn't keep doing that to calm himself or he would start hyperventilating. "About a week after we broke up… I was thinking I needed to talk to you." He looked pointedly at his best friend, thinking of all the times in his life when talking to Ron had helped him immensely. "I was going to Apparate over late one night, but I…"

"Harry, you know you can pop in any time you need to. I don't care how late it is."

"Thanks Ron, but see… it's not that I thought it was too late. I… I'd been drinking, and…"

"Harry!" Hermione's shocked and worried tone told him that he was about to get another of her famous lectures on safety and forethought.

"I know, 'Mione. I know. I'll never try to Apparate under the influence again. Anyway, I ended up in the wrong place."

"Where'd you go, mate?"

"Charlie's."

"Oh – well he let you stay there, didn't he? I mean, you really didn't need to be trying to Apparate again. I'm surprised – you actually made it all the way to Romania? In one piece?"

"Yeah, he let me stay there," Harry mumbled, more to the floor than to Ron. He wasn't altogether certain how to say it. He'd thought he was almost through, but it was clear that Ron was assuming the best and clueless to the truth. Blunt. Sometimes, especially with Ron, you just have to be blunt. "Ron, I slept with Charlie."

--oo0oo--

In the end, Harry couldn't believe it went so well. Ron didn't die from an apoplectic fit; neither did he hex him into the next century, nor threaten to do the same to his big brother. The silence had been deafening for a couple of moments, but Ron was surprisingly accepting of his one-night stand with Charlie. Granted, Ron had been thrown for a moment, but quickly recovered and began asking if they were a couple or if it was just sex. The conversation had been mildly uncomfortable for a few moments, but both Ron and Hermione understood that Harry was being honest with them, and they overcame their shock and surprise to support their lifelong friend. They soon moved on to lighter topics of conversation, as they caught up with the more mundane news in each other's lives.

--oo0oo--

Rain. It was simply bucketing down, but Harry chose to walk home from work regardless. He'd had a long and tiring day at the office, including a tedious meeting with Claire's supervisor, Mr Bridgewater. He'd spent nearly two hours explaining to the man why he wanted a transfer, and that he wasn't unhappy with their Somerset division, he was just looking for something more than the current tutoring position offered. Mr Bridgewater confirmed that yes, it really was only a tutoring position he held.

The supervisor never realised the depth of teaching Harry had been doing. Harry truly wasn't surprised. The administrative side of the Auror division was fraught with the usual apathy found in many parts of the Ministry, and it seemed that they were oblivious to what he actually did there. The division had not taken Harry's semi-retirement from active duty well, but were reluctant to lose him from the service altogether. However, it didn't stop them from using his name when encouraging new recruits, or dragging him out into ceremonial robes for their pompous graduations.

He'd finally been told that he would have to meet with someone in London before an official transfer could be made. It seemed like a simple formality, but Harry was a little disheartened by it nonetheless. Naturally, Mr Bridgewater didn't want the responsibility of possibly alienating Harry, or more importantly, his own superiors, by actually giving the War Hero what he wanted. Again the Ministerial red tape was going to stuff him around, and he didn't like it. Not now, when he finally knew what he wanted out of life.

So, he walked through the torrential rain, allowing for a mild shielding charm that would keep him from getting truly soaked or getting chilled enough to become ill, but wouldn't be noticeable to others around him. He spent a good bit of his walk imagining how things would be after this London meeting. He could find a new flat in London. He could get new furnishings; enjoy the chance to decorate, taking advantage of the fresh start. He imagined that he might have more time to see his friends, as London had much better Floo access to Hogsmeade, which would allow him to keep in touch with Remus, and of course, Ron and Hermione were in London anyway. He was looking forward to major changes in his life, something that would allow him to leave behind the ghost of his relationship with Oliver.

Harry had just ducked under the awning at the front of his building and was starting toward the stairs when Priscilla, his elderly neighbour, came out and greeted him. Priscilla and her husband Walt were the elderly couple who lived next door and had been extremely friendly toward Harry from the day he moved in. They were a fairly quiet couple, as most elderly people tend to be (especially in the Muggle world). Walt puttered around with his flowers in the window boxes, and consistently removed fallen leaves, stray twigs and other flotsam of nature from their walkway. Priscilla, on the other hand, was a people person. She loved to chat with all the neighbours, asking what people were doing, telling others what people were doing, speculating on what people might be doing, and often discussing what people should be doing. Unlike his Aunt Petunia, she didn't do it out of a sense of one-upmanship; she merely loved to talk to people.

"Harry! How have you been doing? I haven't seen you around as much lately, did you go somewhere?" Her obvious blonde wig sat slightly crooked atop her slightly plump face. She was dressed in a 1950s style emerald green dress that looked like it might well have been satin. She wore pearl earrings, a pearl necklace and low-heeled black pumps. Harry was reminded of the stereotypical housewife he remembered seeing in old American sitcoms.

"Hello Priscilla. Yes, I went on vacation for a couple weeks. How've you been doing?"

"Oh, doing fine, doing fine. Walt has been after me to take a vacation somewhere, but you know me, I'm such a homebody. I don't suppose you could recommend a nice place to stay, could you? Something close by?"

"If I think of anything I'll be sure to let you know," Harry said with a smile. He really didn't mind Priscilla or her husband, but it seemed they often caught him when he really didn't feel like making small talk. He was grateful that he had a feasible excuse at hand today, thanks to the weather. "I'd best get inside and change, before I get sick." He stepped past her and started up the steps, calling out behind him "Stay dry now! I'll see you later."

He remembered one time when Priscilla had stopped him and Oliver on their way in. She'd kept them for over half an hour talking about a young woman who had previously lived in their flat. Apparently she'd been a little strange, keeping pet pigeons and wearing aluminium foil on her ears. Priscilla even told them about one day when all the neighbours had come out in the morning to find that this girl had placed roast beef sandwiches on their doorsteps. As Harry entered the flat he could almost hear Oliver's soft voice and the laughter they shared over the sandwich story.

He put in a selection of favourite CD's, in the hopes of drowning out that voice. Harry's taste in music tended toward old fashioned swing music and a love of the crooners. He was reluctant to admit that Aunt Petunia had influenced his musical tastes somewhat. Despite this, his musical collection was not exclusively geared to the likes of Sinatra, Bennett, Martin and Bacharach. He had, on occasion, been known to let his hair down, and had a secret love of Kylie Minogue's pop music. He had been recently impressed by one young singer who did an album of swing music. It was that Robbie Williams CD that was now loaded in the player, and he listened to the young man's voice.

It was a few frustrating minutes later that Harry realised the CD wasn't going to help. Although Oliver had loved to sing along with all of Harry's favourite singers, he had tried to introduce Harry to some more modern styles of music. Harry took no interest in the likes of styles like Punk, or Hard Rock, which Oliver had adored. Harry's taste in Wizarding music also followed his Muggle tastes. He much preferred Merlin and the Swinging Mages to the Weird Sisters or the Hobgoblins. Harry sighed as he tried to relax into the music, but Oliver's voice wasn't going to disappear.

After a quick change of plans, he found that the telly didn't help either. It seemed Oliver had firmly ensconced himself in Harry's brain and wasn't about to let slide an opportunity to remind Harry of what he was missing. He sat on the sofa, trying to examine what was happening. He felt more than a little crazy just then, hearing Oliver's voice, imagining that he could smell the other man's cologne, almost wishing he could feel those familiar hands on his body. They'd always had more than their share of passion – of course, Harry knew that Quidditch could raise the libido of a eunuch, which explained much of his relationship with Ollie. Their most intimate moments, their wildest nights, had always been after a game or a practice session.

I don't really want him back. I just miss the familiar, that's all. Harry knew that he'd been so busy examining the good points of being single that he hadn't taken much time over the past month to mourn the end of that relationship. It helped ever so slightly to know that he didn't truly want Ollie back, but it was still exceedingly difficult to deal with this sudden surge of memories and desires. I'm just an ordinary guy. It's normal to miss him, I'm adjusting. It's over now, and I'll go on, and I'll be just fine. Harry continued to repeat this mental mantra as he got up and went about his normal evening routine. Eventually, Harry lost himself in a cheap detective novel, and was asleep before he discovered the identity of the killer.

--ooOoo--

Harry owled Remus early Friday morning, checking to see if the man's schedule would be clear for the weekend. The werewolf was next on his list of people to catch up with. He'd thoroughly enjoyed having lunch with Remus before Valentine's Day and regretted that he hadn't been in touch with him since then. As it turned out, Remus was indeed going to be available, and ensured Harry that he would be welcome to spend the weekend at Hogwarts.

That evening, after receiving the owl from Remus, sending a quick reply and packing his bag, Harry glanced around the flat to see if he had left behind anything important, checked the locks on the door and windows, charmed the Floo to ward itself after his exit, shouldered his bag and Flooed himself to The Wolf's Den. Of course, he found himself struggling to stay upright upon exiting the Floo. It was a source of embarrassment for Harry, though he could tell that he was getting better with age and practice. Remus wasn't in the room, so Harry set his bag down, dusted off the soot, and made himself comfortable on the sofa.

He had no idea how long he was there, but it was long enough for his busy week and heavy work day to catch up with him. He was dozing when Remus came into the room and nearly fell off the sofa when Remus startled him awake with a tickling charm. It took him a moment to catch his balance, register what was happening, find his wand and cast the counter-spell. During that time, Remus was laughing jovially at Harry's expense. He quickly made an attempt to stifle his laughter, though, when Harry pulled himself up and offered his best glare toward the werewolf. "You'll pay for that one, Lupin." The threat was lost, as Harry could barely withhold his giggles long enough to say it, but he had to put up a front.

Remus chuckled again, "Ooooh, I'm shaking in my boots, young man!" Harry raised an eyebrow at that, and the two wizards immediately began casting innocuous charms and mild hexes at one another. This had been a pastime of theirs during the last couple years that Harry was at Hogwarts, ostensibly to help Harry's reflexes and reaction times, but in truth, it just gave them something fun to do and allowed them to spend some time together and relieve a little stress. It was only moments before they gave up on the tickling charms and other such frivolities and resorted to a bit of physical wrestling and tickling. Finally, they ended up collapsing on the sofa in a fit of laughter.

"Missed you, Remus."

"Good to see you again, too." Harry caught a note of wistfulness underlying that statement and began thinking of his recent resolutions. He didn't, however, catch the slightly lustful look that went along with that wistfulness. Remus was rather thankful that he managed to reign in his errant thoughts before Harry turned to face him.

"I'm so glad I could get away, and that you were available, Remus. I need to talk to you. A lot has happened since I saw you last, and I've come to some conclusions, and made some decisions about myself, and my future. One of those decisions is that I want to be closer to my friends and keep in touch with them more. It's a crying shame that you're one of my closest friends and you don't know what's been going on in my life for the past month or so." Remus could see that this was a serious conversation and hoped beyond hope that there was nothing tragically wrong. His overly concerned nature quickly took hold and began imagining terminal illness, Quidditch accidents claiming the life of Harry's boyfriend, devastating fires, sudden poverty and various other tragedies that might have befallen his young friend. He said nothing, though, waiting for Harry to express whatever he felt he needed to. He offered Harry a cup of tea, and the offer was greatly accepted. Remus found that it was often easier to relay bad news over a steaming cup of tea, and he certainly didn't want to be empty handed when Harry offered his bad tidings.

"I guess, first of all, I should tell you about Valentine's Day." Harry began. It was easier to tell, now that he had time to think it through, and tell his other friends, "I found out that Oliver was cheating on me, and we broke up. He ranted about open relationships, as if they're common and expected among witches and wizards, but I've since been told that it's not quite true. Anyway, I told him to get out, and that was that."

Remus, though sympathetic to Harry's pain, actually felt relieved to learn that his worst fears were unfounded. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry about that. I know it's rough. I'm glad you stood strong, though. If you want an open relationship, that's one thing, but if you are looking for and expecting monogamy, you bloody well deserve it!" Remus felt his hackles rise at the thought of Oliver Wood hurting Harry like that. It simply wasn't wise to mess with the members of a werewolf's pack, and Remus had always considered Harry a part of his pack.

Harry smiled somewhat sadly. "Thanks." He looked down, embarrassed, and took a deep breath before he continued. It was nearly ten minutes later when he finally finished explaining what he had done to Oliver's belongings, how he moped about for that first week, and then ended up getting drunk and sleeping with Charlie. He told Remus about the wonderful vacation he'd had and the self-discoveries he had made. "So, I'm contacting the people important to me and letting them know how important they are. And I'm promising to try my best to be around more, and to be more open about what's happening. You are very important to me, Remus, and I don't want to lose that. I mean it."

"I know you do Harry. And I'm just as guilty. I need to try more myself, you're one of the few friends I have, and at my age one really begins to realise how important friendships can be."

"Oh please, don't start with the age thing. People are constantly acting as though I'm still a bumbling, foolish fifteen year old. Even Ron and Hermione, despite the fact we're all the same age!"

Remus laughed, and Harry found himself pleased to hear the sound again. He'd always had fun with Remus, and enjoyed laughing with him. It seemed lately there weren't that many people who could make him laugh anymore. Oh, Ron could do it sometimes, even Hermione could on occasion, but Remus and Luc seemed to be the only ones who could do it on a regular basis. Harry drew himself out of his listless pondering to respond to Remus' questions about Ron and Hermione.

"They're both doing well, and engaged. I don't think they've decided when, but just the fact that they've finally realised after nearly 12 years that they are meant to be together – well it's just about time, you know?" They shared a laugh again before Harry went on to catch Remus up on his friends' professional lives. "Ron's working at Gringotts. He seems to really enjoy it there. Oh – he can't tell me much about what he does because he's in the Special Investigations department and it's all protected by confidentiality charms, but he does like it. Hermione's nearly finished with her medi-witch training and will be apprenticing with Poppy next term, so I guess you'll be seeing more of her than me. She's also doing some research with a Muggle doctor – his brother is a Muggleborn wizard, so he's not oblivious to the magical world - in the hopes that they can find ways to work together, solving problems between them that neither Muggle nor Magical medicine can solve alone. It's very interesting to listen to her talk about it, if you can keep her from going into too much medical language that no one understands."

The pair chatted well into the night, and Harry knew that coming to visit his friend and his old home was the right thing to do. He had moped around the flat long enough, and heading back there would be a disaster. But he knew it wouldn't be for much longer, anyway. Very soon he would be in London, and he could start over. Again.

--ooOoo--

Saturday dawned with a promise of being a beautiful, crisp spring day. With Ostara less than a week away, it seemed the earth was beginning to prepare for the imminent change of the seasons. The grass was a little greener, there were just a few tiny flowers starting to bloom and the littlest buds popping out on the trees. The air, though it still had a chill, especially in early morning or after dusk, was decidedly less biting. Harry took all this in as he walked the grounds with Remus that morning, greeting the teachers he had known in school, and smiling patiently at the children who recognised him. Remus knew that Harry detested his Boy-Who-Lived status and the publicity and attention it brought him. He silently observed Harry's interaction with them, proud of the young man for understanding the difference between children in awe of a war hero and 'fans' obsessed with a legend. For a fleeting moment, he knew James would have been proud. Harry's longing gaze toward the Quidditch pitch and his nostalgic comments were not missed by Remus' observations, either.

"You know, Hogwarts was really the first place I ever felt at home. When Hagrid came to get me…" the words stuck in Harry's throat for a moment as he involuntarily looked toward Hagrid's now empty hut.

His very first friend had been amongst the casualties of the war, along with many of the Aurors in the Order. Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Mad Eye Moody never made it to the end of the war, nor did Professors Flitwick and Sinistra. Both had perished in the defence of the castle, along side Firenze and a few other centaurs. It was difficult not to miss them, but Harry knew they had all died fighting for the freedom and safety of wizard kind and that they wouldn't have wanted to be mourned excessively. He cleared his throat and started again. "When Hagrid came to get me, he brought me a squished birthday cake. It was the first I'd ever had. And he became my first friend, and this was my home. I really love this place."

Remus placed a comforting arm around Harry's shoulders, offering silent understanding even as he silently considered this information. A short while later, as they headed in for lunch, Harry found himself glad that he likely wouldn't have to deal with Snape's sour attitude during this visit. Oh, he had gained some respect for the man and they could usually be civil to one another, but sometimes, it was just too much effort. Thankfully, with the full moon coming up, Snape would be spending most of his time brewing the Wolfsbane potion. Remus had told him that Snape was making some improvements to it, trying new adjustments every two or three months, so it took a little more of his time than it used to. Harry was glad for that, as Remus seemed to be thriving at this point in his life.

Harry had the obligatory morning tea meeting with Albus Dumbledore, and was grateful that some things never changed. The old man seemed a little older, but that was to be expected. Harry found himself gushing about the teaching he had been offering the new recruits, and his satisfaction in what he did. He was optimistic about his meeting on Monday, so gave his former mentor a full run down of the exciting plans he had for full time teaching in the Auror Division. Still, by the time Harry headed out and into the sunshine, he felt that Albus had something planned. He hoped the meddling old wizard didn't stick his nose where it wasn't wanted. Harry could handle things himself – after all, he wasn't eleven years old any more.

--ooOoo--

After lunch, Harry decided that an afternoon trip to Hogsmeade was in order. He hadn't been to any of the familiar wizarding shops in quite some time and was especially looking forward to seeing the new items at Honeyduke's. He stopped at a new Quidditch store in the centre of the village – the Questing Quaffle, and considered buying a pair of very nice dragon hide Quidditch gloves. The strong memories of Charlie wearing them made Harry doubt himself. Did he want the gloves just because of some good sex? Surely he wasn't quite that hard up, was he?

After much contemplation, he finally decided to wait, knowing he could get the gloves later on if he decided he really did want them. Besides, if he was going to be living in London, he could just pick them up from Quality Quidditch Supplies at any time.

At Honeyduke's, he was pleased to see all his old favourites as well as a few new items. They had Fairy Dust (sprinkle it on your tongue and levitate like Peter Pan!), Peanut Butter Logs (cut from real Peanut Butter Trees), and Cream Filled Chocotubers (choose the flavour of your pus!) which looked and acted remarkably like Bubotubers, but released a flavoured cream when squeezed. They were available in a variety of flavours including strawberry, butter cream, peppermint, pumpkin and more. Harry felt thirteen again as he gathered an armload of candies, both old and new, and proceeded to the counter. It was exhilarating.

His next stop was Weasley Wizard Wheezes. He'd been surprised to learn that Fred was dating Lavender Brown, but didn't know what the twins were up to beyond that. It was mere seconds after he poked his head through the door when he heard one of them shouting his name. He turned quickly and, if memory served him correctly, found himself facing Fred who continued his rapid speech in typical twin fashion. "Harry! How've you been? What brings you by here this afternoon? Are you coming back, moving here? Gosh it's good to see you again, mate." It was a little odd listening to Fred talk by himself. Harry had long ago become used to the twins' shared method of speech. Before he could try to answer the questions, he was enveloped in a hug that, once again, reminded him how much he missed his adopted family.

"I've been fine, just visiting for the weekend and no – I'm not moving back. How about you? How're things going? How's Lavender?"

"I'm fine, business is well, Lavender is a few months into growing the next Weasley, but no one else knows yet, so you keep quiet about it."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that bit of news, but he grinned broadly, "Congratulations. Does your Mum know?"

Fred shook his head before looking around surreptitiously. He realised he shouldn't be telling Harry, but he was obviously excited at his impending fatherhood. "Not yet, and we're holding out as long as we can because she's going to bust a vessel when she learns that we're waiting until after the baby's born before we get married."

Harry laughed. He could just imagine the wedding, and having spent seven years in classes with Lavender, didn't envy Fred one iota. "I see. So when is it due?"

"Mid September, and Lavender wants an Autumn wedding. Oi, Harry, you've got to see George and Lee while you're here!"

"Lee Jordan? He's here? I haven't seen him since he left Hogwarts."

Fred gestured with his thumb, "Yes, he's in the back with George, I think he's helping with inventory. Go on in, I've got to see to these customers. I'm sure they'll both be happy to see you."

Harry let himself into the back section of the store, remembering that the storeroom was to the left and the small bed-sit to the right. The twins had set up a small flat in the back in case they needed it, and had allowed him to stay there on occasion when he was between missions during the war. He'd found it comforting, to be close to Hogwarts, rather than stuck in Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. The Order members had been difficult to deal with at times, and Harry had often welcomed the chance to escape. It took a moment for Harry to realise that he was still standing in the corridor, staring at the doorway that had led to his occasional safe haven.

Bringing himself back to the present, he opened the storeroom door, and was stopped suddenly in his tracks. His surprise was unprecedented, as were the sudden stirrings of arousal, when he spotted George and Lee in an obviously blissful state of half-undress. George's head was thrown back, his shaggy red hair hanging just slightly down his creamy freckled shoulders. He was leaning against a stack of Extendable Ear cases that just reached above his waist. That support seemed to be plenty as Lee was vigorously attacking George's left nipple. Harry could see his tongue flicker out once or twice before his lips closed around that nipple again, creating suction that was audible from the doorway. Lee's hair had grown, and he still wore it in his favoured dreadlocks which now hung past his shoulder-blades, swinging this way and that as he adjusted the angle of his head to better tease that abused nipple.

George was making quiet little mewling sounds, grinding his hips in frustration, and when Lee suddenly reached into George's unzipped pants and cupped the twitching bulge that Harry had been trying not to notice, George let out something that was a cross between a gasp and a cry. The expression on his face was enough to remind Harry of Charlie. He was suddenly struck with the discomfort of watching George and Lee in the throes of passion as well as a renewed sense of guilt for sleeping with Charlie. Gods, am I ever going to get over that? He couldn't help wondering about it, but decided that this was not the best time or place to consider it deeply. He also thought that this wasn't the best time for him to catch up with George and Lee. Harry quietly backed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

Belatedly, two disconnected thoughts raced through his mind. The first was that he never knew that George was bisexual, let alone gay; and the other was that little devilish voice that fervently wished he had brought his camera with him. He quashed both errant thoughts as he made his way back to the storefront. Harry was grateful to see that Fred was still busy, thereby offering him the perfect opportunity to leave with nothing more than a wave. Before anyone could stop him, he was fast on his way back to Hogwarts, forming plans of flying around the pitch for a while. All those dreams of chasing snitches had made him miss the exhilaration. His sudden moment of voyeurism had also left him with the urge to let off some steam with a fervent bout of broom handling.

--ooOoo--

The weekend was over all but too soon, and Sunday evening found Harry busy packing his things. He was making sure he would be ready to Floo to the Ministry first thing in the morning. He was glad he chose not to mope around the flat, as the weekend had literally flown by. With any luck, he would have his transfer tomorrow, and would be out of the Somerset office by the end of the week. The end of the month at the very latest.

As he was meticulously folding his clothes and trying to fit them all neatly in his bag, he heard the familiar rustle of paper behind him. It was the journal. Harry quickly put the rest of his clothes in a stack to pack later, and gathered his quill and ink so he could have a chat with Luc. The comforting familiarity of reading Luc's words seemed to be a perfect end to a great weekend. He started reading and had just read Luc's suggestion about scheduled chat times when the writing paused. Perfect! He was always pleased when their schedules matched up and allowed these talks, and thought Luc's suggestion was brilliant.

(Is life getting any easier without 'You-Know-Who' (you know which one I mean).

Harry found himself laughing at that. I just wonder what Luc would think if he knew how much easier my life is without the other 'You-Know-Who.' He knew Luc was just being cautious, trying not to bring up Ollie's name, but the reference put things in perspective for him. Just as Hermione had said so many years ago, "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." If he couldn't bring himself to talk about Ollie, he would never get over the pain of the situation. Self-examination would be much better for him.

Harry talked about his feelings and his work plans, and was extremely pleased to hear that Luc had made a new friend. In fact, he was a little surprised by the relief he felt by that. It was nice to know his friend would be a little less lonely.

The increasing closeness he felt to this anonymous wizard was mildly unsettling, but felt so natural it was difficult to question it. He enjoyed the fact that they could talk about extremely serious topics as well as frivolous and meaningless events. The mild flirtation that crept into the conversation was fun, but Harry couldn't help second-guessing himself at times, wondering if he was coming on too strong. Coming on too strong? I wasn't even trying to come onto him at all! Harry thought about this a moment. And why not? Another good question. Well, because he's my friend, and we both need a friend. There, that ought to satisfy his inner curiosity. And what about that close friend turned lover comment you just made? Bugger.

Before he could contemplate that too much, the conversation took a drastic turn and the green writing stopped. Harry looked over his last comment, thinking about his statements regarding children of Death Eaters. What if he's the child of a Death Eater? Is he offended by that? Is he getting angry, or have I upset him? Double Bugger.

When the writing continued, Harry realised he was worrying for nothing, and the conversation continued from there to cover a range of other topics. He couldn't help the chuckle when Luc talked about visiting the Muggle shops and buying clothes there. The leather jacket seemed like a nice purchase, Harry had always had a thing about leather jackets. It was the 'jeens' that struck Harry as funny, and he could just imagine what this pure-blood wizard might have looked like, trying to find clothes and talk to sales people and handle Muggle currency.

Harry was amazed to see just how late it was when they finally said good night to each other. His deep yawn was a dead giveaway that he needed some sleep. Realising he needed some sleep, he gave up on his compulsive packing habits and simply waved his wand to put everything back in the bag. Tomorrow would be a very busy day.

--ooOoo--

Part II – Just Another Manic Monday

Harry felt the air of anticipation as he landed in the floo at Ministry Headquarters in London. After his unsatisfactory consultations with his supervisors, he had managed to put together a proposal that would see him working full time as a teaching Auror. It was so simple, and he couldn't see how the head of the Auror Division, Lloyd Winslow, could turn him down. It was a win-win scenario for everyone. Harry would get to do what he loved every day, and the trainee Aurors would get to benefit from his extensive experience. Who better to teach the future Aurors than the man who defeated the biggest threat of them all? He managed not to stumble out of the fireplace, but quickly stepped aside as others arrived in the foyer at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry deftly brushed the soot from his robes, and he nervously ran his hand through his hair. It was a busy time of morning, with dozens of witches and wizards arriving to start their working day. Harry noticed that, for some reason, there was only one queue open for the wand check-in, and it was ever increasing. Harry hastily made his way into the queue, right in front of a very loudly spoken and obese wizard. If it wasn't for the fact he was in the Ministry of Magic, Harry might have mistaken the man for his Uncle Vernon. Well, that and the fact the obnoxious wizard's American drawl was drowning out every other conversation in the room. The unpleasant and obese wizard was talking to an equally obese witch (Harry thought she was only one chin whisker away from being called a Hag), whose very tall hat had obviously not survived the floo trip unscathed.

"Honestly Vera, what possessed you to wear that hat. You know they won't appreciate it over here. These British have no appreciation for style and the latest fashions. Tsk. Why is everyone just standing around? You just can't get good service these days. Nobody would stand for this back home." The wizard wasn't alone in his frustration, but Harry stifled a smirk at their comments.

"Why are we just standing here Myron? I thought you said we'd be through here and into this Diagon Alley quickly?" Vera and Myron, obviously tourists, whined and complained in that manner for many minutes, but Harry quickly managed to switch off and ignore their loud and obnoxious jibes and their complete misunderstanding of all things British. The fact that this Myron character looked and behaved just like his Uncle Vernon made it all the easier to ignore him.

As Harry reached the front of the queue, he stepped up to the counter. Eric, the same tired and worn security wizard who had worked there for the past eight years, was still stationed at the entrance to the golden gates of the Ministry. He was looking just a little frazzled and worn as he had every other time Harry happened to come to the Ministry.

"Wand," he grunted at Harry disinterestedly.

Harry smiled at the flustered wizard. "Morning Eric. This lot keeping you busy?" he said cheerfully. Eric sat up and looked a Harry, a tired smile crossing his face.

"Mr Potter! Yeah, it's hectic here today. All the other wizards on security flooed in sick this morning. I think it was the fact that the Cannons beat Puddlemere meself. What 'choo think?"

"The Cannons beat Puddlemere?" Harry asked half-heartedly as he felt torn at the news.

"Yep. First time in forty years. Can you believe it? Their Chasers made an all time record. I wonder if that Puddlemere keeper was actually at the game – for all the good he did his team. I suspect there's a few Sobrietus charms being cast around this morning." Eric nudged Harry in a friendly way.

Before Harry could reply, the unpleasant American tourist behind him interrupted. "Hey, it's not like we've got all day! Go chat on your own time, some of us have more important things to do today?" Myron jostled in and interjected.

Harry turned to look at the blustery man. Even though this stranger was a good couple of inches taller, Harry pulled himself up to his full height, staring the other man down.

"Well perhaps you'd like to turn around and head back to where you came from? Some of us do have important things to do, but unlike you – we respect a little common courtesy. Honestly. What sort of tourist insults the country he's visiting, and all before he even sets foot inside the door?" Harry's temper was frayed, and he didn't need to lose it – not before this important meeting anyway. Grabbing his wand back from Eric, he strode off through the golden grilles and into the first lift, making his way down to the Auror Headquarters on level two. All the while, Myron, the obnoxious tourist, looked on in stunned indignation.

--oo0oo--

It was mere moments after Draco Malfoy spoke the name of his dreaded destination, that he found himself landing gently. He was quickly out of the floo - the tang of the International floo powder sizzling against his skin. Long forgotten scents assaulted Draco's nose as he looked up into the throng of wizards and witches queuing up at one central point. Typical, Draco thought as he screwed up his nose with a haughty sniff. Only one line open when it's the busiest time of the day. Draco knew this was just one more reason why he was better off living in Paris. The European wizarding communities were more open about visitors to their shores, but the British Ministry had disallowed Apparition of foreign visitors, and especially civilians into the country – a wartime measure the Ministry never thought to remove. All foreign visitors had to register at the International Wizard Lounge upon arrival; their wand checked, and their business recorded. Of course, the same visitors had to pass through a repeat procedure before they could leave the country.

Draco sighed as he looked at the ever growing queue, and he quickly found himself carried along with the crowd. He held his head high as his boots tapped against the highly polished timber floor. Slipping into the queue behind a very obese couple, he remembered Emmaline's words from the night before. He wasn't going to let anyone walk all over him. He was a Malfoy. He wasn't his father. If people couldn't distinguish between the two of them, then that was their problem. He'd even wear his Order of Merlin on his chest just to prove it, if that's what it would take to prove he was not the monster named Lucius Malfoy.

The wait seemed interminable. Draco could feel the ache creeping into his knee, and surreptitiously leaned more on his cane for support. He hadn't had time to prepare another pain killing potion that morning, but he was reluctant to admit that the cane actually helped him to walk with some semblance of dignity. The queue moved slowly, but Draco barely noticed. The wizard in front of him was most objectionable, as Draco found him sweating profusely, and sharing it with those nearby. His accent, American of course, was most annoying to Draco's ears, and his incessant whining had Draco itching to suggest that he perhaps head back in the nearest floo, and go back from where he came. He and his wife, Vera, were so big, and they seemed to move so slowly, that Draco couldn't tell where the front of the queue ended.

Despite his calm exterior, Draco was becoming rather impatient. He had not wanted to make this trip, and he was still unsure why he had to be here to speak to the goblins at Gringotts. Surely they could have just sent him a letter? After all, he had no say in the estate until he was twenty-five.

"Hey, it's not like we've got all day! Go chat on your own time, some of us have more important things to do today?" the fat wizard had drawled. Whoever was ahead of him in the queue was obviously annoying the obnoxious American. Draco thought he caught the end of some rather scathing parting words. For a second he thought he recognised the voice, but he couldn't be sure. The echo from the gushing waters of the Fountain of Magical Brethren was drowning out most voices to a loud roar. The acoustics of the room's high ceiling sent everyone's voices into a cacophony of sound. Draco attempted to look past the American couple, but only managed to catch a flurry of dark robes as they sauntered through the golden gates, and into the inner sanctum of the Ministry.

It had taken another ten minutes of the obese couple incessantly questioning the hapless attendant at the security desk, before Draco made it to the front of the queue. Draco's eyes rolled as they asked the simplest of questions. Had they bothered to read the signs, or check the literature available before they arrived in England, they wouldn't have wasted everyone's time. As it was, Draco was almost late as his wand was checked, and his business recorded and approved. He moved beyond the desk to the departing floo junctions, and quickly made his way to Diagon Alley. He barely had time to notice that the security clerk in attendance was staring at him strangely. It was to be expected. And so it begins, he thought wryly.

As he stepped from the floo at The Leaky Cauldron, Draco swiftly made his way out into the Alley. It had been a long time since he had last set foot in the Alley – but not long enough for his liking. The cloying sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming, but when Draco looked beyond that, he could see just how drab the whole place was. Drab and tired. So unlike Paris. He barely acknowledged anyone or anything as he walked as quickly as he could to Gringotts. He didn't raise a sweat, but he couldn't help but feel the apprehension rising about this particular meeting. He would face these goblins and show them who had the power. After all, I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoy's bow down to no one. Draco could hear the hypocritical echo of his father's words as he pounded the cobblestones towards the bank. The atmosphere had suddenly brought with it more memories of his father than he ever cared to have again.

A sense of comfortable familiarity overcame him as he walked into the bank. He could sense the power radiating within the building, and it empowered him. Whether it was goblin magic, or just the pull of the wealth below, Draco didn't know. It had been a long time since he felt so empowered, but he knew that these goblins could understand the same language – money was power.

Draco knew that whatever the outcome of the meeting, he would always have one thing – his dignity. He mustered every ounce of it he had as he ingratiated himself to the head goblin. After all, it's only a few goblins. I can handle them. What else could possibly happen?

--oo0oo--

The world seemed a very different place two hours later as Draco reappeared in the Alley. He barely noticed the stares and glares as he openly made his way to the one place he could try to forget about it all. Even the lingering thought that he was walking way too fast for his knee to fully cope didn't stop him as he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. He had plenty to think about, and a thirst that could knock down a hippogriff.

--oo0oo--

Harry stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron, desperately in need of a stiff drink. His meeting at the Ministry had been rather disappointing – more than disappointing, in fact. The head of the Auror division was unable to commit to any firm answer on his request for a full time training position. Not that Harry was surprised. The moment he entered the office, he knew what the answer to his request would be. The fact that he told Harry he'd need more time to think about it was further evidence. Harry knew what he really meant. No, we like your input, only because it makes us look good, but we'd much rather have you out there pushing papers – in fact, we'd really like you out there on the streets and in the front lines. But if you can't see your way clear to doing that, then we can't guarantee that we have the need for you as a full time teacher. Besides, the war is over. I think the division has been rather accommodating in pandering to your wants. Don't expect your name to get you too many more favours, Potter.

Harry brushed himself off again as he left the floo. At least he landed upright, although he still managed to be covered in soot, and his hair was messier than usual. Tom looked up from over the counter, and waved at Harry. Harry waved back, and called out "I'll be back in a sec." Harry indicated the lavatory, and Tom nodded.

--ooOoo--

As Tom poured butterbeer for another customer at the bar, he looked up at the new patron arriving from Diagon Alley. He blinked rapidly, as a silhouette from the past entered. The chill running down his spine at the totally unexpected sight caused him to spill the beer. The figure paused in the doorway – the light shining behind him. The cane, the stance and bearing of the wizard, the cut of the tailored robes – it couldn't be. As the newcomer came closer to the bar, Tom's breath hitched in relief as he realised that it wasn't Lucius Malfoy – he was long dead. However, with the obviously uncanny likeness, Tom knew this to be the son. Still, the vision was frightening enough. A few other patrons had noticed his entrance, and were suddenly silenced. The newcomer looked around at the silent stares. His glare soon had them looking into their goblets, or quietly resuming their own conversations.

Draco headed slowly to the bar as he removed his gloves. Welcome back to England, Mr Malfoy, he thought bitterly.

"Mr Malfoy." The barkeeper nodded. "Haven't seen you since..."

"A private dining room thanks." Draco tossed a couple of sickles across the bar. He wasn't in the mood for small talk with the hunchback. "I'd like a pot of English Breakfast tea sent up, and two cups, if you please." He threw another couple of sickles across the counter. Tom nodded and indicated the door to the first private dining room. Draco really didn't want to stay any longer, but he had promised to meet Severus, and he still had to return to the bank to sign a few papers, much to his chagrin. As he made his way to the dining room, he turned sharply, and headed back to the bar. "Oh, and some soup and bread," he snapped as more coins crossed his palms. The greasy smell of the food was off-putting, but he really needed to eat something, seeing as he hadn't faced breakfast. As much as he desperately craved it, he knew he wasn't going to get anything remotely like a decent cup of coffee this side of the channel, so he headed up the stairs to the dining room.

--ooOoo--

Harry opened the lavatory door just as a rustle of robes climbed the stairs slowly and had turned the corner. A whiff of earthy, refined cologne passed by. Harry sniffed. He couldn't place the smell, but perhaps he had come across it that morning, in the Ministry. He shrugged, and headed back over to the bar. A few faces recognised him along the way, but he just smiled and nodded. He was rather lucky that the current patrons were not the gushy types that preferred to mob him. Besides, those patrons there at this hour of the morning were regulars, and were probably too engrossed in their drinks to really care. For which Harry was profoundly grateful.

Harry chatted quietly to Tom for a couple of minutes, before sinking quietly into the corner of the bar. In his current mood, he really needed something stronger than his usual. At the last minute he relented. "Just the Butterbeer, Tom," but quickly changed his mind, "actually, better add a firewhisky to that order too."

He was having a hard time coming to terms with the outcome of his meeting. The whole meeting made him quake with fury, making it difficult for him to relax. For the first time he realised just how much the Auror division was using him. Oh, that prat Winslow said they couldn't make any special exceptions for Harry, but he could see the jealousy written all over the wanker's face. Had it been anyone else in charge, Harry knew he could have asked for anything, and got it. This guy barely gave him the time of day. It appeared Winslow would stop at nothing to prevent the renowned Harry Potter, Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World from getting anything that he wanted.

As he paid for his drinks, he turned to head to the dimmest and darkest corner of the bar, but nearly bumped into an ominous shadow looming before him, blocking what little light there was. Harry looked up and was surprised to see a face he'd not seen in years.

"Mr Potter," the Hogwarts potions master looked down at the two drinks Harry was carrying, raising an eyebrow. "A little early in the day for such strong fare, isn't it?" The gravely, sarcastic tones had not dulled since the last time he'd heard them. Clearly fame isn't everything.

"I didn't know they let you out of your dungeons during the week, Snape." Harry retorted. Just his luck. He had been grateful to miss the man during his weekend at the school, but with the direction the current day was taking, he wasn't surprised to run into the man. He had lost the fear for his former professor years earlier and he knew just how much the man had sacrificed to spy for the Order for so long. But today, he really wasn't in the mood for any of the professor's nonsense. All Harry wanted was to sit in a quiet corner and calm down.

Snape's mouth twitched. "Still as impertinent and irreverent as ever." The slight nod of his head indicated that Snape actually recognised Harry as an equal.

"I try, Professor. I'm glad I live up to your expectations. I do try my very best."

"Yes, you are very trying." The professor's droll humour was not lost on Harry.

He looked the professor directly in the eye. "Seriously, shouldn't you be terrorising hapless Hufflepuffs into submission, or was the thought of making a dig at an old Gryffindor just too good an opportunity to pass up? Having to go further a field to get your kicks. You must be slipping, professor."

"My, my, Potter, so cynical. Who stomped all over your good humour? Is life a little boring now that there are no dark lords around to vanquish?" Snape had taken the bait, and had risen to the challenge.

"Just killing time professor, now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to kill a few brain cells." As he indicated his butterbeer, and the firewhisky chaser. Harry quickly brushed past the professor as he made his way to a quiet corner table.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the last, and shrugged. He was soon engrossed in a conversation with Tom, who quickly indicated the upstairs private dining room. Harry looked back and noted the sudden animation on the professor's face as he headed up the stairs. He had a not so generous thought about professor, but realised that the man would probably find that type of solace in Knockturn Alley. He couldn't think of anyone else who might make the professor seem so animated. Knocking back the firewhisky in one mouthful, he sat, stewing over the outcome of the morning's meeting.

--oo0oo--

A knock at the door of his dining room soon brought Draco out of his miserable reverie. Expecting the bartender with his soup, he was pleasantly surprised to see Severus.

"Thank the Stars – a friendly face at last!" Draco smiled in delight. The delight was genuine in Snape's eyes as they locked forearms in a firm handshake.

"It's been too long, Draco," Snape replied.

Draco sat back down and it was apparent to his old teacher that the meeting had not gone to Draco's expectations.

"Why don't you start from the beginning, Draco?" Snape knew the young man well enough to know that the problem would just eat him up inside if he didn't share it. The raised eyebrow told Draco he wasn't going to be able to skim over any of the details.

"If I'm going to do that, I'll need to fortify myself first. Excuse me, Severus, I'm going to get something a little stronger than tea. Would you like anything?" Severus shook his head and picked up the teapot as Draco pulled off his green cloak and laid it over an empty chair, before walking out of the room. The pub had become seemingly more crowded downstairs, and Draco had to wait a moment at the bar. He tried to wait patiently. It was a part of his new resolutions, to accept people in general and not get so easily irritated by them. He knew he hadn't been that generous earlier in the day, but at least he admitted his own failing. Flash had indeed had a profound affect on him.

--ooOoo--

As Harry slowly drank his butterbeer, he spotted a recent copy of Witch Weekly that had been left on the table. Harry rarely bought the magazine, knowing what rubbish it usually printed about his own life made him sceptical of the authenticity of the other articles. Harry immediately regretted opening the magazine. Not only was it their 'Hottest Quidditch Bachelors' special, but right there, large as life in the centrefold, was a two page spread on Oliver. Harry automatically sprayed Butterbeer on the picture, where Oliver immediately wrinkled his nose in distaste at being covered in the sticky stuff.

Despite the initial shock, Harry read the article, but scoffed and rolled his eyes at the drivel it contained. It was all nonsense, but Harry didn't need to be reminded of just how 'hot' Oliver looked when he was trying to be seductive, as the photograph definitely was.

He tossed the offending magazine into a corner, and realised he needed another drink. Preferably something stronger, he thought as he headed back to the bar. He noticed a couple of witches with the same magazine, both women giggling and swooning over the same picture of Oliver. Harry felt a tiny pang of regret, but knew he had no right to feel that way. The bar had started to get crowded. A few giggling and carefree children were weaving their way through the crowd, chasing each other as they giggled into their hands. The stern call of a motherly witch reached his ears, and the two young boys turned to further avoid her authority.

Just as well he had the time for another drink, as he wasn't due to meet Ron for lunch for at least another hour. The two errant boys jostled him as they pushed past, escaping their mother's firm tongue. Pausing just before he reached the bar, he turned, certain he had again just walked through a cloud of that familiar earthy cologne. He saw a couple walking toward the hall that led to the rooms, and presumed it was the wizard's scent. Relatively satisfied with this conclusion, especially since the smell was dissipating, Harry slowly took a couple of steps backwards toward the bar. A small explosion and a pall of smoke erupted not far from the bar, and a few people screamed and shouted. In the confusion, a few witches and wizards ran in all directions. Years of training had honed Harry's skills, and he grabbed his wand, fearing the worst. As the smoke cleared, his eyes began to water and his nose immediately recognised the putrid stench of dungbombs. He relaxed momentarily, realising those two young boys must have been playing some sort of prank. Much to his embarrassment, as he backtracked a few steps, he bumped straight into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" Harry turned quickly, spouting out the apology but found the end of his sentence stuck in his throat when he came face to face with the last person he'd expected to run into.

--ooOoo--

The crowd had been frightened by the small explosion and the subsequent smoke. Draco immediately recognised the vile stench of Dungbombs, and sighed as he realised it would take a while for the panicked crowd to calm down. He waited patiently at the bar for people to settle down, and desperately hoped that someone would clear the stench soon. It was already seeping into his fine jacket, and it would take ages to get the smell out. Draco was still trying to hold his patience when he was bumped from behind. As he turned, he heard the apology and immediately knew that voice. He looked up slowly, and locked eyes with the one and only Harry Potter.

-TBC -

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Publish Date: (this chapter) 1-August-2004
Updated: 28-February-2005

Azhure's Notes: Okay, ditto all that above, and just to let you know, the obnoxious characters of Myron and Vera are based on actual tourists I had the displeasure of crossing when I spent 14 wonderful days on holiday in New Zealand about ten years ago. Unfortunately, they seemed to follow us everywhere (we could hear them coming for miles); even on the plane home to Australia. I hope I've not offended anyone from that side of the pond, and I have no doubt they are the exception to the rule...

Also apologies for the lack of journal entries in this section, but we had to play a little catch-up. They will be back to their regularly scheduled chats soon enough... unfortunately, a little bit of plot got in the way.

Replies (chapter 8)!

Famous Angel: I do hope you were able to access the uncensored versions on our Yahoo! Group. If you have trouble getting to certain chapters, try refreshing the index page. If you haven't been able to join the group at all, let me know and I'll see what we can do to add you.

Sailor Grape: Yes, Harry will be a stronger person after all that. He's been doing quite well lately and is pleased with himself for slowly becoming his own person. Thanks for the comments!

Ningchan: Oooh! Thanks for recommending us! It must be those recommendations that keep our Yahoo! Group growing on a regular basis!

Tangledhair: Well, thank you once again. It's always a joy to hear from you on here (not to mention tease you by telling you the completed chapter is available when you're right here in my house!) As for having sex with Charlie, I'll see if I can arrange that… Just as soon as I get through with my wild, passionate fling with Lucius! grins

NayNymic: I'm sorry you didn't like the chapter. I hope that Harry's view and thoughts in this chapter and the last have helped to clear things up for you. I don't think Harry's being stupid or slutty, he was distraught, drunk, and seeking comfort. It happens, even after really important relationships. I hope you've continued with the story and will stick around for more.

Kt: Draco actually lives in Paris, but his chateau is in the South of France. I guess you can see by this chapter that they will have an unplanned meeting – but where it goes from here… I'm not telling! (and Azhure won't either, I can promise you that!) You'll just have to keep reading to find out more.

CuriousDreamWeaver: Yes, Ollie really ballsed it up, didn't he? Thank you very much for the lovely comments, the whole thing was much fun to write, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Leigh: Thank you! Yes, we know much more than Draco. He's created this mental image of someone older, who hates the press and abhors the Daily Prophet and is basically everything he never imagined Harry Potter could be, therefore he's got NO clue! Isn't that lovely?

Closetfanficaddict: So – are you reading the censored versions on our group? This chapter hasn't been censored, but if you haven't caught the others 'uncut' then you should be sure to check out our Yahoo! Group. Also – just to clear things up, I'm flattered by your comments on my writing, as I'm sure Azhure is too. Do remember that there are two of us, though. I couldn't do half this well without her. grins

Lizliterarius: you are lovely. And I hope you continued to find the crossing paths 'deliciously evil' as you read more of it in this chapter. You might as well get up off your knees, girl. We'll keep writing- I promise!

Roguemessenger: You never fail to have me rolling in the floor with laughter! I always laugh at your author's notes and have been enjoying every chapter of "Something More," but it's really something when you can crack me up in a review! And though you mentioned this in your ch. 9 review, I'll go ahead and say congratulations on the wedding! And we're amazed at the dedication of reading our stuff on your honeymoon! Hope your partner wasn't too upset by that! Ditto that from Azhure...

Rebuky: Forgot the story! gasp Well, now, we can't be having that! Perhaps you should consider joining the yahoo group so you'll get a special notice each time we update a chapter. I must admit that I hope we can manage to sneak something up on you before it's all said and done. Thanks for reading, and for reviewing!

Romie: Wow – thanks for that long review, and all the insightful thoughts. We've been seeing the Harry/Draco as the ultimate goal, I think, and each of them have… stepping stones… so to speak, along the way. Yes, Draco's had a couple flings and Harry had his thing with Charlie, but it's not that either of them are just looking for a shag, nor are they solely searching for love. In essence, what they are really searching for is their sense of self. We're trying to keep this as true to life as possible, drawing on some of our own experiences and those around us as we follow these young men through the events that shape them into the fully formed people they will become. It's a process, and they're both learning. As for Ginny, with the VD and glowing 'skank' – I…uh…we'll take that under advisement, okay?

Louise4: You hold on to that blanket, dearie… you may be in for a bumpy ride! And how do you feel about it now that you have that (mental) picture of Lupin from POA?

Tragica: wow – I appreciate you taking the time to read all this if it wasn't really striking your fancy. I'll tell you now that it will be a while before there is any resolution. Of course, you've seen the meeting at the end of this chapter (unless you're reading the reviews before the chapter or something) but I can't tell you what will happen next. I can say that our plan is to build on this relationship and allow things to happen at a healthy and natural pace. That's why it's taking so long, because it would be extremely OOC for both of them if they were to write once or twice, meet each other and fall madly in love. As for Draco's character, he's very much trying not to be like his father, which means he won't be walking around talking shite and calling people filthy little mudbloods and such. He's still got the Malfoy pride and the expectations based on his family status, but he is trying to become a better person. Canon!Draco is not someone that Harry would fall for, so obviously he's not going to be truly Canon… and you have to take into consideration that the characters we've seen in the books are only 15. The ones in this fic have been through 7 years of life experience including loves, deaths, war and more. That changes a person. We're pleased that you've added this to your Alert list and hope you continue to find some sort of enjoyment in it as it goes on.

Fayee: it's hot there? I know you wrote that review two months ago – but it shouldn't have been hot there in late May, should it? Azzie adds: Hope the UK is warm and sunny for u at the moment... I'm hanging out for the northern hemisphere sunshine too! BrizVegas is colder than Antarctica at present, but it's August, what more can I say?

Caroline Hal: you can get the non-censored versions of all these chapters (as well as our other fics) at our Yahoo! Group, Page of Peril. See 'Wintermoon's notes,' listed above these replies for details on how to get there.

Caracal 16th: Well, Oliver does prefer 'open relationships' but he's a bit of a git for leading Harry to believe that it's 'expected' in the wizarding world. Thanks for reading!

Pinkwafer: Well, as you've seen, they didn't meet during Harry's holiday, but you'll just have to wait and see what happens next. Of course since there are twice as many opinions about fics as there are readers of fics, we've had mixed reviews on this. Some readers agree with you and prefer the diary entries and real time chats between Luc and Flash. Other readers prefer the descriptions of their lives and interaction with others and want less of the diaries. Needless to say, those preferences seem to point toward a need for balance between the two, which is what we feel we've already got. That said, I doubt you'll see less prose, but as there are a lot of events in their lives, you may well see some things described in diary entries that are not discussed otherwise. I do hope you'll continue to enjoy it!

It'sJustMe: Um, er, wow? I was floored when I first got this review, and I'm floored again as I read it now. All the things you mention, about emotions, feelings, etc., are exactly what we've been striving for as we write this. If you read through some of the other replies here, you'll see that I've been stressing the fact that we want this relationship to build like it might in reality, rather than a sudden romance that comes from nowhere. When I first got this idea, it was based on the notion that Harry and Draco actually have a lot in common and might very well like each other if they could only get past the prejudice between them. I thought that communication which would allow anonymity would give the opportunity for Harry and Draco to get to know each other as well as themselves, and that once they had reached a point of acceptance, and understanding of their own lives and pasts, and had developed a relationship with each other through correspondence, then and only then could a feasible romance start up between them. I must agree with you about the other characters, and we are continually working on that, trying to make sure we include the people who should be involved in Harry and Draco's lives, but this is very centred on the two of them, as it is all about their journeys of self-discovery. That said, thank you for reading, I'd love to read your work as well, if you'll send a link, and don't worry, we won't stop writing. Honest!

Silently Waiting: Thanks! Glad you like it. In answer to your question, I (Wintermoon2) am not Wiccan, but I am eclectic pagan with a lot of Wiccan influences. I suppose the mention of Ostara in this chapter only reinforced your suspicion, eh? grins Now – as for Azhure, I think she'd classify herself as searching, but you'll have to ask her. And since you recognise the sabbats, I have to ask, are you Wiccan? Azzie adds: Yep, still searching. I'll let you know when I decide which side of the fence I'll sit, when I decide to sit down, that is!

To each and every one of you that reviewed… including; Annie T, Slytherinkid07, HpDevotee, Menecarkawan, Chi7890, silver-sunn101, jennavere, CelestialDrgn, Silviasilver, Kaaera, JenRedRobe, Annabel, Kai, Obscurus Imber, Claire Sayers, dan-rad, futago, Emerald Icicle: There are sooooo many reviews here that I simply can't reply to them all, especially since I tend to get so long winded with some of my replies. So if I didn't have a specific comment for you, then I'll just say Thank you very much for the reviews! We love them all, short or long, first or last, praising or questioning, constructive criticism, suggestions, desires, ponderings, requests, etc. Keep them coming, they fuel the muse! Yep, Azhure says ditto to that too! Hope to have Chapter 11 out soon. Although my sojourn to the northern hemisphere might interrupt me, or force me to sit at wandpoint at wintermoon's house to get it finished.