Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone Chapter 12: Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, a harry potter fanfic

Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter 12: But I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For...

I have climbed highest mountains,
I have run through the fields,
Only to be with you,
I have run, I have crawled,
I have scaled, these city walls,
Only to be with you,

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for…

Notes:
Text in Bold, Italics: Diary entries from Flash.
Text in Italics: (within a paragraph - thoughts or emphasis) Dreams, Letters, or Diary entries from Luc.

Apologies for this, but ff . net doesn't like anything more than the most basic of formatting.

March 21 – Friday

The trip to Marrakesh seemed interminable. As he hurtled through the Floo, Draco realised that for the first time in many days he was finally taking control of something. It seemed every important decision in his life had been taken out of his hands; his inheritance, his studies, and ultimately his future. It irked him to be reliant on others, in particular Severus, but he could see no other way out of his dilemma. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of his mentor, and his thoughts immediately turned to his friend Flash. That was a revelation that he didn't want to think about right at that moment. He was too busy trying to quell the very sudden attack of nerves that overcame him as he tumbled and spun through the Floo system.

But I can't ignore the nagging thought that Flash and Severus are one and the same - it just won't go away. He desperately wanted to talk to Flash, but was hesitant. Could he still talk to his friend impartially – consciously knowing who he was? Do I just blurt out that I know who he is, or expose my own identity, or just play along? He was at sixes and sevens, but knew that for once, he just had to stop thinking. The invitation to join Jean-Paul in Marrakesh was something solid, despite the sudden anxiety attack. He was in little doubt as to his host's motives for the invitation.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ready to once again take control of his destiny.

The atmosphere inside Hogwarts seemed to reflect the unseasonable storm that was raging outside. As he stood at the window watching the torrential rains, Harry thought back on his blatantly obvious invitation to Remus a few days earlier, and the casual reaction he'd received from the werewolf. Remus had simply looked at him, seemingly nonplussed by Harry's sexual suggestion, and finally asked if Harry really meant it. This took Harry by surprise. He hadn't thought about his words before they came flying out of his mouth, and was forced to ultimately admit that he was experiencing higher than usual levels of desire, and that the notion had crossed his mind, but he wasn't actively propositioning his old friend.

Not only was Harry losing control of his magic at the most inopportune times, it seemed his mouth was out of control along with his power surges. How stupid was it to blatantly blurt out such an invitation – especially to Remus? Despite that, Remus had seemed fairly comfortable with Harry's response (after some very quick thinking), and they had both agreed to continue as if it never happened. That plan was easier said than done, however, and Harry hadn't failed to notice that Remus had practically avoided him since then. He found himself unable to get past that moment, and constantly considered the real possibility of an encounter with his friend. Do I really want that with Remus? Merlin, the man is a sexy beast – how come I never noticed him before? Regardless of the man's sex appeal, Harry had to consider the level of discomfort that had come between them during the past few days. He was beginning to feel unwelcome as he stayed in Remus' guest quarters. The inclement weather just added to the feeling that he needed to get away from the castle. There was no way he was going to get away from all his troubles in that environment.

Saturday morning, he actually caught Remus trying to avoid him. Harry didn't wrestle with his conscience any longer. He quietly packed his things and left a brief note before leaving the castle.

Remus, I'm sorry for causing you so much discomfort – and in your own quarters. I don't know what's come over me, but I think some time to myself is in order. Perhaps Hogwarts isn't quite the right environment for me at present. You can reach me by owl, should you have the desire to. If nothing else, I'll be in touch by the end of the week. Harry

Harry thanked the gods for the use of one of Hogwarts' carriages, as the incessant rain had increased and the flashes of lightning lit up the sky – making any sort of travel highly uncomfortable. He didn't relish the idea of travel – not with luggage anyway, but he had no intention of Apparating away. Not even a shielding charm could hold back the rain – besides – nobody would attempt to Apparate during a storm. The lightning exponentially increased the risk of splinching oneself. Sometimes even Mother Nature defied the laws of magic – making the effort of casting a spell not worthwhile. A quiet and leisurely train journey was just what he needed, especially since he hadn't slept well the night before. He remembered having seen a quaint little Bed and Breakfast on the border of the Inverness wizarding quarter during a previous visit to the city, and it seemed just the place where he could gather his thoughts and start to work on his control issues.

Upon his arrival, he was pleased to discover that the place offered all the privacy he needed, including full access to the kitchens if he desired. The lovely view and easy access to Tie Rannick Alley were an added bonus. It wasn't quite as spectacular as the chateau he'd visited in Roussillon, but it was peaceful, just the same.

Mrs O'Donnell, the matronly owner, was only too pleased to cater to Harry's every whim, and he was extremely grateful for the very filling lunch she cooked just for him. She would have prepared all the meals for her guests, but left them all with the choice of providing their own fare. She reminded Harry a great deal of Molly Weasley, right down to her tone of voice. He was grateful for her helpfulness, and would most certainly be taking her up on her offer of assistance. It was just the break he needed to get away from everything threatening to overwhelm him.

March 23 - Sunday

Marrakesh: A seething, writhing mass of living and breathing humanity tucked into the ancient fertile oasis tract on the northern borders of the Sahara desert. Nestled at the base of the surrounding Atlas Mountains, the city itself is a study in stark contrasts; drab desert tones clash with the sparkling silks and brightly painted homes. Staunch followers of the Islamic faith live and work alongside modern Western Christians. One vibrantly lush tree in the oasis stands proud in defiance of the monotonous landscape of the surrounding desert. Even in the laid back heat of the midday sun, the hustle and bustle of the town square diametrically opposed the frantic yet very different crowds and festive atmosphere that permeated the bustling souq markets during the night.

The ancient Berber outpost of the Medina – Old City - seemed like a completely different world to the surrounding New City, built by the French in the late 19th century. Hidden behind the giant walls, the wizarding residents of the Medina went about their business in very much the same way they had for centuries, without much notice or interference from the tens of thousands of Muggles passing by.

Most Muggles casually observing the Medina would barely notice the difference between wizard and Muggle, so caught up were they in the distracting contrasts of the city, and the frantically keen stallholders from the market bazaar. It would take a discerning eye to notice the subtle flows of magic constantly weaving throughout the surging flow of Muggles. One observer was trained to notice such things. Despite the diversion his time in Marrakesh was proving to be, Draco found it hard to not keep his eyes firmly open and on guard as he scanned the crowds this Sunday afternoon.

The residents of Marrakesh were in themselves a study in contrasts. The ancient Berbers lived peacefully with a literal melting pot of people from other cultures – all living out their mundane lives, or seeking unfulfilled desires amongst the oppressive heat and the fetid stench of decay that was Marrakesh. Draco didn't quite know where his visit to Marrakesh would lead him, but he knew that since his arrival two days earlier, many desires had already been fulfilled.

For centuries, wizards had lived peacefully alongside the Muggle population in Marrakesh. The Statute of Secrecy did not apply to the Berber race; the descendants of this ancient culture had passed knowledge of wizard-kind down through the generations from their forefathers. Apart from producing a considerable number of their own Muggleborn wizards, the Berbers were fully versed in the feats of Salazar Slytherin, Snake Charmer. The Berbers did not betray the wizards to the greater non-Berber population, nor did they ask for any great feats in return for their silence. This silence garnered the respect of the wizard population, and for the most part, the wizards would help their non-magical neighbours as often as possible. The Sheik - the constitutional ruler of the Berber peoples - had always enjoyed the support of a wizard advisor, often letting the wizard perpetrate the myth that the Sheik was somewhat more magical than the regular human being.

Jean-Paul had been advising the current Sheik for ten years. In addition to his ceremonial duties, his healing expertise was called upon almost daily to help bolster the Sheik's ailing health. The man had been unwell for many years, long before Jean-Paul entered his service, and the talented medi-wizard could not cure the festering cancers within the elderly man's failing body. Without any inherent magic within a Muggle's body, it was nigh on impossible for something as severe as cancer to be cured by magic. Had Jean-Paul been around to identify the festering cancers in the Sheik's youth, then perhaps he could have stopped their near fatal spread. As it was, he spent less time advising the Sheik, and much more time easing the man's ever increasing pain.

Despite the heat, the oppressive humidity and the ever present stench of sweat and spice (a heady combination), Draco immediately fell in love with the city. He knew that it was everything most people would hate, but he couldn't help noticing that nearly everything about the dusty, dry and sweaty oasis was in direct contrast to his almost sterile upbringing in the mausoleum that was Malfoy Manor.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't the city he was enamoured with – perhaps it was a certain medi-wizard that brought the hedonistic smile to his face. Perhaps it was the well deserved rest after the storm of emotions Draco experienced in the previous week. Whatever the reason, Draco was practically humming on Sunday afternoon as he sat drinking the strongest tasting coffee he had ever experienced. The coffee was full bodied, hot and strong, without the slightest hint of being bitter. Just the way I like my men, he thought wryly. And in the past forty-eight hours, Draco had certainly partaken of plenty of the pleasures Jean-Paul had to offer. No one could doubt the self satisfied grin that crossed his face at that thought.

Whatever Jean-Paul had awakened inside Draco, it made him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time. The only thing dampening his spirits was the fact that this sexual healing provided by his own personal medi-wizard had been so rudely interrupted earlier that morning.

"No rest for the wicked," Jean-Paul had groaned as a distant bell chimed above the fireplace, interrupting their sweaty, yet extremely satiated Sunday morning sleep in.

"What's that?" Draco asked sleepily, flicking a stray strand of hair from his face, not wanting the body lying comfortably under him to leave.

"It's the Sheik's personal call. I have to go," Jean-Paul said dejectedly as he eased himself out of Draco's embrace and slipped into a light cotton caftan. Draco admired the man's physique as he watched the taunt body disappear beneath the simple, yet practical alternative to wearing robes.

Draco smirked as he thought back on his arrival a couple of days earlier, and the fact that his own lack of appropriate clothing had started what was to become a blissful slide into debauchery. Not that he minded one bit.

Within five minutes of arriving in Marrakesh on the previous Friday, Draco had felt considerably overdressed in his traditional robes. Not really sure what clothing would be most appropriate to pack, Draco had packed his lightest weight robes, along with his few Muggle clothes. As he arrived, it took only moments to realise that even the lightest of robes were still too much in the unbearable heat. It felt hotter than Hades as he stepped quickly out of the Floo, the distinct lack of air in the oppressive humidity making it hard to breathe. He cast a quick cooling charm in an attempt to rebalance his equilibrium.

"You came," Jean-Paul seemed very pleased at Draco's arrival. "I was beginning to think..." he didn't finish the sentence, an unsure hint in his tone.

"You invited me," Draco replied awkwardly. He wondered if the other wizard had changed his mind about the invitation. "I... I still have to thank you. For all you did. I feel so stupid. I should not have made that potion under the influence. But thanks to you, I'm all better – and very much alive."

Jean-Paul stared questioningly into Draco's eyes. He seemed to be looking for something as he stared transfixed. Draco frowned, feeling self conscious and wondering what his host was up to. A sudden shake of the head, and Jean-Paul seemingly returned to reality as he eyed Draco from head to toe – savouring every inch of the young man standing in his living room.

"Why don't you slip into something more... comfortable?" Draco couldn't help but grin as he nodded in assent.

He barely looked around the flat, but noticed it was roughly the same size as his studio, and had only one bed. A very large one with an ornate headboard. He couldn't help but notice this fact, and proceeded to assume that he would indeed be sharing this bed with his host. Of course, he didn't mind one bit.

The intent behind Jean-Paul's invitation to slip into something more comfortable was obvious. Draco was only too happy to oblige him with a small taste of his own intentions. Jean-Paul's deep brown eyes had followed his every move as he slowly divested himself of the already damp clothing. Draco could feel those eyes undressing him faster than he could undress himself. Jean-Paul's lusty approval was evident in his eyes as Draco's robes fell to the floor. Draco smirked seductively at this realisation and, pulling his shirt over his head, he accommodated the voyeuristic intentions of his host.

Turning and flexing a muscle nonchalantly in profile, Draco glimpsed those eyes glowing with hunger in the split second before Jean-Paul lunged, throwing him up against the wall. Their mouths connected and Draco found this first taste of Jean-Paul to be just as sensuous as he had hoped. He was held firmly against one of the ancient wall hangings that decorated the walls, their tongues searching and yearning as deeply as their bodies ground against each other. The velvet touch of Jean-Paul's tongue quickly moved to other bare patches of skin, as Draco found his arms bound by his half doffed shirt. His own hands were effectively useless, but grappled for any available fabric on the other wizard's rather flimsy caftan.

NC-17 Deleted scene

Falling into a very satisfied and languid sleep after such amazing sexual encounters, a stray thought crept to the forefront of Draco's mind. It had taken a while, but he noticed the scent of his lover was very similar, but not quite the same as that mesmerising cologne that had dogged his steps in London earlier in the week. The heady scent of spice laced with pure sexual musk was hard to forget; yet Draco couldn't quite pinpoint the actual cologne base. His potions hardened nose could sniff out many of the popular brands and styles, yet that one scent had seemed unique. Undoubtedly, the wizard wearing it had a natural chemistry, his own body odour and pheromones combining with the cologne to produce such a unique aroma. Draco suspected the other wizard must have been exuding a great deal of sexual energy in order to produce such a musky and totally erotic scent. He made a mental note to ask Jean-Paul about its source, but the thought again slipped his mind, and he never got around to asking the question. His mouth was usually too busy with other activities of a more carnal nature.

After such sexually enlightening activities, Draco suddenly found himself with another type of hunger to be sated. Waking early on Saturday, a gnawing emptiness rumbled through his stomach. He recalled Jean-Paul's non-existent culinary skills. Not only had he burned the eggs back in Paris, but the one cupboard wrapped in preservation charms contained absolutely nothing but a jug of something that looked somewhat – but not entirely - like milk, and a bottle of something green and rather glutinous. Draco wasn't game to ask.

Feeling so hungry he could pass out, Draco quickly donned the first caftan he spied, and quietly made his way out to the square below the flat. The side streets and alleyways were littered with stalls selling a myriad of goods, but it was the faint yet tantalising aroma of the coffee beans coming from the market bazaar that had woken him and his hunger. Formerly known as the souq markets, the market bazaar was no longer the exclusive domain of the traditional water sellers. Magically charmed and purified water had replaced the souq sellers years earlier. Their places were taken by a myriad of other, more colourful traders selling everything from the traditional Berber carpets, to silks and satins, jewellery, fresh spices, fresh fish and produce. An abundant supply of citrus fruits, along with ready to eat treats such as spicy lamb kebabs, and tasty leaven breads rounded out the sheer diversity of the food available. But most importantly, there was coffee. Thick, dark coffee, unlike anything Draco had ever tasted before.

"Translingua Audio," Draco quickly cast his translation charm, realising it would be very awkward haggling with these stallholders if he couldn't understand a word. He need not have worried. Most of them spoke French, and those that did not, spoke passable English. Dozens of scents assaulted his senses as he walked past the stalls. Everything from the bitter tang of dried lemons, to the spicy aroma of the cardamom and cumin, and the rich, fatty sweetness of lamb (although he suspected a lot of it was actually goat) spitting over open flames, all fought for dominance over Draco's already overstimulated senses.

He finally chose a stallholder displaying a promising variety of fruits - both fresh and dried. The range of citrus fruits surprised Draco, who had imagined the desert would have little to offer in the way of such sweet delights. He gratefully sat down with a tantalising plate of cous cous sweetened with honey yogurt. He added a generous amount of dried apricots, figs and dates to his long overdue meal. He couldn't recall eating a decent meal since before he went to London earlier in the week, and after his illness and his recent sexual exploits, his hearty appetite was understandable. He added more honey to sweeten the dish, his sweet tooth craving the extra energy.

The violent grumble in his stomach eventually disappeared; however, his sweet tooth still craved more. A heavily sweetened cup of coffee helped soothe that craving. Colours brightened in the wake of the added sugar and caffeine in his system. The aromas of the food became even more distinct, and Draco soon realised that he was in desperate need of a shower. He smelt of sex and the ever present underlying stench of stale sweat. He made note to spell his clothes with some cooling charms, as the heat was already stifling, despite the early hour.

Walking back to the flat, he realised his knee was relatively pain free - the usual twinges just not there. He revelled in this slight liberty, but was not fooled that the pain was gone forever. It would return, but in the meantime, he would enjoy the freedom it gave him. He surmised that the dry heat of the desert was helping prolong the strength of the spell Jean-Paul cast. He knew the aches would return with the first sign of cold weather upon his return home.

As he entered the flat, he heard the sound of running water. Jean-Paul was awake and already in the shower. With one hunger sated, he realised that another one was currently showing interest at the wicked thoughts that passed through his mind. He raised an eyebrow and headed into the bathroom, not wanting to miss an opportunity to surprise his new lover. The sight of Jean-Paul's lean and soap-slicked form under the steaming spray had an immediate affect on Draco.

NC-17 Deleted scene

After that, Draco was unwilling and extremely reluctant to keep his hands from Jean-Paul. After denying his sexual urges for so many weeks, he felt the need to touch, and fondle and share energy with his exotic lover.

In a rare moment of conversation, Jean-Paul suggested that Draco's eager responsiveness was perhaps due to the fact he was allowing his chi to regain its inner balance. He admitted that Draco's almost incessant responsiveness was feeding his own empathic nature and Jean-Paul couldn't deny the heightened arousal that resulted. .

As the oppressive heat of Saturday bled away, the cooler air sent a chill through the stones, cooling the buildings, but not the lovers' ardour. Draco and Jean-Paul lay entwined on the Indian cotton sheets, exploring each other's bodies slowly and languidly. Draco felt more relaxed than ever before, and Jean-Paul wanted to take their 'therapy' to another level. He felt that with Draco's chakras and chi starting to balance, he would be receptive to the next level of sexual awakening.

Tantric Sex. Draco had only heard of this method of lovemaking, and was quite willing to submit to his lover's lessons in such heightened stimulation. If it meant more time with his talented new lover, then he would try anything.

He felt insatiable and unstoppable, but his mind and body were totally unprepared for such sensate and slow burning lovemaking. He was held in erotic thrall for hours by Jean-Paul's skilful ministrations. Prolonging one's desire to come for days and days seemed like the ultimate form of lovemaking, and Draco was a keen student. Unfortunately, his body was protesting the concept of prolonging the ecstasy. It was writhing in agony - protesting the urges to retain his passion – not willing to let his desire move to a deeper level. In fact, he found himself barely able to prolong anything under Jean-Paul's ministrations. Despite the lack of intensity he had come to associate with their usual roughness, Draco found Jean-Paul's tenderness was just as painfully hard to resist.

I guess I'll just have to practice, he thought wickedly as his body's desire for sleep eventually overcame the passion and sheer animal lust that had driven him most of the day.

As memories of the most hedonistic weekend of his life hazed into one lust filled blur, Draco was surprised at how serious and focussed Jean-Paul now seemed as he made ready to go to work. The medi-wizard almost ignored the naked body stretched languidly across the bed in a very cat-like manner.

"So what about me?" Draco pouted as he pulled himself up against the carved satyrs in the headboard. As enticing as Draco's naked, and obviously interested form seemed to Jean-Paul, he did nothing more than kiss Draco longingly before pulling on some shoes.

"I have no idea how long he'll need me today. Sorry," he sounded honestly repentant, "Although, I'm sure you'll find something to amuse you down in the bazaar. Just don't overdo yourself. You need your rest. You have a busy night ahead of you."

Draco sleepily followed his lover to the Floo as Jean-Paul made ready to ease the elderly Sheik's ailments. They kissed deeply, Draco groaning in frustration as the medi-wizard made to step into the warded fireplace. The flames quickly returned to their usual cooling blue flame as Jean-Paul vanished from his sight. He felt the cool breeze from the charmed flames fanning against his heated body, belying the heat that lay outside the building.

No longer feeling so self conscious, Draco showered before donning one of his lover's caftans, quickly realising the practicality of such a garment in this climate. The feel of the coarse fabric as it moved against his body heightened his memory of his recent activities. Still, he thought wickedly, I would have been wriggling around from more than the heat in my jeans if I had been forced to wear them today.

Draco had quickly negotiated his way back to the coffee merchant at the bazaar. Sitting carefully on the stone bench against the brightly painted wall as he sipped at his coffee, Draco dared to think on everything he had tried to forget when he ran away to Marrakesh. He knew that realistically, he would have to eventually face each and every one of his responsibilities. The pressing decision about his future had already been resolved, even though Draco had not been particularly enamoured of the thought of an apprenticeship. If he had the full resources of his inheritance at his disposal, he would not have been in this situation. Alas, he had been foolish enough to let a large portion of that inheritance slip through his fingers, and he was realistic enough to realise that being apprenticed to Severus was the only way he could build the future career he wanted.

He stared at the bitter dregs of the coffee grounds in the bottom of his cup. He was purposely avoiding thoughts about his long time friend and mentor. It was almost unthinkable that Severus was very likely the same English wizard he had been corresponding with since Yule.

On so many levels, it made perfect sense. Since the first words written by 'Flash', he had felt an odd kinship to this other wizard. As a young teen, Draco had been awed by his school professor, and as circumstances of war threw them together as comrades, that awe turned into a mutual respect, and eventually, friendship, as the two men realised the parallels their lives had taken. Pondering their true friendship, a very fleeting thought was immediately thrown out of his head.

Their almost flirtatious words in the journal started to haunt him. Surely Severus wasn't flirting with me? Would he have tried that if he knew who 'Luc' was? Draco shuddered at the thought. Despite the fact they both shared the same sexual proclivities, Draco had no desire to become romantically attached to Severus Snape. He did not desire the man in any way. Friendship and understanding were the only things he sought from Severus. Of course, now that the man had single handedly saved him from a life of destitution, he had to add deep gratitude to that list.

Hang on; does he know that I'm Luc? Did I somehow manage to give myself away? Draco worried that perhaps his identity in the journal was transparent to the one man who knew him so well. He knew what he had to do. Reluctant to go back and read through the journal, he wandered mindlessly through the stalls of the market bazaar, putting off the inevitable. Eager merchants pushed a myriad of goods into his path. Despite the temptations that wafted underneath his nose, he paid little attention to the enticing goods. Shaking his head, he knew he had to find out the answer, one way or another. He had to stop wondering if Severus was Flash. He had to go back and do the one thing he had been avoiding.

He had to reread the journal.

As much as he wanted to browse through the markets, they would still be there once he knew the truth, and he felt it would be more fun if he were to let Jean-Paul guide his shopping adventures; just as he was guiding their recent sexual adventures. The possibilities of combining the two crossed his one track mind, and he smirked.

Jean-Paul had not returned, and for a brief moment, Draco was grateful. He needed some time to reread and decipher the words he had shared with Flash these past few months. His reading glasses instantly steamed up with humidity as he put them on, and very quickly slid off the end of his nose. Pushing them back up, he quickly waved a wand at the fireplace to renew the cooling flames.

Draco opened the journal at page one, and again read the first few lines of purple ink. He sat for the better part of the next few hours, painstakingly rereading and analysing every line of Flash's words. He had forgotten some of their conversations, yet he was equally surprised to find that some of Flash's own thoughts and words had been going around in his head for months.

He tried to clear his mind of all thought, allowing the words to speak for themselves. It was hard work trying to disassociate the words from the voice of his beloved mentor, but it wasn't long before he realised his foolish mistake and return them to the anonymous voice he had invented for his new found friend.

With each turn of the page, Draco's smile returned. This man was not Severus. Not unless the Severus he had known for so many years was truly a closet romantic with a flair for self uncertainty.

As he read each word, he realised why he found it so easy to like Flash. Draco wanted the same things in life as he did. It was no coincidence that the two men had similar disappointments in their past. Draco suspected that perhaps that was the reason why the magic of these joined journals brought them together in the first place.

He relaxed as he lost himself in rereading the passages.

I need to be happy on my own before I can truly be happy with anyone else... Sometimes I feel like there's no one in the world that can understand me... Merlin's bunny slippers, I see what you mean about erase charms not working...

Well unless he's faking it, there is no way in the world Severus would say 'Merlin's bunny slippers', he thought wryly.

'Flash' is a nickname from a long-time family friend. I honestly wasn't sure why I chose to sign off with my nickname, aside from it being a very sentimental and personal thing...

Well I doubt Severus would have that for his nickname. The more Draco read through the entries, the more foolish he felt. This man he'd garnered friendship with over the past few months was so unlike the Severus he knew, he began to wonder what possessed him to even make such a mistake in the first place. At least I don't have to go and embarrass myself in front of Severus. Draco lay back on the grand pile of cushions pushed back into the corner of the room, his good leg tucked under him, and his other leg stretched out in front along the scattered cushions. The more he realised he had been wrong, the more comfortable he became, and began to enjoy the re-read.

I can honestly say I never 'watched' while I was in school. I'm sure I 'thought' about it, but I never followed through...

Well I know for a fact that Severus has watched, he thought as he recalled some of their more unpleasant duties during the war. He allowed the comforting sense of relief to continue to wash over him. There was no way that Flash could be Severus. Flash admitted to his failings with potions brewing. No way in the world would Severus ever lie about that. Besides, Draco couldn't lie when writing in his journal, and he doubted Flash could either. It's not Severus.

Lost in the reread, one passage stood out from the rest as clear evidence that he had been particularly hasty in his suggestion that his friend was Severus.

The moon reflected on the water by Pont Neuf and I felt incredibly cuddlesome and romantic...

That entry seemed to seal the man's identity. Draco knew for a fact that if he had correctly spied Flash with Ollie that night by Pont Neuf, then he was not Severus. He would have known Severus by profile from miles away. Besides, had Severus visited Paris, he would have most certainly stopped in to visit. Draco stopped reading for a moment, his embarrassment turning to concern as he realised that he had been a little curt with Flash in his short note on Friday.

Merlin, should I tell him? Will he laugh it off, or will he be offended? He tried not to let it worry him too much, but as a strong shaft of light passed over the journal, he looked up to see the sun beginning to set. Jean-Paul wasn't home yet, and this worried him. He had been gone all day, and Draco had spent all afternoon re-reading a journal because he was a complete fool, and had nearly damaged a friendship because of that. He couldn't afford to alienate the few friends he had. Not after he had worked so hard to gain them.

Harry had made a brief trip into the shopping district of Inverness. His craving for sweets was not going to go unsated. He browsed the combined selection of wizarding and Muggle sweetshops before deciding to stock up on Walnut Whips and Pumpkin Pasties, purposely avoiding the Sherbet Lemons. Once he made it back to the Bed and Breakfast, Harry closed himself off, trying desperately not to think about his strange dreams, his unexplainable moods or his raging hormonal urges. Of course, this was a pointless endeavour, as it seemed the more he strove to avoid these thoughts, the stronger they pushed at his brain. These symptoms had never plagued him the last time his magic went out of control and he was at a loss to explain their sudden appearance.

He finally managed to get to sleep late Saturday night, only to have another round of disjointed dreams that wouldn't come to mind the next morning.

The images flashed before him like a Muggle slideshow on fast forward. There was that flash of green again, on the Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch, the frightening notion of being completely and totally lost, and the immense relief when at last he was found, or he found the lost one, it was incredibly unclear. Then suddenly he was being held closely, reverently, as if he were the most important person in the world. The scene changed again and he was standing in the shadows, watching a couple nearby. They seemed oblivious to his presence, but he was enthralled by their actions. He watched as the pale skin of one man moved sensually against the tanned skin of the other, the contrast in their tones and colouring adding to the excitement that built from watching them. Their movements were highly impassioned, but torturously slow at the same time, as if they were in search of the slowest orgasm possible. He watched as tongues moved across the sweat-sheen on their skin, muscles rippling with activity and desire, fingers tangling in contrasting hair. He heard the sounds of their voices as they joined together in a harmony known only to lovers. Indulging in his recently discovered voyeuristic fantasies, he reached down, finding himself in nothing but a simple robe that hung loose from his shoulders. Just as he began to pleasure himself, lost in the images before him…

Harry woke up, drenched with sweat and throbbing with desire, but was completely unable to remember what had brought him to such a point. He sighed in frustration as ghosted images of his dreams ran completely out of his head. Looking down, he was not surprised at the burgeoning erection that lay heavily against his stomach. This was starting to become even more frequent than when he was a teenager. Guess I'll be taking care of this the old fashioned way again. I must remember to ask Luc about those spells he keeps hinting at, he thought as he took himself firmly in hand.

It was late Sunday evening, and Jean-Paul was still not back from work. With absolutely no resources in the meagre kitchen, Draco again braved the myriad of stalls in the market in search of some food. His appetite had returned in full force after his illness, and the mouth-watering scent of the aromatic herbs only proved how famished he truly was. Still, I'm going to need all the energy I can get, if things continue the way they have been going.

The meal of spicy lamb, in an exquisite yogurt dressing, was accompanied by tabouleh and more cous cous, and had sated his immediate hunger, but the festive pull of the market was tugging at his curiosity. As the sun disappeared and the heat drawn away from the brightly coloured buildings, the carnival folk came out to entertain the rapidly building crowd. Like sleeping snakes, the population of Marrakesh came up out of their holes and swarmed over the square, making the daytime hustle and bustle seem dead in comparison.

Ever mindful of his host, Draco knew he should return to Jean-Paul's, eager in anticipation of his return. The markets were definitely something he planned to scour in more detail, but he had plenty of time to do that later. He realised he should really return and make his apologies to Flash as well. He hoped his friend would understand his mistake.

He had picked up a few fresh supplies for Jean-Paul, in case their other appetites struck during the night. If Draco had his way, they most certainly would be in need of sustenance before the dawn. But the flat was still dark when Draco returned, and he realised he would have time to chat to Flash after all. With a wave of his wand, the supplies unpacked themselves, and he set about making himself comfortable as he wrote in his journal.

There was no desk or dining table to be had in Jean-Paul's flat. The only surfaces were the kitchen bench, and the coffee table. Draco didn't feel up to the complex transfiguration required to turn the cushions into a more solid surface. Improvising, he levitated the cushions until he built a very cosy workspace. He had felt so comfortable there earlier that afternoon, he wanted to sit back and enjoy himself more. He transfigured the coffee table into a small lap table, and comfortably rested it up against his knees, the journal open on his lap. Reinforced with an untippable charm, his emerald ink bottle was hovering just at his side.

Draco was quickly settled into this cosy space, and after setting the lighting and cooling to the right level with a few well muttered charms, he found his quill already in his hand and writing in the journal.

Harry was a little worried that Luc would be too busy with Jean-Paul, so decided to let the Frenchman make the first entry. If he didn't hear anything from him in the next hour or so, then he would know that the lucky bastard was most likely in the throes of fantastic sex. This was something Harry didn't particularly want to think about at the moment. Not in his current state, and especially not after last night's dreams. He had been teetering on the edge of sexual frustration for so long now, and there was only so much wanking he could do in one day. His permanent state of arousal was starting to hinder his every move.

Harry suddenly noticed the routine he had begun to perform each time he started to write in the journal. Just organising his quill, ink and the journal was a simple ritual, but it helped him to clear his mind, and made him eager to talk to Luc. He sat back, trying to relax as he waited for the tell tale rustle of pages. If Luc didn't show, perhaps he could at least attempt some meditation.

It felt like mere moments had passed when the rustle of the journal roused him from his deep breathing. The huge grin across Harry's face was similar to that he had as a teenager receiving presents at Christmas or his birthday. He was truly pleased to hear from his friend.

Mars 23 Bonjour Flash, I hope you're there, and still up for a chat, because I've suddenly found myself alone, with time up my sleeve to talk. Hello Luc! I'm here. How's Marrakesh? Dare I ask if you've managed to see any of it yet? And you're alone? Please tell me nothing's wrong... No, nothing's wrong. Jean-Paul is just working, that's all. Of course I've seen Marrakesh... Well, parts of it anyway. There's a nice view outside Jean-Paul's window, actually. If I look out, I can see straight down into the bazaar in the square below. So see, I have seen some of Marrakesh. Perhaps I should have rephrased my question. Have you spent any significant time outside of Jean-Paul's flat, and more specifically, his bed? Is that a good thing, or a bad thing – that Jean-Paul isn't there? I can sense that you are in some sort of good mood, so I'm guessing there's either a sad pout on your face because he isn't there; or a stupid grin from having too much of a good time? Are you planning on giving this lonely and somewhat frustrated bloke any details? You know you can tell me everything... I'm all ears. Well, Jean-Paul's been gone nearly all day, and I've been left to my own devices, which can be quite dangerous. I confess to being concerned, and if you could actually see me right now – I just had a horrid thought that perhaps you could 'see me' as I write in this journal. Goodness knows the book has turned out to be more than just words on parchment. I guess you are beginning to know me all too well. There is indeed a smile on the face, but it's actually a smile of relief. Relief, eh? Glad to be with him, after all that agonising you've done; or relief that you've got five minutes away from Jean-Paul and his relentless pursuit? I regret to say that the inside of Jean-Paul's flat is hardly 'seeing Marrakesh' though I certainly hope he's made it worth your while. Oh it's been definitely worth my while, and I will get around to seeing the sights... eventually. Jean-Paul is a perfect host. I'm just relieved that this past week is finally over (not to mention the ending of my self imposed sexual drought... that was indeed an immense relief).

As Draco wrote, he realised that talking to Flash was a sort of closure on the horrid week that had passed. Only a scant week before, both men had discussed grand plans for their upcoming week. Little did Draco know then that his life would be so different in such a short amount of time. It had been a relief that the week was over, and yes, he was very glad to have accepted Jean-Paul's invitation.

Ah, so you're not going to share any sordid details? There's a sad pout here if that's the case. I take it things are going well with your infatuating man. You said it's been a hell of a week. Care to share any of the other details (unless you want to regale me with tales of your sexploits... you have a willing listener here). You are determined to drag details from me sooner or later, aren't you? Yes, it has certainly been worth every second. He's been at work all day, actually. Not having seen him since this morning has certainly curtailed my plans for today, but I realise how busy a medi-wizard can get, especially one with hands as talented as his... Talented hands, hmmm? You know you don't have to tell me anything unless you want to, but you might want to be careful about sitting too close to the journal if that's the case. We've both experienced the way these books pull information from us.

Harry thought of Luc's last hurried note from Friday, and recalled why he was so eager to hear from the Frenchman.

Are you doing all right, really? You mentioned in your last message something about having a bad week, and nearly killing yourself, and, well, I've been a little worried about you to tell the truth. Yes, well, I apologise for making you worry, it was a week to forget, but before I tell you about it all (yes, all of it... I know you're truly a voyeur at heart, even if you won't admit it), I have a slight confession to make. Oh? Well, I wasn't going to leave a note before I left on Friday, but I got a little fright, and it was only today that I realised the stupidity of what I had been thinking. You see, I should have done this before jumping to foolish conclusions, but, well, I jumped in feet first, then decided to re-read your words in the journal, and now I've made a bigger fool of myself… Merde, now see, I wasn't actually going to say anything about this, but now I have, and I'm making entirely too much of it all, and I'm going to have to spill the whole saga, even though you'll think I'm a git. I could curse this journal sometimes, but you know what I'm trying to say? Yes, I think I understand completely. Now, why do you think you are a git and have made a fool of yourself? I confess that I have been hoping to hear wonderful news about your week, but now I'm beginning to think things are a little more serious than I first thought. What melodrama have you made out of nothing now? And yes, I think I've got some of the measure of you from what you have told me. Now, enough of that self deprecating rubbish. Spill... Well, even though I didn't want to leave a note, I did, and I apologise for its rather terse and curt contents. I am truly sorry. I honestly didn't notice, Luc. There's no need to apologise. What made you think it was terse? Well, like I said, it was a horrid week. It began badly, got worse before it got better, then to top it off, I spent some time this week with my mentor. He said a number of things that mirrored the words you last wrote in your entry, and well, I sort of assumed that you were him – that I knew your identity. Turns out I'm an idiot, and read too much into all the things he said. I was frightened off by the thought that you were him – that he was you – oh, you know what I mean. Not that I don't want to talk to you, but to think I thought you were him... oh Merde, this isn't coming out right. Look, I was terrified that I thought I knew you, and I found out I was wrong. I was initially scared off because I put two and two together and came up with a pile of dragon dung.

Harry paused for a moment at Luc's words – panic suddenly washing over him. Had he been too careless? Did this man see through the words and realise he was talking to Harry Potter? He hesitated before replying.

You... you thought you knew my identity? Don't panic - I was totally off the mark. There is no way in the world you are the same man, even though you spoke very similar words, and have had some similarities in your lives.

The sense of relief at realising Luc's mistake was palpable. Harry took a deep breath as he tried to relax. His heart was still pounding from the minor panic attack.

Well, no. I'm nobody's mentor, for starters. See, there you go. Naturally, I was initially concerned that I had stumbled on your identity, purely by coincidence, of course. You value your privacy, as does he. I guess that is why I was so concerned. I know how much you value that anonymity, as do I. It isn't easy to be able to talk to someone and know that they aren't judging you on who you are and what they perceive you to be. I had been speculating and worrying since I read your last words. Finally, I decided to think, and went back and reread our earlier conversations, just to be sure. You say you aren't great at potions, yet he is brilliant. Then I remembered that night I saw you in Paris – when you were near Pont Neuf with "He-who-we-won't-name". I realise now I was stupid to jump to some crazy conclusion. You couldn't be my mentor. I suspect the only thing you have in common is that you are both Englishmen. He has a rather distinctive profile. I would have recognised that profile from a mile away, and well, he's probably a good few inches taller than anyone I know. Besides, if he had been in Paris, he would have made time to see me. So now I feel a complete idiot for having a major panic attack of a case of mistaken identity. I wasn't even going to tell you, and now you really must think I am a melodrama queen. So see, I think I do have a case to feel like quite a foolish git. You make me laugh every time you use that phrase about Ollie. I can say his name now, and not get too sad. That's good to hear. It seems you are moving on. Congratulations. Thanks. Although, I have to say, I'm rather glad I'm not him – your mentor. Or rather, that you don't know him. I mean, me. That you don't know who I am. Bollocks, I can't get this to come out right. I don't think I've ever had trouble like this in this journal. Well, at least our anonymity has not been compromised, which is what I am most grateful for. I find it so easy to talk to you whilst we don't know who we are. It's like talking to my subconscious. Yes, precisely! That's why I'm glad you don't know who I am. I don't think I would feel very comfortable talking to anyone who knew me – telling them some of the things I've told you. I found it really hard writing that note on Friday when I thought I knew who you were. Amazing how knowing a person can make you think and rethink what you actually say, as you don't want to either offend their sensibilities or make them think any less of you. But then this journal drags out every little thing I have to say, even if I don't know it needs telling. I think you know more about me than my oldest friends, at least in some areas. They are the best friends I could have hoped for growing up, and I never thought anyone else's friendship would mean as much to me as theirs, until I met you (well, met you in the literary sense, anyway – oh you know what I mean). And there's a perfect example of the journal dragging things out that I don't know need telling. I feel the same way. At the oddest times, I find myself thinking of things I'd like to tell you, or to ask your opinions on certain topics, just like with my other new friends. I'm sure if we met, we'd get along famously, but for now, well, I just need to get things off my chest and talk to someone who is a lot more rational than my own subconscious. You don't give me conflicting advice, unlike my wicked inner voices (and now I've just admitted to voices inside my head). You are so sure and confident of the advice you give, even if you don't think you are. I truly value that. Really? That's often how I feel about your advice also. And just the fact that you're there, and you seem to understand me. You don't think it's odd that I cherish time to myself, or that I don't want an open relationship, or that I get introspective and dive into these journeys of self discovery. You don't judge me. That's probably what it boils down to. Don't worry about those little voices, they visit me on occasion, and they are most conflicting in their advice. You mentioned in your last entry, something about meeting people who have a preconceived notion of you... I deal with that constantly, so it's nice to talk to someone who isn't going to fall back on what they've heard about me or the me that they think they know. Oh I agree, I'm no stranger to other people's opinions either. I've had quite a while to live with that. You mentioned at one stage that you had some notoriety around town. People sometimes mistake my actions, and make assumptions that reflect decisions my ancestors have made. Decisions I would never make. I don't particularly want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I too have had dalliances with the media in the past. The speculation wasn't pleasant, and I've tried to forget it, but some members of the public can't see past the name. I wonder if anyone else ever had that problem? This is why I find it so easy to talk to you. You don't judge me either, as you haven't got a clue about my personal history, or that of my family. You know only what I feel is important to tell you, just as you have told me enough about your own past to allow me to gauge that you are a man who mirrors my own desires in many ways.

Harry could not believe that someone else could actually feel the same way about the media. He wondered, not for the first time, just exactly who Luc was. If he had had some media attention, then surely he must have some amount of fame. Still, it was nice to know he wasn't the only one who couldn't stand the paparazzi.

Exactly! We are living proof that great minds think alike! So, did you mention any of this to your mentor? Did you tell him that you thought you'd been corresponding with him for months under an assumed name? Ah, how do you know that Luc isn't my real name? Perhaps I tried to throw you off the scent. How do I know your real name isn't Flash? Hmmm? Merlin, no, I didn't tell him. He'd have laughed his face off! The truth be told, having thought of him as a surrogate father for so long, I found it hard trying to match the man I know with the personality I see in this journal. They really don't match up at all, now that I've had time to re-read and think on it. You could understand my horror at the thought of him being you – especially after our recent flirting. I still feel like such a classic fool. You know I nearly poisoned myself earlier this week - that's why I was ill. I botched a potion, and it reacted with all the alcohol I'd been drinking. It was nearly a permanent legacy of the worst day of my life. You most certainly are not a fool! A somewhat careless potions maker when brewing under the influence, apparently, but not a fool. What happened? Are you better now, truly? Well, I'd had a long day with meetings I didn't need or want to have, I had some shocking news about my finances, and I also met some people I'd never thought to cross again. It didn't upset me, just threw me off balance. I'd probably had a few too many firewhiskys before the day was out, and my war wound started to act up. By the time I was home, it was extremely painful. I guess it had been aching all day, and I'd been using the firewhisky to keep it at bay. Alas I forgot that it reacts that badly with painkilling potion. Luckily, Jean-Paul was visiting his Aunt, and he came to my rescue. I was out of it for almost two days, though. Reading back on this, I realise I really should give up on alcohol. It's the major cause of all my grief, isn't it? Wow. That sounds fairly serious. Are you feeling better now? I mean, obviously, you're up and about, and you've got Jean-Paul at your beck and call to kiss it better, right? And yes, I do think the alcohol should be consumed in only moderate quantities, and no potions brewing for you afterwards. Well, Jean-Paul said I am lucky to be here, and I don't really remember the fever, but I am tired. Although, that could be from my other exertions. He didn't exactly kiss it all better, but he put his hands to extremely good use... Oh? You mentioned these hands earlier. Several times in fact, yet you refuse to elaborate... Apparently the fact I had been 'repressing' my sexual urges wasn't encouraging my recovery. Well, his hands are not only wonderful, but I must have just missed the touch of another man, because he truly knows how to pull all the tension, stress and worry from you just with a simple massage. Although I'm sure there is some innate magic in them, they are far too perfect to be just ordinary hands. Jean-Paul certainly encouraged things, and well, suffice to say the poison is now completely out of my system, after the most sensual and amazing massage I've ever had. I am truly indebted to him for helping me through my illness, although I wasn't expecting the invite to Marrakesh – that was a complete surprise! But then again, the whole week has been one long surprise after another.

A familiar whoosh and thud made Draco look up from his reading. Jean-Paul stood wearily as he exited the Floo. He smiled as he saw the little nest Draco had made amongst the cushions.

"I see you've made yourself at home?" he asked, bending down and taking Draco's lips in a deeply smothering kiss. Draco unconsciously closed the journal as he eagerly returned the kiss. Jean-Paul spied the journal, looking at it quizzically. He wanted to ask his guest about the book, but was very quickly distracted by Draco's eager lips and tongue.

Jean-Paul broke the kiss and smiled at the carnal gaze he was receiving from Draco. "I'm heading into the shower – care to join me?" he had already stripped his caftan over his shoulders, and was halfway to the bathroom before Draco's lust addled brain realised the implicit invitation. He grinned lasciviously. He quickly penned some parting words, not wanting his friend to be left wondering at his very swift departure.

Speaking of the Devil, Jean-Paul has just returned home... and I've been such a selfish bastard. I haven't asked you a damn thing about your week... Hey, no, that's all right. You've made me forget my own problems for a while, which is exactly what I needed. You get back to that man of yours, before he heads off again. I'll make sure I'm not such a selfish git next week. I'll be all ears. Yes, and you'll be giving me DETAILS about your visit. You've told me very little, and now I'm left here wondering... Relax, I'm a big boy. You go off and do whatever it is you do in Marrakesh. Have a wonderful evening, and I'll see you same time next week. It's a date! See you then! Au Revoir, Luc Bye!
Flash.

Luc must have certainly been in a hurry to get to his lover. Harry couldn't help but grin at the droplet of green ink smeared after his name. He could have sworn he could feel the rustling of the pages in the wake of the Frenchman's hurried exit.

March 24-30

The high point of Harry's self induced week of solitude had been the chat with Luc. He spent the better part of that time locked away in his room at the Bed and Breakfast, comforting himself with a seemingly endless supply of junk food. He couldn't have explained his mood if he'd been asked. He blamed himself for losing control, first at the Leaky Cauldron, then with his big mouth and Remus. He almost lost control of his quill when talking to Luc, but he was so glad the other wizard understood his occasional slip ups with the quill. By the week's end, he had managed to not lose control again, but then again, other events caused him to totally forget his current dilemma.

Harry had kept in contact with Hogwarts, Flooing Dumbledore for an update on the situation with the Neo Death Eaters. He had been assured that there were no new revelations and that as long as he felt okay in taking a few days off, then it wouldn't hurt the operation. He was more concerned by the fact that his brief conversation with Remus felt stilted and uncomfortable. No doubt it was due in part to the presence of the Headmaster, but it still worried at the back of his mind. He really should have cleared the air with Remus.

Just as he was starting to take control of events, he was brought back to reality as a rather unexpected sighting of Oliver threw his new found calm into disarray. Harry had been casually browsing through the quiet streets of Tie Rannick Alley in search of something to keep him distracted. He fancied doing some cooking in the kitchen at the Bed and Breakfast, and the produce at the store looked enticing.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar chuckle. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath before turning and opening them again. He had been right. Oliver was browsing the sidewalk display at a shop just across the street. Harry didn't recognise the man with him, but he felt a pang of longing as he witnessed the looks of familiarity and desire pass between the two men. He'd felt his throat close off with anxiety at the first sight of his former lover. He had hoped, and had even begun to believe, that he could quickly and quietly leave the produce stand without attracting any attention. He put down the tomatoes he'd been planning to use in a light bruschetta for evening tea, and slowly stepped away, moving back toward the main walkway. He had moved past the carts of lettuce and artichokes, around the stands piled high with apples and oranges, and only when he was certain that he had successfully made his escape, did he turn to follow the path back to the quiet Bed and Breakfast where he could hide away from the world.

He had just developed the presence of mind to wonder why Oliver was in the wizarding shops of Inverness, and had begun trying to recall the game schedule for Puddlemere, when yet another reminder of his fame abruptly faced him. As he turned the corner, he bumped into the newsstand, and was presented with his own face staring back at him. It appeared that Witch Weekly had followed up their "Hottest Quidditch Bachelors" issue with another entitled "Britain's Sexiest War Heroes." Harry, of course, was completely unaware of this, and of the fact that they had yet again used him on the cover. He looked at the untainted stack of magazines in mild shock, seeing his own face looking back from the cover, obviously embarrassed by the title of "Sexiest All-Time Hero" flashing beside it in gaudy lettering.

Grateful that he was in such a small town, and not Diagon Alley, he turned quickly on his heel to get away from the crowd that was rushing the newsstand, but made his getaway a moment too late. "Harry Potter! Oh Merlin, it's really you! I can't believe I'm standing in front of Harry Potter! Will you autograph my magazine please, Mr Potter?" A young girl raced towards him anxiously waving her magazine as she squealed in excitement. Harry cringed inwardly, not wanting to cause a scene, but wishing that the gushing girl would go away and leave him alone.

As much as he wanted to say something rude and Apparate away, he stopped as he spied another girl standing near the newsstand. The slightly timid young girl seemed to shy away even further as she saw Harry looking directly at her. He offered a quiet smile in her direction, as he carelessly signed the boisterous girl's magazine with the proffered quill. He was ignoring the nonsense she was babbling – he had heard it all before and had no interest in hearing it all over again.

"So you're going to Hogwarts next year?" he replied mechanically.

"Oh yes! I got my letter a while ago. My parents were so proud. I hope I'm in Slytherin like my Daddy!" she drawled proudly. Harry didn't think the Sorting Hat would argue with her on that wish. She had a face that brought back memories of Pansy Parkinson, that pug faced Slytherin girl from his school year. He had not given Pansy a single thought since leaving school.

"What about your friend over there – the shy one. Is she going to Hogwarts as well?" he indicated at the quiet lass still half hiding behind the newsstand. She turned to look at the girl and a mean sneer crossed her face. Harry had guessed the shy young brunette girl to be about the same age, despite her tiny, waif like frame. The boisterous girl rolled her eyes, but seemed to get a thrill out of having a conversation with Harry Potter. "Oh, she's just nobody. She's probably scared of you. She's scared of everyone." Harry saw immediately what the younger girl was scared of. He had seen it all before – experienced it all before.

Harry walked over to the younger girl. He knelt down before her, and her eyes widened in awe as she saw the most famous wizard alive coming to talk to her. "What's your name?" Harry asked as he pulled out his wand. He momentarily forgot about Oliver as he focused on this innocent young girl. He'd often thought of how odd it must be for a Hogwarts professor to see children of this age enter the school and then watch them leave as young adults seven years later. This girl reminded him so much of himself – the dark hair, the wide bright eyes. Not to mention the bullying friends.

"Magnolia... um, Maggie. Maggie Gadbury, sir," she stumbled over her name and became even more timid in the face of actual conversation.

"Well hello, Maggie. Did you want my autograph as well?" he asked as he glared sideways at the boisterous girl. She had already run back down the street in excitement, ignoring Harry's desire to talk to Maggie. "I don't think your friend would be too fussed to share her autograph with you." He doubted the other girl would even know the meaning of the word share – not if she was anything like his cousin, Dudley.

"Um, no. She's not really my friend... She's my foster parent's daughter. Besides, I don't have any money to buy the magazine." Maggie sounded a little frightened of the other girl, and looked rather forlorn as she eyed the magazine with longing. Harry immediately recognised the signs of someone who had been picked on. He gave his widest smile. This young girl seemed more like him with every passing moment.

He quickly grabbed one of the offending magazines from the newsstand, and murmured an annotare charm, which would allow him to write with his wand.

Harry knew she was beyond awestruck at meeting the wizarding hero. Harry had seen this behaviour before. He was used to dealing with his fans and had seen various personalities in all his meetings, yet for some reason, he felt drawn to Maggie. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but seeing her being treated in a manner similar to that of his own childhood, well, he knew he could at least make someone's day.

"So tell me, Maggie, will you be going to Hogwarts next term?" The girl nodded quietly, her eyes wide, obviously unsure of her ability to speak at the moment.

"There's no need to be nervous, Maggie. I don't bite!" That drew a smile that lit up her whole face. "You'll love it there," Harry continued. "My years at Hogwarts were some of the best times of my life." He touched his wand to the magazine and watched the purple ink flow as he wrote. Maggie, all the best in your wizarding studies. It was lovely meeting you. Harry Potter.

Maggie finally found her voice. "I don't know. I'm scared. Corrine keeps telling me all these horror stories she has heard about Hogwarts. I don't know if I would fit in there. She has so many friends who will be going there as well, and none of them like me," she offered dejectedly. "I'm lucky that I'm even going – my name has been down there since I was little, but my foster parents wouldn't be able to afford to send me there as well as Corrine."

Harry waved the magazine casually, allowing the ink to dry as he regarded the young girl again. He could tell she was nervous, and he sensed the underlying fear of her foster sister. He felt an unexplainable kinship with her and wanted to offer some words of wisdom that would follow her. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything to say, certainly not anything that would have any sort of impact on her.

"I don't think you should worry about whether or not you will be going. If you're name is down to go to Hogwarts, then you will be going. And don't you let Corrine and her friends bother you either, Maggie. Bullies don't get very far in life. She's not worth your time. Don't worry, you'll make your own friends when you get to Hogwarts, and if you want, you don't need to speak to her at all." Harry's voice of experience seemed to put Maggie at ease. If anything, the professors would make sure that any bullying would be quickly nipped in the bud.

Maggie looked at him in mild awe once again as he seemed to provide her with the answer to all of life's problems. But he was Harry Potter, of course, and that was his job. She seemed so tiny – so much smaller than many girls her age, but had a spiritual and magical presence that belied her physical size. Harry could sense the potential within the girl, and he was grateful that he had the opportunity to make her feel good – if only for a short while.

She held the magazine close to her chest, obviously cherishing it already. "Thank you Mr Potter. I'll keep this forever!" Her brilliant smile was infectious, and Harry couldn't help but feel warmed by her innocence and awe.

"You're quite welcome, Maggie," Harry smiled again, before he was distracted by a shining pale scar just visible below the short sleeve of her shirt. There was something about it that drew his attention, something he felt he should know about it. He recognised it as a source of taunting for her bullying foster sister, and for once, he put his fame to good use.

"You know, there are people out there who would help you, Maggie, if you just ask. There is no shame in asking for help. Hogwarts is a wonderful school, but you'll find some children there can be quite cruel for no apparent reason. Don't let them get to you. You're better than that. You are a very special person. No matter what anyone ever says to you, just know that and always be true to what's in your heart. Always remember who you feel connected to, as well. Those are the people you can count on, turn to when you're upset, and rely on when you need help; those are the people that matter. I have a pretty good intuition, and I can tell you are a very special girl. I mean that. The Headmaster or any of the professors would be only too glad to help you."

He wasn't expecting the unshed tears that welled up in her dark blue eyes, nor was he expecting another brilliant smile and a sudden embrace by her tiny little arms. "Thank you Mr Potter. You made me feel really good just now." She sniffled and blinked her eyes quickly before turning to run down the street. Harry watched her go, feeling good, but somehow affected, as if this had been some significant event in his life. As she reached the corner, she turned again to look back at him, smiling and waving before running off.

He had completely forgotten his reason for leaving the produce stand until he turned to go and saw Oliver Wood staring directly at him with a wry smirk on his face. "Oh bollocks!" Without another moment's hesitation, Harry Disapparated directly to the cosy little room he was temporarily calling home.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down, and realise that he hadn't picked up any food at the market. Berating himself for his cowardly exit from Tie Rannick Alley, he spoke with Mrs O'Donnell and informed her that he would be taking advantage of her dinner offer, but would prefer to take it in his room. He was in no mood to deal with the other guests this evening. Why do I let him get to me like that? What is wrong with me that I can't just go do my shopping without having to deal with the crap in my life?

As he later ate the scrumptious bacon sarnie, and the steaming hot vegetable soup, Harry had continued the self depreciating attitude that eventually took over the remainder of the week. It even made him forget about the encounter with the enchanting young girl, Maggie. She didn't forget, though, and somewhere across town, a small girl was remembering the most wonderful moment of her life.

If Draco's first couple of days in Marrakesh had him indulging in a feast of hedonistic desires, then he was not to be disappointed over the next week. At least, he thought he wouldn't be disappointed. He barely had time to think about being disappointed when it came to the explosive sex he was having. But against all the odds, he found that something was still lacking. He couldn't quite place it at first, but by the time he had been in Marrakesh for a week, he had begun to see the pattern that his days were taking, and apart from their sexual liaisons, he found that he had little in common with the talented medi-wizard.

Their nights had been filled with the most intense and indulgent of lovemaking, as Draco discovered the true depths of Jean-Paul's knowledge of the carnal arts. He found himself a mere amateur when it came to long, slow, passionate lovemaking. Jean-Paul was determined that Draco would learn to prolong his pleasure and let it go to a deeper, more spiritual level. Draco couldn't help but think that Jean-Paul seemed a little more preoccupied after he had returned from that first day back at work, but he shook it off as nonsense. Of course Jean-Paul had other things in his life to worry about. Whatever they were, they certainly hadn't affected their lovemaking in any way. He could have only imagined the slightly saddened look he had accidentally caught on the medi-wizard's face. Nevertheless, Jean-Paul was a fine teacher, and Draco absorbed the lessons with aplomb.

Draco was certainly keen for those lessons to continue. Although he was finding it hard to maintain his composure when around Jean-Paul, he was slowly learning to keep his orgasm under reign, and he did indeed find the pleasure in the prolonging of it. With each and every encounter, Draco found that his orgasm would make him pass out from the sheer intensity - each time a vision tempting him with ideas of just how much more intense it could be. However, by the end of the week, these visions were frustrating him, and he wondered when their lovemaking would end in the promised explosion of feelings and emotions that had him on edge at each encounter. Each vision he was granted made him feel he was creeping closer to this ultimate goal, but somehow, he never quite reached that elusive utopia.

This constantly impending goal was one reason why Draco looked forward to his time with Jean-Paul. It certainly made up for the disappointing fact that Jean-Paul spent upward of twelve hours a day at work, with little apology or conversation when they were together. Draco felt selfish as he realised that even though he was on holiday, Jean-Paul had to go to work. He just hadn't expected the man to be gone twelve or more hours of the day, and without even as much as a quick Floo check to see how his guest was doing. After Flooing back at the end of each day, Draco was willing to accept the deep and fiery kisses as apology enough for his long absences, but he made no verbal apologies, beyond that of his first day.

To all intents and purposes, this left Draco to his own devices for the major part of each day. It took him a few days to unwillingly get over his selfish thoughts, and not feel guilty that Jean-Paul spent so much of his day at work. He made best use of his free time wandering the bazaar stalls that littered the square. When he tired of the constant stream of delightful merchandise, he took the opportunity to wander, unhindered by his injured knee. The humidity and heat of the day didn't really bother him, as a number of discreet cooling charms and sun-blocking potions prevented him from being affected by the desert for too long.

Whatever Jean-Paul had done to reduce the pain in Draco's knee, it was still working, but he knew that the fix was only temporary, and the North African heat was thankfully prolonging the effects of the healing. It was nice not to wake up to the constant ache from the cool Paris night. One thing he wasn't looking forward to was the cold damp of the dungeons at Hogwarts. He made a mental note to keep on top of the cold there, as he didn't have plans to be hobbling around the castle in Scotland any more than he had to.

This excessive amount of time alone allowed Draco to dwell on his thoughts. This would normally be dangerous, but with his immediate future already planned, his mind turned to more pressing issues. Like his father's estate. He found it was counter productive to reflect too long on how he had been stupid enough to be embezzled. In hindsight, he could see how they had managed to successfully steal from him. He was a fool to have let it happen in the first place, but now he needed to turn his energies to finding the worthless bastards and showing them just what happens when you piss off a Malfoy. The knowledge that a sect of Neo Death Eaters was on the rise also literally ate away at his fears.

It hadn't really come as a surprise, if he were being honest with himself. After all, dozens of those Death Eaters that he and Severus identified had managed to go underground after the final battle. It was so easy for them to hide, licking their wounds after their Dark Marks disappeared. To be honest, he was surprised it had taken this long for them to regroup. It was unsettling to think they were back, although he doubted their true effectiveness. What worried him was the extent of money that was gone from the estate, and what they could do with such funds. If he were being brutally honest with himself, he was glad for the fact the Bank and the Ministry had identified it before it was too late. Too late for his inheritance, that was. He shuddered at the thought he could have lost everything. As it were, he was already thinking of ways of investing what was left. If he was careful, he could have the fortune back in shape by the time he was forty. That seemed a long time off, but he would just have to be careful.

No problem there. With three years at Hogwarts to look forward to, a small income, and the chateau, I could probably do it. I've managed to live off that stipend. If I can live off that, I can surely live off a paltry apprentice wage. The sums were running around in his head madly. The only obstacle was the possibility that the Ministry could seize the remaining assets, and he could say goodbye to the remainder of his fortune. He vowed to never let that happen. It galled him to think that Weasley, of all people in the wizarding world, was temporarily in charge of the estate, but at least that prat couldn't touch it either.

Draco found small comfort in the certainty of his immediate future. His trip to Marrakesh had helped him to put his thoughts in order, for which he was grateful. Of course, the sex with Jean-Paul was just an added benefit! However, as the week drew to a close, and Jean-Paul continued to spend more and more time at work, he felt a small note of dissatisfaction creep into his thoughts. Why was the man away so long?

He was proud to be Jean-Paul's lover, and wanted the opportunity to show off with the man, preferably in public. He had already visited every merchant in the bazaar, but he had yet to step outside the flat with his lover. Something just wasn't right, and he turned his thoughts to that concern.

Draco returned yet again to one of his favourite merchants at his herb and spice stall. The rich scents of cumin and cinnamon were intoxicating, and Draco was struck with a great idea. He had been carefully buying items to replenish his own potions stores, but had not yet bought any spices for cooking. As he left the stall, he couldn't help but smile with the plan that was forming in his head.

The bazaar stallholders were determined to sell Draco everything from flying carpets, to his own goat. Knowing he neither needed nor wanted such items, he quickly dragged himself away from that end of the bazaar. Even so, he did not leave there unscathed. He managed to get the goat man off his back by purchasing a large chunk of fresh goat's cheese.

Draco wanted to show Jean-Paul his appreciation for the invitation, and felt he could best do that by cooking a romantic dinner for his lover. Perhaps it would allow them an opportunity to talk first, before they got to the other activities.

That's what was bothering Draco – their distinct lack of real conversation. He found it rather odd that they had not managed conversations outside of their lovemaking. How could he learn if he wanted a long term relationship with this man if he didn't know his likes and dislikes? Draco couldn't help but wonder if the man truly was just a sex machine with all that seemingly boundless energy.

With a firm plan in mind, Draco found the sense of unease disappearing. He snapped out of his musing when he realised he was lost. He didn't remember walking down this street before, as the stalls and merchandise seemed new to his eyes. This was definitely a wizarding street, as he spied one merchant brewing something in a cauldron over a magical flame, in full view of everyone. After a few questions, he discovered that this was the wizarding hub of Marrakesh – the equivalent of the Quart du Sorcier in Paris, or Diagon Alley in London.

He marvelled at the quality of the goods on offer – the beautiful cloth and clothing in particular had taken his fancy. He stopped at one stall displaying a variety of ensorcelled silks. The myriad of colours brought back long forgotten memories of his mother. Narcissa had spent hours pouring over the wares of visiting silk merchants when Draco was a boy. His mother had had a keen eye for fine fabric, and Draco remembered her joy at finding some eastern fabrics that shimmered without the aid of magic.

He stopped to place a hand on the fine bolts of the fabric, at a sudden loss for words. He knew his mother would have loved the fine bolt of deep burgundy, with the finest hints of gold shining through. He swallowed back the regret, realising just then how much he missed his mother. Fortunately, the young girl in charge left him to his musings, and did not pester him to make a purchase. It took him a few minutes to realise he was running his hands through a display of fine silk scarves, the fabric the same as that in the bolt of cloth. Impulsively, he bought one of the scarves. He had no idea what he was going to do with it, just that it was beautiful, and it reminded him of a different time, a time he could never go back to. But just for a moment, he could remember. It never crossed his mind that the scarf was red and gold - the loathsome colours of the Gryffindor lion.

He quickly snapped himself out of his maudlin thoughts as he moved further down the street. One wizard was quietly sitting back as he let his goods speak for themselves. Always one for fine craftsmanship, Draco immediately noticed the fine quality of the leatherwork before him. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact the merchant was modelling a pair of the dragonhide trousers that he found so beautiful. Within moments, his notion to save money was thrown away as he also found himself the owner of the finest dragonhide trousers he had ever laid eyes upon. These were made from the soft hide from the dragon's underbelly. The soft, suede-like feel to the fabric made them truly the most comfortable trousers he had ever worn, even more comfortable than his Muggle jeans. The attending wizard performed a discreet fitting charm to ensure they fit Draco perfectly.

It was a beaming Draco that returned to the flat after his day of shopping, fully satisfied from his retail therapy. He promised himself that he would return to that street again, even though he found it hard to get away from the potions maker. You could take Draco away from his work, but it seemed that no matter where in the world he was, he truly was a Potions master at heart.

Draco should have realised his plan to cook a surprise romantic dinner was not his most ingenious idea. He was so caught up in the moment, and his enjoyment in the preparation of the foods (not to mention the anticipation of the remainder of the evening), he failed to remember the fact Jean-Paul rarely came home at the same time. It was a small point, but Draco was confident the tantalising tastes and smells coming from the under utilised kitchen would tempt him home.

Draco pulled out the bottle of red wine. Some things should not be left to magic, and he popped the cork, allowing it to breathe, although the sumptuous food was waiting under a warming charm. The room was imbued with the scent of lemons, paprika and cumin, all blended together with the lamb in mouth watering anticipation.

Dozens of candles had been strategically levitated and now hovered mid air around the room in an apparent haphazard manner. Draco was also meticulous in his housekeeping, scattering the cushions around the room in an equally disorganised manner. Only when he felt everything was perfect, did he sit back and await the arrival of Jean-Paul.

Sunday morning arrived with a beatific pink and orange sunrise. Spring birds were fluttering about, and the smell of magnolias and crocus blooms was hanging heavily in the air. Stepping onto the private balcony from his room, Harry realised he hadn't been outside since his sighting of Oliver at the shops. He mentally chided himself for taking the hermit's way, and decided that he would need to get back to Hogwarts soon. He was supposed to be rebuilding the lessons of control taught to him by the Order, not running away from it all like a spineless wonder. He knew the Order could offer him much more help if he were actually back at the school. I'm such a git for letting my hormones run wild and upsetting Remus. I should head back in the morning, he thought. For now, though, I'll just see what I can do on my own. He dressed quickly and went out to a quiet place in the garden while the sun was still low on the horizon.

Breathing deeply, Harry began the nearly forgotten forms of his old meditations. The crisp air of the spring morning filled his lungs as he slowly regained his focus and control. It felt good to be returning to his T'ai Chi forms, and he wondered why he had ever given up such a wonderful form of meditation. He felt more grounded than he had in a long while. Things might be a little out of control in some areas of his life, but at least he was regaining control over himself. He was just beginning to feel confident about his meditation, and began to compare his emotions with those of the past few weeks. In doing so, he allowed his worries to re-enter his thoughts. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as calm and tranquil as he had first thought, and he overbalanced, losing his rhythm and thus his focus on the exercise. Guess it isn't as easy as I remember, he thought reluctantly. He jumped around a moment in a jittery effort to clear his mind of worry, before abruptly stopping. Looking down, he realised that he was wearing shoes, a fact which likely played a part in his lack of grounding. He toed off the worn trainers, pulled off his socks and firmly planted his bare feet on the ground, relishing the feel of the dew-damp grass and the surge of the earth's energy as he directed his focus toward the new sensation. Closing his eyes, he drew a slow, deep breath, deliberately controlling the speed, keeping his subsequent breaths even and steady. He drew on the energy of the earth below him, the air around him and the magic within him, seeking that sense of stability he needed.

Finally beginning to feel centred again, Harry soon focused on his chi, and started the forms again, letting the tension abate from his shoulders and back. With each step of his feet and each fluid movement of his hands, he moved to a deeper meditative state. Through his closed eyelids, he could see the shadows as his hands moved in front of the rising sun, weaving the familiar intricate patterns in the air. When he finished, he allowed himself a long, languid stretch and sat on the cool grass, his eyes closed. He felt ready to deal with his deepest concerns. No doubt the clarity and calmness of his exercise might help him find solutions. Okay, so I don't want to spend another day at my job, not now that I truly know what they think of me. What career choices do I have? Dark Lord Slayer? Wonder if Buffy could use my services? What other skills do I have? Harry would lose focus whenever he thought about his future direction. He was already working on one of his other concerns – his power outbursts. It would be slow going, but he could not allow himself to get angry or upset. He hoped that soon he could overcome his loss of control, and once again be in command of his magic.

But first we need to capture those Neo Death Eaters. Will they expect me to be the one to do it? Merlin, I hope not. I'm tired of all that – so tired, and so bloody horny, I could shag the next bloke who comes along, whoever he is. He pushed aside this train of thought, lest it pull him away from the centred stated he'd worked so hard for, but knew that he would eventually have to relieve his other tensions, just how, and whom with, were two questions he had yet to decide.

A rousing kiss to the lips woke Draco, who momentarily felt disoriented. The mild headache told him he had once again slept in an awkward position. Raising his head, he realised that he had fallen asleep on the cushions in the lounge room. He didn't remember drinking the wine, but he was now hugging the empty bottle close, and the fuzz of a hangover was indeed hovering on the edges of his consciousness. All his thought processes were focussed on the soft, warm tongue invading his mouth in a deeply apologetic kiss.

Only then did he realise the time. He had been frantic with worry for Jean-Paul when he had not returned. After a couple of drinks, his worry had turned to concern, then anger.

"You waited up for me?" Jean-Paul asked with a slight hint of apology in his voice. Draco could see the first signs of dawn as he looked out the window. Was he only returning home now?

Draco wanted to be angry with him for ruining his surprise, but he was too befuddled, and was too preoccupied with the talented lips performing their own apology.

"I wanted... to thank you... but... you never... came home." Caught between sleep, and too much wine, and the breathtaking lips that were now making their way to that spot behind his ear, Draco barely managed to speak.

Jean-Paul pulled away, a look of regret on his face. "I'm sorry, but work is frantic. I'm such a git, I should have let you know. I just lose all track of time, and I can't come home, not when I'm needed there. You get some sleep. I need a shower. I'll meet you in bed."

Draco was about to protest, but Jean-Paul turned, a wry grin on his face. "I guess I have to make it up to you somehow," the raised eyebrow told Draco all he needed to know. Still a little groggy from the wine, his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep before Jean-Paul came out of the shower.

When he finally awoke, their lovemaking was extreme; Draco's heightened senses shook with pure pleasure as the magic pulsed through his body after his climax. Again his senses were brought to new heights, his sense of smell so keen as the magic pulsed through every inch of his skin.

Jean-Paul was apologetic, and made sure that Draco knew that. He had forgiven Jean-Paul for his distractions – he could not deny the man his work. Again he awaited the overwhelming and intense pleasure his visions offered, but yet again their coupling fell just short of the extreme intensity promised. He was certainly not left wanting, yet that all encompassing sense of overwhelming satisfaction was just missing.

It didn't surprise him that he was alone when he awoke mid morning, but he didn't feel so bad about it. He didn't attempt to cook dinner again, but was surprised to find that Jean-Paul stepped out and came home with a sumptuous feast, one that ended in more apologies.

Draco's days swung from polar extremes. From the complete intimacy of Jean-Paul's touch, he went to the many hours of solitude and loneliness during the daylight hours. He felt it balanced out somewhat, but was grateful for the contact with Flash when it was time for their chat.

So as promised, no talk about me tonight. How did your meeting go the other week? You were looking at a new job.

It felt good to talk to someone about normal things, and he realised just how much he looked forward to their regular chats. It was the highlight of his day – his weekend, actually.

Ever heard the phrase "to hell in a hand basket"? Ah, I see. It seems like we share more things in common than I first thought – including bad weeks. Do you want to elaborate, if I may ask? Well, in short, I was so excited and eager about my ideas and plans for the departments, and went through the ranks just as I was supposed to. Finally, I met with the Powers that Be – they're the only people who could approve my job change request. Unfortunately, the gentleman I met with has issues – he thinks I need to be kept in my place. He seems to get off on holding some sort of control over me. I honestly believe he wants to feel that he has power over me because of that aforementioned notoriety. He reminds me of a man who used to hate me because he hated my father. Only this colleague is a git, first class, and the other man eventually got over it when he saw I wasn't my father. I think this bloke was feeling a little inferior and needed to flex his 'wand' muscles. Guess he felt it made him more of a man to do so. Ah, someone else who has preconceived ideas about you? I know the type – particularly those that try to judge you because of your father. Sorry to hear that you have someone like that as one of your bosses. They are usually the ones with the least talent, and he's probably jealous of the fact you have a better job than he does. There's a cretin at the university like that. Horrid man, and I am glad I no longer have to deal with him. So I take it he didn't even listen to your ideas? No. Unfortunately he's the top of the line. That's not good. What do you plan to do now? Can you talk to anyone else? The only thing to do now is stay where I am, and no doubt be a target for anything he wants to throw my way. Either that, or find a completely new job, as it appears I no longer have the option of moving up in this department. I haven't decided exactly what to do now, but I know I'm not staying there any longer than I have to. I had this ghastly dream that I was trapped in that place twenty years from now and there weren't even any windows and doors. That's horrible – both the reality and your nightmare. I was having a few nightmares before I came to Marrakesh, but luckily, I can't remember much about them. Have you actively started to look for another job yet? I really should have checked the astrology charts for the past couple of weeks. No doubt they would have told Leos and Virgos they were going to have a horrid week. Not that I hold much with divination, although astrology seems to have some accuracy. It seems now that changes are afoot for the both of us. Well, I'm in desperate need of a few changes. Just a few days ago I was stopped in the street because of my unwanted notoriety, and it wasn't actually an unpleasant encounter, until I looked up as the young girl walked away, and saw that Ollie was standing just across the street, watching me. I'm such a coward that I Disapparated immediately and I've been beating myself up for it all weekend. Still, talking to you helps. It's nice to know that you won't be falling back on what you've heard of me or what you think you know based on rumours. Don't think yourself a coward. Sometimes removing ourselves from a situation is the best course of action. I suppose. It's just that I've removed myself from everything since then. I've only just realised this morning that I've been holed up in here for days now, avoiding the real world and the people that populate it. That can't be good, Flash. It's one thing to want to be in a place and have your quiet time, but something totally different when you remove yourself totally. I take it you aren't doing this by choice? You seem quite down about that. It seems a rather radical and desperate way to avoid the press. I should know. I've been there and done that to. I ran away from it all, but I didn't hole myself up over it. I never once regretted it. You are really still avoiding my question about Ollie. You say you Disapparated for feeling cowardly. Did he say something to you? No. Actually I feel cowardly for Disapparating. He didn't have the time to say anything. I saw him first, and was trying to quietly leave the shops before he noticed me, but this little girl stopped me. She distracted me, actually. In retrospect, there was something about her... I can't put my finger on it, but anyway, by the time she walked away I had forgotten Ollie was there. It wasn't until then that I looked up and saw him staring at me. I left before he could approach me or speak. And then, when I got back here, I realised just how cowardly I had been, and I've been sitting here ever since, thinking of how much I don't want to be around people. I feel stupid. And then I feel stupider for feeling stupid. It's become a cycle now. Well you can stop feeling stupid right now. Okay? I know I would love to be able to say things to people on cue, but you sometimes need time to take stock of it all. And that doesn't mean time to beat yourself over the head about it. Why should you feel bad for going? It wasn't like you were planning on meeting him. What would you have said to him anyway? Would it have made you feel better if you had talked to him? I don't know. At least I wouldn't feel like I ran away from it. At first I wasn't thinking about it, I guess I've just been wallowing in self pity since then. Now, though, I'm disappointed in myself because I ran away... Merlin's Bunny Slippers, with what I've done with the war and all, I shouldn't be afraid of a confrontation with an old lover. You really shouldn't be afraid of anyone, or anything. You should be out there showing Ollie that you have moved on, that you don't need him or his approval. In fact, you should just go out there and forget about everyone's approval. I bet those who think they know you all suspect you to behave a particular way. Perhaps it's time to show them you aren't afraid - of anyone. Turn the tables on them and surprise everyone. I had a few dalliances with the media in the past, and I gave up caring about what they thought a long time ago. Still, people will always think the best, or worst of you, no matter what the tabloids say. So I say stop wallowing, and don't be afraid to be yourself. Isn't that what you wanted when you left Ollie? To find yourself? To be yourself? And you know, it just occurred to me, that advice is brilliant, I might even take it upon myself to follow it... See, that's why I like talking to you so much. You don't judge me, and I don't judge you, yet we both desire the same things in life. Yes, of course, you're right. I do want to find myself, and be myself, and be happy with myself. Your advice is always brilliant and it's quite refreshing to not be judged. Of course, one other thing that's been bothering me about that sighting was how much I wanted to bugger him into the street! My hormones have been raging lately, and I swear I don't know what to do with myself. If I wank any more, my arm will cramp up. Sorry, you didn't need to know that, but I've been having more than a few sexual thoughts and fantasies lately. I would be worried about you if you didn't fancy wanking yourself silly. It's one thing to choose to be alone. It's something totally different if you choose not to find relaxation in the one thing we all know we do best. I did remind you that there are spells to assist with that, didn't I? There's no need to let your arm fall off. Goodness knows, it needs to relax too. I would find it strange if you weren't suffering the usual excess fantasies now that you are alone. We always want more, but once we lose what we have, it puts lots of other things into perspective. Yes, you're right again. So tell me, just how did you get to be so brilliant? No wonder you're so keen to find out what Jean-Paul and I have been up to. How did I get to be so brilliant? Well, I keep up my correspondence, and I have some good friends. And mentors... I still can't believe how stupid I was to even think he was you! I mean, I have always thought of him as a fatherly figure. Oh, I'm sure it was just an odd coincidence. You said some of our statements were similar? I'm certainly not old enough to be a father figure, especially to you! And I suppose, if you have a history of dealing with people who judge you based on your relative 'fame' then it would be easy to equate an oblivious stranger with a long time friend, because neither of us would be adhering to those preconceived notions of you. I hate to admit I had a bad feeling about my meetings last week, and I was right. It seems I have some latent divinatory talent, although it rarely seems to give me any good news. As a result of that meeting, I'll also be making changes once I return home. Have you already decided on what changes you are going to make? I know you were worried about finishing your school work. You haven't really mentioned much about your week, other than the fact your meetings didn't go according to plan, and you had a little too much firewhisky, and you unwisely started to work under the influence. Well, as luck would have it, my meeting last Monday had a very unexpected outcome. I was all ready to pack up and quit my studies because of it. But now, it seems my mentor has come to my rescue. In the absence of my father, he took it upon himself to pay out my debts. It looks like I'll be working for him when I get back from Marrakesh. I owe him that much, no matter how much I was ashamed and embarrassed that he would do that for me. Still, it has been a rather shocking blow to my pride. I shouldn't complain. I don't want to be accused of being ungrateful. I'm not, really. I just have to learn that life isn't always going to present me with roses. Sometimes I have to negotiate the thorns along the way. He's going to let me continue with my research, so I have nothing to complain about – nothing at all. It's good to see that someone is taking care of you when you least expect it, even if it isn't a parent. You are lucky to have someone like your mentor to watch over you. You know, as you were writing, I decided to check with the I Ching – the only form of divination that seems to be accurate for me. I just threw the coins, and it came up with the 8th hexagram - Alliance. Alliance says "Mutual support. Discard old ideas and find new ways to regroup your affairs. Change must come now". That's uncanny. You sure you don't have any divinatory talent? I guess that means you should be seeking an alliance with someone – someone who will allow you to prove your skills and overcome any of those nasty preconceptions. Well my divination professor never seemed to think I had talent, but then, I tended to sleep in that class. I can't think of anyone else who could presently use my skills, although I'll keep my eyes open for any interesting openings. I don't expect much – there isn't a lot of diversity in my field. No one needs me now that the war is over. I've served my main purpose, at least, that's the way the big boss puts it. I guess with the distinct lack of active Death Eaters around, my job has become quite redundant, but you would think after a couple of years there, they would know that I am capable of more and encourage me to do more, rather than pigeonhole me as some washed up war relic. Sorry, I just get so angry when I think about it, and about them. Perhaps this hexagram was meant for you, since I don't see any major changes coming up, nor do I know anything about forming an alliance with anyone. This work for my mentor means we have formed an alliance – of sorts – even if I do have to move from home to work with him. What do you mean 'No one needs you?' How do you know? Have you asked? Isn't there anything else you'd like to do? Anything else up your sleeve that you would like to try? Surely there are others who could use your expertise. Hmmm, I can't really think of anything else I'd like to try. I mean, I've really enjoyed the photography since I picked up that hobby, but I can't see myself making a living at it. I'm not the type that could go around taking pictures of folks for money. Photographers can be rather intrusive. Damn paparazzi. I've never thought about what I would do after the war, so I don't know what other options there might be available to me. So you are going to have to leave Paris to work for your mentor? Alas, yes, I'll have to leave Paris behind for a while. But it's not forever. I'll be back here – er, there, before you know it. I'm honestly not looking forward to the colder climate up north. I didn't mean to necessarily look at your hobbies when you try a new job. You surely have plenty of wonderful skills and abilities. You told me you enjoy your job, only your bosses can't really see it. Is it possible to offer your services to someone else? I know exactly what you mean about the war. I don't think any of us really thought about what we would do afterwards. I didn't think I'd end up in Paris, but well, I guess I was just glad to be alive. To tell you the truth, I never much thought I would have an 'afterwards.' I've thought of offering my 'services' somewhere else (can't help the naughty thoughts that come along with that phrase – that's a career change I'd not thought of making. I certainly have skills in that area), but I think finding something like that is likely to take time. There are only so many places... well, you get the idea. I'll be checking into it, though. If I find something, and especially if I'm hired for it, you'll be the third to know - after myself, and the person who hires me. I'm flattered that you'd consider telling me first. And yes, as soon as I wrote that about your services, I realised just how seedy it sounded. I guess my mind has been on other things the past week, and I'm finding it hard to think of much without adding the sexual innuendo. Well, since that's what's on your mind, and you've been teasingly hinting at details to come, why don't you fill me in now? You were such a tease last week… Ooh, you wicked, wicked man. I might not tell you, but then you'd probably call me a tease, and I'm certainly not that. Not a tease? I beg to differ. I've been sitting here waiting for you to tell me since last week! Well let's just say that I had every intention of taking things slowly with Jean-Paul. Seems that certain parts of my anatomy had other ideas, and when they became interested in proceedings, well, they were certainly filled in. But... I don't know. It really wasn't what I expected... Oh? Trouble in paradise? Already? No, not trouble. I just... well, it's hard to put my finger on it, but he's been going to work every day, and leaving me alone. He's away more than he's here, and I've spent more time alone than with him. Perhaps I'm just being selfish. No, I don't think you are. If I had invited someone to visit me, I'd certainly make sure I was looking after them as much as possible. Oh, he's treating me wonderfully, I can't complain. He did apologise (profusely). I think I'm just a little lonely, and after not seeing him for a large part of the day - I think I miss him. I think perhaps I'm smitten. It's unhealthy to want to be with someone so much – isn't it? No, it's not unhealthy. Why don't you talk to him? Why not go to work with him for the day, see what he does. Alleviate your fears.

Draco sat back and realised what a brilliant idea that was. The man was dedicated to his work, surely he would be receptive if Draco came and watched, or even worked beside him.

That's a great idea. See, I knew I kept you around for some reason. What about you, how are your prospects looking at present? Well, like I said, I'm in a state of constant desire. I've been teetering on the edge of a cliff and all that lies below that cliff is pure lust. Did I mention the friend I almost propositioned? No... Well, suffice to say that I've been having these strange moods, that even an empty suit of armour looks good enough to shag right about now, and well, let's just say that I might have said more than I should have to a very old family friend. A very sexy friend. But he is someone who, until recently, I never thought about in that way. Really? And what did he say to that? Well, he had asked if he could help me out - said I seemed distracted or upset. I had to explain to him that I've been sexually frustrated for a while and asked if he was offering to help with that. We had a nice laugh about it and left it at that, but I tell you... I would have done it in a heartbeat, done him in a heartbeat, if not for extenuating circumstances. He's been avoiding me ever since, and the last time we spoke it was very uncomfortable. But I have to say, the way I'm feeling right now, I'm sorely tempted to Floo over there to ask him exactly how he feels, because I really need to let off some steam. I've known him for so long, yet I feel an overwhelming desire to shag him senseless. I don't know why I've suddenly had this urge overcome me, but I'm going to have to take action soon. And it's not helping me any that you aren't telling me any of those juicy details you promised. I'm so frustrated... about that, and about the fact I'm back to work soon. As it is, I don't think I've looked less forward to something ever before. Not even the war. You were right, I am going to have to look for some new direction in my career, and I think the sooner, the better. Sorry about the lack of details, I guess I'm still trying to come to terms with how overwhelmingly amazing I feel. I can barely put it into words, but I think from that you can guess how I feel? Sorry to hear about work, but at least you know what you want to do, and you're prepared to go after something new. Okay, I guess I shouldn't tease you any longer. I'll give you all the details. About time! Have you ever had a sensual massage, one that has just made you fully aroused without even being touched? Jean-Paul's massage was supposed to help release my tension and help the poison out of my system after my illness, but he kneaded and bled all the tension away to a point where sensuality overtook it, and before I knew it, I just burst from the sheer feel of his hands on my skin – and he never touched any of my intimate parts. Either he has an amazingly magical touch, or my whole body is just one huge erogenous zone... which it never has been before. I have discovered I certainly have a thing for hands. Hands huh? I can't say I have had such a decadent pleasure as Jean-Paul, but I recall Charlie's hands in soft leather Quidditch gloves did something very similar, although there was other stimulus in that encounter. It was truly incredible. I never thought I'd feel anything like that in my life. Of course, now that I've managed to experience more than just his wonderful hands, I can proudly say that even though I've not seen much of Marrakesh yet, I've managed to closely study the various carved furnishings, and in particular, the ancient Berber carpets and wall hangings. They are quite... stunning. I'm sitting gingerly on the edge of my seat in anticipation of more to come. But you didn't need that much detail did you? No, do go on, you've painted a rather vivid picture for me. You're becoming an expert at close scrutiny of the carpets. Tell me, what's the temperature like there? Well, it's steamy and hot. Very hot. Being with Jean-Paul seems right. I confess to throwing all my good intentioned resolutions about sex out the window, but then again Jean-Paul believes that holding such feelings in isn't good for you. It really wasn't the best thing for me to do – keeping it all in like that. Perhaps you shouldn't hold it in either. If I were you, I'd grab the next bloke that takes your fancy and shag him rotten into the first solid surface you can find... or perhaps you'd prefer it if he shagged you senseless into the bedclothes? Sorry, I really shouldn't be asking such personal questions about you, but despite all this, I really don't know everything about you. It's not like I know you personally. Although I admit that I sometimes find myself wondering about you and your tastes at the oddest times. For example, you once mentioned that you like the feel of silk as it passes across your skin. Would that be a finely woven silk shirt as it rubs across your chest, or a coarse Thai silk that can be quite arousing against your nipples on a warm day. Perhaps you would rather enjoy the feel of the silk as it is bound tightly against your wrists, or as it is passed ever so lightly over that soft skin of your intimate body parts? Now I really shouldn't have written any of that, but I have been frightfully curious, and in my current mood, well, this quill has a mind of its own. No apologies are necessary, Luc. After all, I've been hinting that I wanted to hear all the details of your encounter with Jean-Paul, so your questions are not inappropriate. I think you might be right about grabbing the next man that takes my fancy. With the moods I've had lately, I would vote first for shagging him into a nice solid wall or something, and then take it to the bed (if we could make it that far) and let him shag me senseless. As for the silk - yes, the silk shirts against my skin feel wonderful, and I've really enjoyed the couple of garments I bought myself on my recent holiday. The idea of silk wrapped tightly around my wrists, holding me down, making me just a little bit helpless and vulnerable to whomever is there... well, suffice to say that the mere thought results in a slight... enlargement... of those 'intimate body parts' over which to brush more silk. I don't know why I've been riding such a tide of lustful thoughts lately (perhaps it's because I've been alone), but it seems I'm noticing the sex appeal of people I never would have thought about before. Okay, that's not entirely true. I'd thought about them before, just not this intently. You, know, it's quite uncanny that we both seem to be seeking the same things in life. I want acceptance for who I am, not for who I was born to. I want to find a love that will last a lifetime with someone who completes me. Sometimes I know that there is another part to me out there - someone who will complement me in the parts of me that are lacking - a bit like Yin and Yang. Now there I go spouting all that new aged stuff that Jean-Paul has been going on about. I don't know that I would say things are looking up. I'm feeling a desperate need for a good, hard shag, but still feel a little like I'm not supposed to, like it would be wrong of me for some reason. I know exactly what you mean about the Yin and Yang. You know, the Celts have a theory about soul groups – ever heard of it? No, I can't say I have. Well, I think they call it "Anam Cara" and it is basically the idea that we all have a group of people, or souls, that we travel with throughout our lives. This group might consist of family, friends, mates, and children, even enemies. Those who affect us, touch us, and shape us, those who love us, teach us, and help us. And of these people, any one soul might be your mother one time and your son in the next life and your closest friend another. I'm beginning to think that perhaps if I find more of the members of my soul group, I'll find that perfect love - that person who will complement me and make everything fit just right. You know, that is quite profound. I've not heard of anything like that before. Although I have to laugh at the idea that even our enemies could be a member of our soul group. You know, you always seem to cheer me up. I can't believe I ever thought you were my mentor. I am so glad we decided to have these regular chats. I look forward to them every week. You help me put things into perspective, and to focus on what is really important. I honestly don't know if I have a soul group. Thanks to you, I've managed to make some friends, including yourself. I guess one day I'll know, won't I? You've got me wondering now if Jean-Paul is a part of that soul group. You know, I was just wondering if you were a part of mine.

Harry paused at that, hoping against hope that he hadn't actually written it. But after closing his eyes a moment, and whispering a silent prayer, he realised he had indeed shared that very private thought with Luc.

Draco read the statement twice, verifying that Flash had really said such an intimate thing. He was shocked. There was no other word for it. Despite all their conversations and the obvious connection they had, he couldn't believe the other wizard would include him in such a deeply personal and significant category. Upon giving it a moment's more thought, he realised that he was flattered by the high regard Flash obviously held him in. Draco had never had the opportunity to make a connection like that, and would have considered Emmaline and possibly Severus to be the closest people in his life. However, he hadn't imagined that anyone would place quite that sort of value on his friendship.

Harry felt his cheeks colour with embarrassment and wished there were some way he could take the words back. It didn't particularly make him feel any better to realise that Luc hadn't responded yet.

Oh? Well... I'm truly flattered.

Draco thought about it a moment longer, and realised that he had subconsciously placed Flash in a similar light, acknowledging a connection between them and placing an unprecedented significance on their friendship.

You know, I find it so easy to talk to you, we must be... why else would I feel so drawn to you? I don't even know you - apart from a few intimate details. Hell, I've told you things I'd not tell anyone, not even my lovers, and I can't believe I've done that. Not that I want to change it either. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I was just... well, you know how these things work. I swear sometimes it almost feels like something else is controlling the quill. I mean, yes, I feel drawn to you as well, and, it's so easy to talk to you - when I'm not making an idiot of myself like now - and, well, I don't know why you'd be flattered. I'm surprised you're not running into hiding now. Well, I did feel like running when I thought I knew you. I think the magic in this journal not only draws out things you are hiding, but it prevents you from lying - even to yourself – which I'll confess makes me feel like a bit of a bumbling fool at times. Have you managed to find out any more about these journals? I must admit that every time I think about investigating them, I get distracted or sidetracked... I wonder if the magic inside them makes me do that? That's an interesting thought. I've considered the same thing, but never acted on it. You are by no means either bumbling or a fool, though. You are intuitive and you seem to know what you're talking about. I've thought about the magic in these journals, how I feel compelled to say things I don't think I should say. Things I wouldn't actually verbalise because of my insecurities, or my expectations. I think that's the part where they prevent me from lying. Now that you mention it, though, I can think of times, like just now, when I've said things I didn't realise I was thinking until after I saw it written down. Things that I wouldn't normally acknowledge, because if I don't acknowledge them, they don't become 'real'. That's probably where it keeps me from lying to myself. You know that when I first read your words, I normally would have just ignored them, or thrown the journal away. This book literally leapt out of a shelf at me, and I can't remember why I felt the need to respond. I'm just glad I did. You've helped me through some rough patches in the past few months, and made me think before I act, something I have needed to do on many occasions in my personal life. This is all coming back to something I mentioned earlier (probably because it has been on my brain all week) I find it so easy to talk to you. We have to be part of the same soul group, come to think of it. So do we shag now, or shag later? Sorry, one track mind again. The mind was thinking of Jean-Paul. He's at work - again, and I guess after being so intimate with him these past days, my body is thinking along very narrow lines. I really need to get laid, again. Sorry for taking it out on you. I know you wanted details, but I'm sure that's too much, especially since you aren't getting any. One of these days I'm going to say something that will really offend you, and you'll run and hide... You know, I don't think you could offend me. I mean, I've never even hinted to anyone else about my recently discovered interests in voyeurism, bondage and the like. The comments I've made to you - if they didn't scare you off they should have clued you in to the limits I'm comfortable with. Perhaps we're both so used to the closer boundaries we have in our face to face relationships that we don't realise we've both extended those boundaries with each other? Shagging - now or later? Well, I must admit I'd be tempted to say now and ask for your Floo address if I weren't afraid it would ruin a great friendship. Of course, considering that you're a guest of Jean-Paul's, it might be better to give you my Floo address, unless we were going to ask him to come along for the ride... I completely understand the need to get laid. I think part of my problem has been these dreams I've been having. They're very strange and there are parts I don't remember, but I'm always left... wanting. Oh, you did mention a little about your dreams. So they have an erotic component as well? As I said before, I wish I could remember mine. Then again, I woke up terrified from my last one, so perhaps I'm better off not knowing. I've never been one to remember dreams. I'm glad I won't offend. Just let me know if you feel uncomfortable, and I'll step back. I must confess to never having had anyone to talk to about some of my deepest desires. You should consider yourself lucky that you are privy to them. As for bondage and voyeurism, well, I can say that you have certainly given me some suggestions for when Jean-Paul gets home. You know, I'm almost tempted to invite you here and ask Jean-Paul if he's up for a threesome. Could get interesting. Then again, I don't know if I can share. I'm not good at that sort of thing. As for your Floo address, it's too cold in England; I think I'm preferring this north African heat. You don't think we could create enough heat of our own? I have no doubt there would be plenty of friction... or we could use a warming charm if things got a little frosty. As I say, there are spells for most things. But tell me, I found myself wondering this the other day. I consider you the Muggle expert (alas, the only wizard I know who has any accurate information about them), so tell me... Yes, Muggles have sex in the same manner as wizards. Insert tab a into slot b. Repeatedly... Ha ha ha. I'm quite aware of that fact, despite not having partaken of any of those pleasures with Muggles. I just found that I was suddenly insatiably curious about certain Muggle things (all thanks to you – of course). Tell me, what works better, Muggle lubricants, or wizard made potions? Or would you prefer the spells? I only ask as I'm feeling a little adventurous in that manner, and Jean-Paul has plenty of contact with Muggles. Hmmm, I haven't had much opportunity to use the Muggle lubricants, but on the few occasions, they did the job. Spells are all right, but seem somewhat impersonal to me. I don't mind them for a good hard fuck when there's nothing else around, but when I'm taking my time and trying to be intimate with someone, I usually prefer the potions. That is, if you've got some that were made properly by someone who knew what they were doing. You would probably have an upper hand in that, being able to mix them yourself. Lubricating potions offer a more personal feel to sex, you know - the hands on approach and all... and when compared to Muggle lubricants, they're just nicer - a little more viscous. But have you ever had sex with a Muggle? Another personal question, I'm just curious now, now that my one track mind is hurtling down the rails at breakneck speed. I've never really discussed these things with another man. I mean, it's hard to discuss such topics with a lover when he has his mouth on places that prevent you from thinking coherently for hours at a time. Yes, I've had sex with a Muggle, but only on a couple of occasions, and yes, I agree. I don't think I ever truly discussed things, even with Ollie. Guess you could chalk up another first for our discussions. But back to the Muggle sex thing, that was when I had my experiences with general Muggle lube. Not the best stuff, but Muggles tend to look at you funny if you point a wooden stick at your genitalia or their bum and start muttering under your breath. That image you just gave me is too priceless for words. Yes, I do know how to make a lubricant or two, and yes, I have been known to make them. There's a couple I know of that are quite hard to make, but when done properly, and simmered long enough, they give you the greatest pleasure. A bit like Tantric Sex, to be honest. Tantric Sex? I've heard of that before, but don't know what it entails. You know, talking to you, I am beginning to think my sex life has been rather vanilla flavoured and dull. I'm sure it's not that dull, Flash. My own introduction to male sex was not what you would call 'orthodox', and I certainly have been exposed to many extremes. There are times I just wish for a simple shag where we both get off as quickly and as often as possible. None of this elaborate stuff. Although, if Jean-Paul is to be believed, this Tantric Sex is the most erotic form of lovemaking there is. I'm still checking his credentials on that score; after all, he is trying to teach me the finer points of the whole business (hence the reason why I still haven't seen much of Marrakesh). I don't think I'm very good at it. It supposedly heightens your pleasure as you learn to prolong your orgasm, channelling it so that it becomes an even better, full body orgasm on the conscious and unconscious levels. It's all about the lovemaking, and prolonging it as you revere your partner. It's the prolonging part I'm having trouble with. It all sounds grand, and I can feel that there is potential for the most wonderful emotional and physical release but when I reach a certain point, well, I just have to let it all out. Maybe with enough practice with Jean-Paul, I could prolong it for days, as he's suggested. It's all about learning control.

Harry snorted as he read Luc's poignant words. Well I certainly need to learn control. Tantric sex, hmmm, sure sounds more interesting than some of the other exercises I need to do to keep my power from leaking. Now all I have to do is find someone who'll be willing to help me learn. What a pity Luc is so far away. He was intrigued by the concept of learning control along with sex. Hey, if it works, who am I to argue? I could sure use some relief in both ways right now.

Learning control, eh? Does Jean-Paul have any specific techniques for teaching the control aspect of it? Well, I must confess that Jean-Paul has only begun to show me what is involved, but he has suggested perhaps that meditation might help. He's a firm believer in all that new age stuff, and if you were to look around this flat, you would find that not surprising, as his taste in furnishings is rather... bohemian. It's been a long time since I've partaken of sexual control games, but unlike my ancient history, this is all about internal restraint and prolonging the pleasure and heightening the anticipation of orgasm. Still, it would be much easier to achieve that with some form of external restraints...

Harry raised an eyebrow at the thought of sexual restraints. His mind had certainly been on one track all evening, and Luc was only adding more fuel to the fire of his own incessantly Gryffindorish curiosity. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get too nosy. And he was, the words slipping out of the end of his quill before he realised.

Restraints? What, you mean like accessories? Like what? - sorry, my turn at being nosy now - you don't have to answer that if you don't want to. Surely you've tried accessorising before?

Or perhaps I'm the only perverted one here, Draco thought. Or perhaps I'm just itching for Jean-Paul to come home. Well, rest assured now, this is definitely not Severus I'm talking to.

Not really, I'm afraid. As I said, I've only just recently discovered that I do quite like the thought of being tied up, and the idea of watching someone else... well, yes, I'll admit that I am unashamedly a voyeur. Now if only someone will let me watch. You say you have experience with all types of accessories? Yes, but I didn't necessarily find them all appealing. Some were quite ruthless, and too close to torture for my liking. I suggest you stick with your silk scarves for a while. If you're looking for something to restrain yourself from peaking early, – a firmly spelled silk scarf could do the trick for you... I haven't noticed any accessories around Jean-Paul's flat. Perhaps I could encourage him to use a scarf... or a tie... Now I really wish he would be home soon. You'll know if I suddenly vanish that I've jumped him the moment he's out of the Floo.

And it wouldn't be a moment too soon. All this talk of sex and the sometimes necessary accoutrements had Draco writhing in anticipation of Jean-Paul's return. He would literally leap up to greet the man the minute he stepped foot back in the flat.

I'll keep your advice in mind while I'm sitting here all alone. You know, I'm seriously thinking about that old friend again - wondering if I could make that same proposition without the friendly laughter this time. I need a shag - seriously! As for accessories, I have to admit that my one night with Charlie was probably the most adventurous sex I've ever had, and my Gods and satyrs, was it fantastic! Up to that point, I think either a blindfold or a shower were the most kinks I'd ever been exposed to. Well, I have to confess to having been exposed to them at an early age. Some of my early 'experiments' with other blokes involved all sorts of kinky gear. Don't get me wrong, not all accessories were awful – some of those items I found quite... stimulating. The ones that were close to torture rubbed a little to close to my war experiences, and a lifetime isn't long enough to forget some of those memories. I honestly haven't used many accessories for a while. No, I certainly don't think I would want sex that was close to torture... of course, NO sex is presently creating its own exquisite torture. You know, all this talk has made me realise one thing. I'm going to have to go and talk to my friend; if I don't talk to him now, I might lose my nerve. I should seize the moment, and I don't intend to leave without an answer from him! Who knows, I might not need all those deliciously juicy details after all, but hold onto them, just in case... Good luck, Flash! I'll be thinking of you. Hopefully you'll be the one to have the juicy details for me! Thanks, Luc. Same time next week? Sure thing.

Draco heard the now familiar whoosh of the Floo as Jean-Paul returned. Still comfortable in his cushions, he held his journal close to his chest, a stupid grin on his face as he thought about their rather risqué chat, and how he might like to extend that to a practical demonstration with Jean-Paul.

"You seem amused," Jean-Paul came over to kiss Draco, who responded rather eagerly after his recent thoughts and discussion with Flash. Jean-Paul stepped back suddenly, his eyes on the journal.

"Writing in that book again?" he asked.

"It's my journal. Actually, it's a Journal Intime Partagé" Jean-Paul froze at that, a slight look of horror on his face. At least, Draco thought that's what it was. "It's magical, of course," he continued. He wasn't sure if Jean-Paul knew what it was.

"I know what it is, Draco. I... I just didn't realise that's what it was the last time I saw you with it..." he seemed to distance himself a little, scratching his head and fidgeting. Draco thought little of it, putting out his hand to ask for Jean-Paul's assistance in standing. He didn't think it could hurt to tell Jean-Paul about Flash, after all, what did he have to hide? They were friends.

Draco brought Jean-Paul's lips in for a kiss as he explained. "Hmmm. Well, it's quite uncanny that the bloke writing in the other journal is so like me. We have a lot in common. I listen to him, and I think he gets way too much of an earful from me. Flash is probably one of my best friends. I guess you could say he convinced me to actually accept your invitation." He didn't know why he was talking up his friendship with Flash.

"He wanted you to do this?" Jean-Paul looked totally confused. He even sounded a little put out by the thought Draco had a journal. Perhaps they were rarer than Draco had thought. Surely he's not jealous of Flash, but his reactions seemed like he was.

"You're jealous. Don't worry, it's not like I've ever met him. We just talk in the journal. He's in England, anyway," Draco said offhandedly. It seemed Jean-Paul knew about these journals. He would have to ask him about them, but he had other things on his mind at present.

"You've never met him? But I thought..." Draco quickly distracted him with another deep kiss, his hands draping around his lover's neck as he pulled himself up against the other man. His desire was obvious to Jean-Paul, who pulled back suddenly, breaking their embrace.

"Damn, I've left my wand at work. I'll have to get it." He avoided Draco's gaze as he quickly made his way to the fireplace. "I'll just head back and get it." He headed straight for the Floo, without so much as saying goodbye to Draco.

Draco seemed a little puzzled at the brusque brush off. Somehow, the discovery of the journal had really affected Jean-Paul. He frowned, and was determined to ask when he returned.

But it was a long time before Jean-Paul came home. Draco began to worry after he hadn't returned within the hour, but a quick Floo call to his work told him that the Sheik had taken a turn, and Jean-Paul was busy in healing.

It felt strange to be sleeping alone, but Draco found sleep elusive for many reasons. Why did Jean-Paul react that way? The faint light of dawn crept through the windows as Draco eventually found sleep, convincing himself he was overreacting, despite the distinct thought that something wasn't right.

By the time Jean-Paul did return, the day was half over, and he looked exhausted. Draco left him to sleep on his own. It was weeks later that he realised he never had the opportunity to find out more about his journal.

It wasn't until months later that he found out exactly why Jean-Paul had such a strong reaction to seeing Draco with the journal. If only someone had told him, the following months could have been quite different as they led up to their eventual outcome.

Harry was startled by the activation of the Floo in his room mere moments after closing the journal. He padded over to the door in his bare feet realising how cool the room was, and found Remus looking back at him from the flames of the fireplace. Judging by the expression on the older man's face, and the clear view Harry had of Remus' private quarters, this was not a business call. Harry took that as a good sign.

"Remus! Hello, come on through!" Harry was pleased to see that his embarrassingly stupid flirting hadn't caused a permanent rift between them. This was the first time Remus had approached him voluntarily in nearly two weeks. He stepped back, allowing room for the werewolf to come through the Floo, and suddenly found himself nervous when faced with the immediate opportunity to reapproach his previous suggestion. He bit the end of his tongue to stop any unwanted words coming out before he was ready. As he had just told Luc, the notion of being thoroughly buggered by his old friend was a very tempting one. He smiled and relaxed a bit as Remus came in and flopped casually in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He wouldn't have done that if he were still uncomfortable. Harry quickly spelled the teapot hot and poured steaming cups for the both of them, then sat in the matching chair and settled down to have a comfortable conversation. He felt rather good about this, after all, hadn't he just that morning done some much needed meditation, reacquainting himself with the T'ai Chi that had helped him years before? And hadn't he just had a lovely chat with Luc, dealing with some of his own fears and insecurities in regards to Oliver and that quick exit from the shops? All things considered, this had shaped up to be a good day and, if his luck held out, it would follow to be a good evening as well.

"How have you been, Harry? Has your time here been helpful?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, I think so. I plan to head back to Hogwarts tomorrow, though. I know that until we have more details about these Neo Death Eaters, I need to be easily accessible, especially since Rufus Scrimegour was planning to talk to those in my office and make sure that I'm not kept in the dark any longer. It helps to know what's going on, but it also helps to have an outside perspective on my reactions."

"Oh?" Remus leaned forward slightly, adding a touch more sugar to his tea, and Harry couldn't help watching his elegant hands and fingers as he stirred. For that matter, Harry couldn't help but notice every sinew of Remus' body as the man moved and adjusted in the chair. He cleared his throat and brought his attention back to their conversation.

"Yes, the fact that you've all seen the changes, and the reminder of how my reactions and energy outbursts and magic levels were connected to Voldemort's threats… that really helped me to recognise the priorities. And I've begun my T'ai Chi exercises again. I should probably have someone monitor my next session to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important. I'm quite out of practice, but they help," Harry stretched his arms over his head, thinking about the renewed energy in his muscles after his morning katas. He felt his shirt shift over his stomach and simultaneously heard Remus' sharp intake of breath before the man spoke again.

"That's good to know. Dumbledore will be pleased that you're planning to come back soon. He's been worried about you." Remus watched as Harry swayed gently from side to side, steadily revealing more and more of his taut and tanned abdomen. He knew that he'd done a rather poor job of covering up the interest in his voice just then, and was entirely unsure how Harry would react to it. After all, Harry himself had said that he wasn't serious about that proposition.

"Only Dumbledore?" At the teasing tone, Remus snapped his eyes quickly from the still-showing strip of bare skin at Harry's waist up to the mischievous and lustful gaze in his green eyes. There was no doubt, Remus knew precisely what the young man was thinking. "Won't you be at all pleased to have me back at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Harry. We've all been worried about you, and I'd be happy to monitor your next T'ai Chi session. I seem to recall we worked well together in the past. You said the meditations have been helping?" Remus knew he was talking in circles, but he couldn't seem to focus on anything right now, beyond the scent of arousal and his own reaction to Harry's lithe young body.

"Yes, some. I feel much calmer. Of course, they're not getting rid of all of my…" he glanced up at Remus' face, debating his sanity for just a moment. What the hell, might as well go for it, "urges," he finished pointedly.

Remus caught the suggestive tone and the seductive expression on the young man's face, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of pheromones. He stood and paced for a moment before settling on the far side of the room. Had it been any closer to the full moon, he had no doubt he would have taken Harry then and there, his feral instincts were so on edge. As it was, he waited. He wanted to know that Harry was consciously making these decisions. He wanted reassurance that he wasn't taking advantage of the younger man.

Harry watched the display of reaction and emotion play over Remus' handsome face, and stood as well. He approached cautiously, as if he were afraid he would frighten Remus away. "You offered to help, if you could. I was wondering if I asked again – whether you might... reconsider. Please?" Even Harry was partially unaware of his actions as he slowly moved closer to Remus, dropping his voice seductively and catching those honey-coloured eyes in his own gaze.

Remus, for his part, was highly intrigued, allowing his most animal instincts to take over for the moment. He leaned forward just slightly, "Harry, are you seriously asking this?"

"I think so," he sounded more sure than he felt. Something deep inside was suggesting that this wasn't what he wanted, but his libido was chalking that up to the suggestion that it was taboo because of his father's friendship with Remus. His body wanted this - no doubts about it. "Yes, I really think so."

"Would… Harry, you know I can sense… smell… do you know what you're saying? This is… would you really…?" Remus was so caught up in the air of sensual current that he couldn't think clearly.

"I've thought about it, about you…" Harry replied in a sultry murmur.

"And?"

"The idea is… interesting. I sometimes feel ambivalent about it, but right now, it just feels…" Harry was suddenly unable to put his feelings into words.

Remus turned, seeking a momentary escape, a method of gathering his thoughts, but only found them more scrambled when his eyes came to rest on a very familiar journal on the desk. His eyes widened. "Harry, is this… Sirius' journal?" He was fighting to keep from getting choked up about this, knowing the answer before he asked. There was no way he could ever forget those journals. They had kept him sane when he and Sirius were forced to be apart, and most importantly, had helped him to realise how important Sirius really was to him. Remus' emotions were clouded, uncertain, and he felt pulled between his new desires and his old love.

"You recognise it, then?" Harry asked eagerly, suitably distracted for the moment. "I've been meaning to ask you about it, but I keep forgetting. It's rather odd really. There's a link to another journal somewhere, and the man who has that one knows as much about the magic that links them as I do. Did Sirius ever mention a link like that, you know, when he was using that journal?"

Remus felt his head reeling. Harry had found the journal, or it had found him, and his other half. Harry's own words led him to believe that the younger man didn't fully understand the purpose of a pair of partnered journals, but he certainly couldn't explain it to him, not now. "You're writing to someone?" His voice sounded hollow, as if he were talking from inside a cave.

"Mmmm, you don't think Sirius would mind that I'm using it, do you? We've become good friends. I was just talking about you, in fact," Harry closed the distance between them and placed a hand on Remus' shoulder. Remus turned swiftly, still processing this new information and still being strongly affected by the energy and scent Harry was putting out through his arousal. "I was telling him how badly I wanted to do this," Harry continued.

Harry almost felt as if some outside force was affecting him, something that had been building within him for the past couple of weeks, and was increasing his desire for sex, building it to the level of a need. He was just a little unsure of his true desires in regards to Remus, unable to shake that feeling from deep inside, but the arousal was so strong. If he hadn't known better, he would have wondered if he'd been slipped an aphrodisiac potion. Finally, his desires overtook his senses and he took a chance, moving his hand up to caress Remus' cheek, fingers gently tracing the scars that marked him. The first gentle touches sent shivers through them both, and Remus felt a wave of desire that should have been forbidden. The moment their lips touched, the needs and desires within them both escalated exponentially. Remus was mildly surprised by the desperate moan that came, unbidden, from his throat. He'd never even entertained thoughts of Harry's tongue, having always held strong and fast to the fact that this was his best friend's son, his lover's godson. Now, however, as that tongue flickered over his lips, brushed the roof of his mouth and smoothly swept against his own tongue, he had no choice but to recognise it for its wonderful talents.

Harry's body nearly sang at the joy of finally being in a passionate embrace with someone. He still couldn't explain the excessive sexual drive he'd been dealing with of late, but he knew that even this kiss would help to diminish it somewhat. The contact encouraged his already increasing arousal and reminded him that he was still alive while also allowing him, on some level, to ease the tension that had been building for days. He tightened his arms around Remus' waist, pulling them into full body contact with each other, and ground his hips against the growing erection he found there. The friction brought throaty moans from both the men, but seemed to trigger something in Remus' mind.

Not right, not for Harry. He acknowledged this thought, knowing it was true in light of the journal and its revelations, and abruptly pulled out of the embrace, an apology forming on his lips before he could even recognise the slightly bruised feeling of them. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't…"

"No." Harry stopped him, not wanting to hear the dismissal that was obviously coming. He was in no mood to wonder how the man could have kissed him like that if he didn't have any desire for him, or how the man could have that much desire for him and still feel he shouldn't have done. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have."

"Harry, don't feel badly about this. I understand it, really. I've entertained thoughts of you as well. Recently, that is. Your comments last week took me by surprise, and I saw you in a different light. You've grown into quite a fetching man. But it's just not right." Remus raised one hand, holding up two fingers in a silencing motion. "Before you argue, it's not because of the age, or your father, or even Sirius, though Merlin knows Sirius would be shocked as hell, and there wasn't much that could shock him. It's just, something tells me it's not right. I just know that we're not meant to be more than friends. There's someone else out there for you, Harry, and when you find him, you'll understand what I'm saying."

Harry nodded, too filled with disappointed frustration and lust to trust his voice at that moment. He took a deep breath, allowed himself one quick and fairly chaste kiss, and stepped back to his armchair.

Remus sighed loudly, partially cursing the twist of fate that had let him realise Harry was using the Journal Intime Partagé. If not for that realisation, he would now be in flagrante with Harry rather than preparing to return to Hogwarts alone. "I'd better be going now. So... I'll see you back at Hogwarts?" He paused, watching Harry as the young man sought to centre himself again. "It'll be all right Harry, you'll see." And with those parting words, Remus Flooed back to the school and set a path straight to the shower so he could take out his frustrations after that little meeting.

April 1 - Tuesday

The Burrow had been turned into a hive of festive activity as the twins' birthday party was in full swing. The guests of honour had arrived late after a successful day at the store. April first was always a big day for the pranksters, and not just because it was their birthday. Molly had rallied the troops and had arranged everything for this, the twins' 25th birthday party.

Harry had been hesitant about going to the party, only because he was unsure of how he would cope amongst so many people. It was Ron who reminded him that they were all family, and Molly would have been upset if Harry couldn't make it. Harry had to concede that Ron was right. He knew Mrs Weasley well enough to know that she would have taken it as a personal affront. Of course, standing there now sipping on his glass of wine, he found himself not caring as much about that as he fervently wished that he was anywhere but the Burrow. The party had been very good. The food was, as usual, fantastic, and the party went off with a bang. Unfortunately, it was Molly and Arthur who were in for the biggest surprises and this left Harry feeling a little uncomfortable.

"D'you really think it was wise of the twins to drop both bombshells on your parents tonight, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Dunno. Still, I'm glad for once I'm not at the end of her wrath. I dunno why Fred and Lavender never said anything before now about the baby," both men looked over at their former classmate as she was forced to sit and listen to her future mother-in-law. Molly wouldn't hear of them marrying after the baby was born, and they were both currently getting an earful from the family matriarch.

"Yeah, and I think George and Lee picked a bad night to come out," Harry smirked at the knowledge that he knew about their relationship even before Ron. The pair seemed happy together, and that only added to Harry's overall sexual frustration. He couldn't help but feel just a little jealous of their happiness. Of course, having Charlie at the opposite end of the room, looking sexier than ever, didn't help his little problem at all.

"Who'da thought Bill would have taken the news so badly? I mean, he never seemed that upset when Charlie came out, but now that he's got two brothers who are gay, he's suddenly come over as all homophobic," Ron seemed puzzled.

"I wouldn't worry, Ron." Harry had seen behaviour like Bill's before. It was a common male reaction to learning that other close men were homosexual. "He'll come around eventually."

"Speaking of coming around," Charlie interrupted their little conversation. Harry couldn't miss the obvious double entendre in Charlie's words.

"Charlie," Harry nodded, not having had much of an opportunity to talk to the man that night. Ron had charged himself with the task of keeping Harry away from Charlie. He had some crazy notion that Harry might just want to jump his older brother in front of the entire family. The problem was that Ron was right. Harry was so horny, and so mesmerised by how gorgeous Charlie looked, that he would have let Charlie take him right there on the living room floor.

"So Harry," Charlie continued. "I hear you've been to Hogwarts." Just then, George and Lee interrupted.

"Isn't it great, Harry? Charlie's thinking of coming home to stay!" George grinned.

Harry was surprised at the news. "Oh?" He felt silly, but was so stunned there was nothing else he could say.

Charlie returned the smile. "So, tell me Harry," Charlie put his arm around Harry conspiratorially. "Did you get a chance to see Severus whilst you were there? How is he doing these days? Still as single and gorgeous as ever?" Harry realised at once where Charlie was going with this conversation, and couldn't help the inner disappointment at the realisation that he wasn't the one drawing Charlie's interest. Still, he was surprised enough by that question that he simply stood in stunned silence.

"All right, you two – break it up." Ron separated them, and Harry immediately began to miss Charlie's warm touch no matter how innocent it truly was. Regardless, innocent touches wouldn't have been enough; Harry still needed and wanted a true physical release. Remus had rejected his advances, and Charlie – well, he was just Charlie.

"Ron!" Hermione called from across the room. She was deep in conversation with Ginny.

Ron stared at Harry and his brother. "No funny business you two. I've got my eye on you, you know. I don't think Mum would cope with any more excitement tonight."

Charlie laughed, "Ron's got his eye on us eh? Wonder if he'd like to watch," he drawled with a broad grin. Harry laughed, but knew that he would only ever be a friend to Charlie. For the first time, he noticed the fresh burn on Charlie's arm. For a fully healed burn, it still looked rather severe. Charlie noticed Harry's interest. "Yeah, I had a run in with the Norwegian Ridgeback. I'm lucky to still have all my hair, but my eyebrows took a couple of days to grow back," he laughed.

"So that's why you're thinking of coming back to England?" Harry asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Perhaps. I've got a couple of offers in the wings. Besides, it's much easier to pursue a man when you are at least on the same continent."

Harry wrinkled his nose, "I don't know what you see in that bloody greasy git. The man isn't even sexy, Charlie. I think you're the one who might need glasses..." It was surprising that after all this time, Charlie still held a torch for the object of his teen infatuation. Yeah, I can really talk about that? Can't I? "But seriously, why now?"

"Well, I decided that I've had enough time on my own. I've always loved my work, but it's just not as fulfilling as it used to be. I think it's about time I find whatever I'm missing in my career, and start thinking about the other things that really matter, like family, and love. You know, I was worried about you, Harry, and you got me to thinking about my own life" Harry was momentarily uncomfortable with that answer, but couldn't quite determine why. He finally realised that it was because it was such a clear statement on what he wanted in his own life. Little did he know his introspective mood was being observed from the other side of the room.

"So how is Harry doing, Ron?" Hermione asked as she monitored Harry's conversation with Charlie and caught the melancholy expression on his face. They had both been worried for their old friend. He had been slowly drifting away from them, but they still cared for him and loved him like a brother.

"I don't know, Hermione. I honestly don't. He's not telling me anything, yet he doesn't seem like he's bottling it all up. I just want to keep him away from Charlie. Knowing what they got up to --"

"I don't think you have anything to worry about there, Ron. I found out something about his journal today." Hermione sounded excited at the news.

"Oh? It's not bad is it, Love?" Ron pulled his fiancée aside, not wanting everyone to hear what she had to tell him.

Hermione shook her head, "No, it's not bad – at least, I don't think so. I think that somehow, this Luc character is destined to be his soulmate. I think that journal is a Journal Intime Partagé." Ron didn't bother to ask what it was, as Hermione launched straight into the explanation. "When two soulmates are connected, they can use the journals to keep in contact. They are quite rare, and they are usually found in the oldest of pureblood families."

"Yeah, Harry mentioned it had belonged to Sirius," Ron replied lazily.

"But don't you see, Ron? This fellow Harry has been talking to – he must be Harry's soulmate," she said emphatically.

Ron looked surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Well, not until I get a good look at the book. It could be one of a half dozen different types of magic journals, but I've talked to Ginny, and she seems to agree with me—"

"Don't you girls dare interfere," Ron interjected. "It's Harry's life, and if he wants to write in books to crazy Frenchmen, then that's his choice."

"And Charlie isn't?" Hermione retorted.

"That's totally different, and you know it," he retorted hopelessly. He knew Hermione had him on that point and could do nothing more than present his weak argument and hope she would leave it at that. "Do you think he'll get into trouble from this, 'Mione?" Ron asked in all seriousness.

Hermione shook her head. "He's Harry. He excels at getting into trouble. All we can do is find out who this Luc is, and warn him. Warn him that if he doesn't treat our Harry properly, we'll hex his balls off."

"Hermione!" Ron sounded completely shocked. She just smiled and winked over at Ginny. His sister was being a bad influence on his fiancée.

In true Weasley style, the party soon turned up a notch once Arthur and Molly went to bed. The music became just a little louder, but nobody was dancing. Harry was studiously avoiding anything more than the occasional glass of wine, even though the birthday boys were conspiring together over a cold cauldron filled with something that nobody wanted to drink. Nobody trusted the pair at the best of times, and smelling the sickly sweet blue drink they were making, most everyone chose to wisely stay away from it. Only Lee was happy and willing to oblige. George seemed thrilled at that prospect.

Harry had not managed to catch up with Ginny, and she had to leave early to get to a meeting the next day. Ron had successfully managed to prise Harry from Charlie's side, and had his friend sandwiched between him and Hermione on the couch.

"So tell me, Harry. You've been talking to this new friend, Luc?" Hermione asked curiously. Ron gave her a glare.

Harry nodded, "Of course I have. We chat regularly."

"So, what's he like. Is he cute?" she continued to dig at the topic, fishing for information.

"I don't know, Hermione. I haven't met him face to face, but from his words he's extremely articulate, and he and I share a number of things in common. Like a string of failed relationships, for one," he said dejectedly.

"Oh? And what does he do for a living?" Hermione asked. A part of Ron wanted to drag her away from the conversation and throttle her for being so nosy, but he didn't, only because he too was curious about Harry's new pen pal, though he wouldn't have admitted that for the world.

"Oh well, he's a Potions master over in Paris, and he has a cat, and before you ask me any more questions Hermione, I don't know what he looks like, or even his true name, but I feel as if we are somehow connected through our words. It's strange really, but I am grateful that someone else implicitly understands the whirlwind of my life." Hermione didn't press him for any more information, but had enough clues to start her search, even if Ron didn't approve of her methods.

The night wore on and Harry felt good to be able to spend such a long time conversing with his oldest friends, all without a single moment of his power leaking out of control. Perhaps his exercises were beginning to help in that regard. He was both surprised and thrilled when Ron asked Harry to be their best man at the wedding, and the widest grin adorned his face at the thought.

"I'm honoured, Ron, Hermione. Of course I'll be there for you both."

"Just make sure he turns up, Harry, and that you don't let him drink anything the twins have prepared when it comes to his stag night." Hermione sounded worried.

"I won't. But don't worry, if he does, then I'm sure he'll have plenty of time on your honeymoon to recover. It's that sort of place – so relaxing!"

"Oh, so you know where Ron's taking me?" she said excitedly.

"I should hope so – he suggested it to me," Ron replied.

A burden seemed to fall from Hermione's shoulders. "It's true, Hermione. You'll love the place. I guarantee it. But don't think you're going to worm the location out of me, young lady. As my first duty as best man, I'll be keeping Ron's secret from you!" he grinned, pleased to have another distraction in his life. He was so honoured to have been asked.

"Do you really think she'll enjoy it, Harry?" Ron asked later, after Hermione had gone over to talk to Lavender.

"Ron, of course she will enjoy it. She's got you, and to be honest, she really shouldn't care where you take her for your honeymoon, as long as she has you. But if you are worried, then you'll find the best of everything romantic right there at your fingertips – the wineries, the scenery, the plush surroundings – hell, I've even convinced myself it's a bloody romantic place. If I ever find myself a partner, I swear we'll be visiting there on our own romantic get together."

"So where'd you find out about this place, Harry?"

"Oh, Luc actually suggested the region of France, and gave me the name of the agent. I think he lived there, or visits there often." Ron filed away that little of information to help Hermione on her quest to discover Luc's identity.

"So what about you, Ron? How's work been? Or can't you say? I swear that those Goblins have helped curb your tongue, Ron. You aren't nearly so fully of juicy gossip as you once were," Harry realised it had been months since he truly asked his friend about work.

"Oh, you know, I can't say anything Harry. Although..." Ron grinned.

"What? You seem to know something dreadfully interesting. Can't you at least hint?" Harry wanted to know.

"No... I can't... but... I did run into someone the other day. Someone I never expected to see. It was actually on the day we had lunch," Ron desperately bit his tongue. He wasn't supposed to talk about bank business.

How could Harry forget that day? "Yeah, I ran into a couple of unexpected people that day as well. You're not talking about Malfoy, are you, by any chance?" Ron's eyes widened and he nodded.

"Yes. I had a meeting with the git at the bank," he finally said.

"Oh? And I suppose you can't tell me a single thing about it?"

"No," Ron said sadly, "although I was as disappointed as you that he never dropped dead somewhere after the war."

Harry again thought about his run in with Malfoy at the Leaky Cauldron. Despite Malfoy's words, Harry could only remember just how stunning he looked. But then again, that's all Harry seemed to be doing at present when he looked at any man. His constant horniness was starting to wear thin. He didn't want to think of Malfoy, or anyone for that matter. His eyes had studiously avoided Charlie, as he was sure that he would not be able to maintain his self control for much longer.

Harry watched the various couples around the room and felt glad that all his friends seemed to be getting on with their lives, even if he seemed to be fighting another battle. Eventually the party ended, and he headed back to his lonely flat. Every day at work was an uphill battle, for now that he knew he didn't want to work there, everything seemed much more boring. His biggest challenge was keeping his power under control, and that took all his resolve. I don't know how much longer I can do this, he thought, but I guess it is good exercise in keeping my power under control. I am definitely going to start looking elsewhere for work – but where do I begin?

He made his way to bed, and began the long slow process of meditations that would help him to achieve some sleep. He just wondered if he would have another of those dreams. Maybe just once, he might actually remember some of the dream, and recall just why he would wake up more aroused than when he fell asleep.

April 1 – 6

The pattern of days had suddenly changed in Marrakesh, along with the cooling breezes from the east. Draco was frustrated. Frustrated and very confused. A distinct chill had erupted in Jean-Paul's flat, and he was trying to fathom just what had changed so quickly. If he thought that Jean-Paul had been spending an inordinate amount of time at work, he soon learnt he was sadly mistaken. It had now reached the point that Draco was usually in bed by the time Jean-Paul returned and the sun was barely rising before the man left for work again. Draco also noticed that the medi-wizard seemed reluctant at first to continue their impassioned lovemaking, and couldn't help wondering if perhaps that it was some sort of test to show just how much he had learned from his lover.

Still, his host was gone by morning, and the pattern of lonely days fuelled the frustrations and confusion at the snub. Has he tired of me? Has he lost interest? Why doesn't he just tell me? More than once, Draco had to admit that perhaps he wasn't good enough for Jean-Paul, and his self esteem took another huge plummet. The problem was that with so many hours in the day, he spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking, which, for Draco, was never a good thing.

It occurred to him that after two weeks in the North African city, he had seen very little of the sights (beyond the markets). He had hoped that Jean-Paul would take him out and about, but he was beginning to doubt if he should even stay. After all, even their lovemaking was beginning to become routine, and Draco was constantly instigating their kisses and proving himself. Like an overeager puppy. Pathetic, really.

Even when he accompanied Jean-Paul to work, the day had not lived up to his expectations. It was a very sad reflection to think that he had spent more time in the markets during the trip than he had with his lover. Should I even think of him as that?

It felt like Jean-Paul was avoiding him, or worse, ignoring him. He couldn't place what went wrong, but knew that there was something fundamental that was causing this rift. He began to think more and more about what he would do when he left Marrakesh, and it was at that point that he realised he was ready to go home. He had arrived with a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps he would find what he was looking for with Jean-Paul. He had found something, but those post coital visions kept hinting at something that was just not happening. He began to question if it was even Jean-Paul in those visions, but quickly put that thought aside.

He took what he knew was going to be a final walk around the markets. As he mindlessly followed his feet through the cobbled and dusty alleys of the city, he admitted to himself that he could not be with Jean-Paul – not forever. Whatever had come between them was huge, and they had failed to communicate that, but Draco knew that even communication wouldn't solve their problems. He was finally able to see that they were not compatible in a long-term sense.

Jean-Paul was a talented healer, and Draco could not begrudge that talent. The man gave one hundred percent of his energy to the task at hand, that being his work most of the time. It was safe to say that Jean-Paul was married to his work. He had seen, and experienced the man's healing hands and energies, and knew that he was committed to his work, spending up to 14 hours a day there, so could Draco compete with that? Could he really be happy with that? I honestly think I could love him, but can he say the same about me, and do I really want to live here and not be his equal? Draco couldn't fight the sense of loss at this realisation, but he knew that he would never truly be happy as Jean-Paul's partner and potions maker. He wanted his own life. Can I have my own life with someone like him?

The creeping feeling of unease settled in the pit of Draco's stomach as he realised the answer. No. He wouldn't find what he wanted in Marrakesh. No matter how much he and Jean-Paul had in common physically, there was something that just didn't click, and whatever it was, it wasn't going to be found in Marrakesh. A sudden yearning for Paris overtook him in a wave of homesickness. He thought about staying, and waiting until Jean-Paul returned from work, but he didn't think he could face another night of waiting, especially knowing that the medi-wizard might not even come home.

It only took a moment to decide that he needed to be anywhere else but Marrakesh. He needed to distance himself from Jean-Paul and regain his identity.

With a flick of his wand, all the wondrous goods he bought quickly folded and packed themselves into the now expanded bag he had brought with him. Draco wondered again if he was doing the right thing, but a sudden sense of responsibility rode through him, and he knew that if he were still there after the sunset, then he likely wouldn't be able to leave at all.

He penned a short note, not wanting to Jean-Paul to worry:

Dimanche, Avril 6 My dearest Jean-Paul, I feel rather rude in leaving so suddenly, but in all consciousness, I can't stay. I really should be saying these things to you in person, but there is something that has come between us, and I don't know quite how to get rid of it. Perhaps distance will help it to dissipate. I've tried to say something all week, actually, but once I get to feel your lips, or your touch, all sensible thoughts just leave my head. I am sorry that we could not have spent more time together – outside of the bedroom. I did have a blast every moment we were together, but I found that I was looking for more than you were offering, or could give me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did anything to upset you. I don't want to lose your friendship – not after all you have given me, but I had to come home, as I need to set my affairs in order before I return to Scotland. Love,
Draco.

He wanted to say so much more, but couldn't. He didn't know if Jean-Paul deserved any more explanation. He can Floo me if he wants to. Perhaps then it will work out.

He wasn't running away, not really. This wasn't a problem, just another setback. Perhaps it had been a mistake to think he should continue his search for the seemingly elusive love of his life. Perhaps he was never destined to find him. It was a harsh reality that once again, he had still not found what he was looking for.

The sun was just setting in Paris as he stumbled out of the fireplace in his studio. He shivered at the sudden drop in temperature, but realised he needed to be back in his regular robes. The silence of his studio was punctuated by an indignant hoot and a sharp flurry of feathers. Melchett opened one eye at the noises disturbing his sleep, only to see his owner had returned. In his usual disdain, the owl blinked, then closed his eyes and went straight back to sleep. No doubt Emmaline had spoiled him rotten with fresh and juicy treats.

He felt suddenly bereft as he looked around his studio. In another two weeks he would be in Scotland, and this would no longer be his home. He had fallen in love with the studio from the moment he first saw it, and only now did he realise just how much he had come to think of the place as home. Despite all his bravado and firm resolutions, he suddenly felt very destitute. Had he ruined the one good thing that had happened to him that year?

As he showered away the last vestiges of the desert heat, he felt strange. It took him a while to realise that he wasn't feeling the same loneliness that usually attacked him after he ended a relationship. Perhaps it's because you really didn't have a relationship, he thought with a little remorse.

Lost in his maudlin thoughts, he tested his resolve several times as he told himself he wasn't going to head back through the Floo to Marrakesh. He busied himself with the task of unpacking his bag. He didn't regret his decision to go to Marrakesh. He regretted the fact that he hadn't found what he wanted whilst there. He paid little attention to the time, meticulously unwrapping and putting his new purchases away. He took great pleasure in the unwrapping of each parcel, and swiftly sent each item to its rightful place with a flick of his wand. Reaching the bottom of his bag, he felt the familiar warmth of the journal, and smiled.

I have to tell someone, and Flash needs to know. It's only right that I tell him. It was so refreshing to know that he could pour all his confused thoughts out to his friend, who he hoped would understand how he felt and why he came home.

The quill fell comfortably into the indentation in his fingers, and it was scratching away at the page before he realised it.

Dimanche, Avril 6 Merlin and Morgana, what have I done? I'm a complete idiot. I just thought you should know I'm not in Marrakesh any more; I came home. I'm in two minds. Part of me wants to go back and just let him seduce all my concerns away. The other voice in my head is applauding my appalling sense of bad timing. Hey Luc, what in the name of Merlin have you done now? Oh, you're there. Oh, I just realised the time – and it's Sunday. Merlin, I don't even know what day of the week it is. No, it's okay. You seem a little shaken. Please tell me everything is all right. I don't know, Flash. I honestly don't. But where to begin? It's all up in the air right now, and I had to come home for some… breathing space. Yes, that's it. Okay, better start from the beginning. Two weeks ago, you were dazzled by his brilliance. A week ago, you were a little worried about how much time he was at work, and now you need breathing space? Yes, that's exactly right. And I'm not being melodramatic. I guess so much time alone this week has left me feeling quite down, and I've had this overwhelming sense that I didn't belong there – with Jean-Paul. He never said a word about it – actually, we barely talked about anything that truly mattered (beyond bedroom talk). I guess my problem is really that I had way too much time to think about it, and how confused I was by his invitation. It feels like he invited me out of pity. Pity because I was a bit of a wreck when he picked me up from the poisoning, and then when I accepted, it was too late for him to take it back. No wait, that's not true. He never said that. I just feel like it was a pity invitation. But did it feel like a pity fuck? Sounds to me that it wasn't. Usually that's just one occurrence. It seems you've been enjoying his pleasures practically around the clock. Did I mention just how much of a lucky bastard you are? No, it wasn't a pity fuck at all, but… oh I don't know, I've been thinking about this all bloody week. My brain hurts, and I just want a good stiff drink. Or a cigarette. Haven't had one of those in years, but I could sure use one now. All I know now is that I was looking to him to help me through a rough phase. I thought he was the answer. I know now that I was wrong. Was he helpful at all? Oh he helped in the most physical of senses. I never realised just how much healing my physical body needed. The massages, the Reiki, the alignment and cleansing of my chakras. I've never felt better, actually. He is the most amazing healer I've ever seen, and I will miss that. He wanted to help in that way. I just found myself wanting more. Is it selfish to want more? No, it's not selfish to want more. Not if you are being true to yourself. Yes, I think I was being true. I guess for a while there I was hoping he was the one for me. When I sat back and took a good hard look at what we had, there was definitely something missing. I don't think it was anything physical, as such, that was overwhelmingly superb. He left me insensate more times than I care to remember. I guess I was miffed by the fact he spent more time at work than with me. I saw how much he loves his work, he is truly dedicated and fully devoted to his healing. I don't think I could compete with his grand passion. Apart from that first weekend, I haven't spent a full day in his presence; he was always at work. I hate to sound like a wet blanket, but are you sure he was working all that time he was away. I'm sorry, but after Ollie, I can't help but think the worst when I hear that. He wasn't with someone else, was he? No, he wasn't. I took your advice, and he was only too happy to show me around his work. I spent one whole day with him, which felt nice, but he was so focused on his work, I may as well have not been there. He gives one hundred percent to it. I even tried to fit into his work life, and was eagerly accepted. I suggested that I help brew some potions for him (he cannot cook, nor could he even make a wart removal salve – he is hopeless around a cauldron). I was only too glad to help, but to be totally honest, I was bored off my broom. The cauldrons were thoroughly rusted, and the available ingredients substandard. I wouldn't give the resultant potions to my cat, but he seemed to think they were fabulous. Either I'm extremely picky with my brewing, or he was just being nice. Well the important thing, Luc, is that you tried to help. You tried to fit in with his life, and you realised that perhaps it wasn't for you. At least you did that before it was too late. Could you imagine trying to get out of that relationship once you had committed yourself? You are right, Flash, as usual. I did enjoy some of the quiet time I had, but it felt like he was ashamed to be seen with me, or something. I wanted to talk to him about it, but every time I got the chance, his tongue was put to so much better use, and well… let's say the brain lost track of all questions it wanted to ask. By the next time I'd remember, he would be gone again. The question you need to ask yourself is can you see yourself in a relationship with this man in five years? In ten years? I know I'll be asking myself the same question when I find myself ready to commit to a relationship. I tried very hard to fit into his life, Flash. You know, I can't see myself with him in five years. I tried to fit in at the expense of my own life. He loves Marrakesh, and though it's a nice place to holiday, I couldn't live there forever. The sun would play havoc with my poor European complexion. No, honestly, I couldn't. His style is refreshingly bohemian, but it's not 'me'. I couldn't truly be myself. Well I think then that you have done the right thing by heading home. You were honest with yourself. I can only imagine it would be so easy to be lured by his charms (I'm lured, and I've never met the man!). You don't need to justify the fact that he isn't 'the one'. I really don't want to admit that. I'm not consciously ready to admit it, at least. I'm in half a mind to Floo back and straight into his arms, but I can't… Gods I miss him. What did he say about your decision to leave? Did he understand? He… err… doesn't know I've gone. I left whilst he was at work. If I waited until he came home, I would have lost my resolve. You left without saying anything? I left a note. I've got the Floo open, and I'm expecting a call at any moment. I guess if he doesn't call, then I'll know that it wasn't meant to be and that he's glad to see the back of me. But I sure will miss the sex. I am so sorry, Luc. After such a long anticipation, you were so good, and you deliberated so long before you were with him, I feel terrible that it hasn't worked out. Perhaps he was just too good to be true. He seems like such a wonderful man. Oh, and he is wonderful. I just can't honestly commit to a relationship with him. He needs someone who has the same vision; the same focus as he does, whoever that lucky bastard is. Hell, I don't even know if he wants a long term relationship. I don't even know if he just goes from man to man and just shares the love around. We never talked. Not about that. Sharing the love? You wouldn't fancy passing on his Floo address, would you? Only kidding… So has this been a learning experience? Absolutely. When I do find 'the one', you'll be the third to know. I'm beginning to realise just what I want in a relationship as well. Oh? Yes. I know I just want to be myself. No shields, no hiding who I am. If he can't accept me, warts and all, then I'm not interested. I'm only kidding about the warts, actually. Perhaps then I'll find the missing piece that didn't click with I made love with Jean-Paul. Sure you are only kidding about the warts. But you said the sex with Jean-Paul was amazing. What do you mean that it didn't click? Oh, believe me, it was amazing. Perhaps I'm just being my usual over critical and fussy Virgo self. I felt there could have been… more. Each time we made love, I was left with these… visions. That's the only way to describe them. They showed me that there could have been so much more… Each time I hoped I'd reach that anticipation, but alas, it never came. Visions? You never mentioned those. I was fairly certain that it was Jean-Paul in these visions. I think perhaps I was mistaken, and just put his face to them. I wanted it to be him, but, well, I can't think like that – it's counterproductive. You told me once that you had to be truly happy and complete in yourself before you let yourself fall in love. Well, I don't think I'm quite there yet. I think the whole point of this liaison was to show me that I'm still not quite there yet. Despite everything, I was frustrated that I was left wanting… Well then, I think perhaps you might just find success, now that you've identified your goal. Thanks Flash. Thanks for listening. Nobody else would understand this. Merlin I'm glad you decided to write in this journal… Me too, Luc. And now I'm being a selfish git again. I've totally hogged all the limelight, and left you out in the cold. I haven't asked how your week went. Did you ever decide to approach that old friend again? Actually, yes. He dropped by just after our last chat, and we had an…interesting… chat. Oh, gods can that man kiss! But that's as far as it went. Oh, but is there a plan in the near future for more? No, no such luck. He stopped me rather quickly, telling me all about how there's someone out there just for me and when I find him, I'll be glad we stayed just friends. It was damned frustrating at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I guess that he was right. It could have been awkward. He has been a family friend since before I was born. How do you really feel about that? Well, I'm still as horny as hell. Of course, to top it all off, I saw Charlie at a party a couple of days later. Oh, and what happened? Nothing, it was a family party, so his brother kept us on opposite sides of the room all night. I think he was afraid I would jump Charlie at the first given opportunity. He seemed to take the news well when I told him, but I'm sure he would have preferred I never slept with his brother. Besides, their mother was there, and there is no way she's ever going to find out… she'd tar and feather Charlie's hide and promptly hex me into oblivion. I never knew you told your friend. His mother sounds like a hag. Yeah, but he was okay, and no, his mother is just very protective. I told my friends about you too. I hope you don't mind. They were worried I was bottling things up about Ollie, but I told them I had been venting to you. Why would I mind? I'm just an anonymous nobody. Well, no, you're not. You're one of my closest friends. I have told you more than them in recent months. Now if only I could get a shag out of someone, things would be fine. Charlie looked mighty fine, but alas, that wasn't meant to be either. We really are a pair, aren't we? You know, if we don't find Mr Right by the end of the year, we should just meet up for a mutual shag. At least we'll know where we stand then. I think I'll go nuts if I have to wait that long to find someone, but you are absolutely right. Okay, I'm up for it. Let's say Yule. If we're both single, we'll meet up. Perfect. Okay, now you've cheered me up. Glad to hear it. Glad to be of service. Perhaps I should consider that one of my new career choices. Why not? I'll vouch for you. So you are seriously looking around? Well, I took some time off to get sorted, and now that I'm back in the daily grind, I realise that yes, a change is definitely in the wind. Haven't approached anyone just yet, but I'm keeping my eyes and ears open. Good to hear, Flash. Thanks again. I had better get some sleep. Jean-Paul hasn't Flooed yet. I don't think he's going to now. You aren't going to sit by the Floo all night, are you? No, I guess not. I just thought… Well, it's like you said earlier, if he doesn't call, then you know exactly where you stand. Yes. Take care this week, Luc. I do think about you, and I hope you can quickly move on from this… disappointment. I will. I promise. Good night Flash. Good night Luc.

Draco had not yet told Emmaline of his return, and he was curious as to Petite Amie s whereabouts. Stepping up to Emmaline's door, his hand paused before knocking. He could hear voices, familiar voices. Jean-Paul was either in his Aunt's studio, or talking through the Floo. He stepped back, but could not fail to hear the words.

"... Why didn't you say anything? You are such a meddlesome woman sometimes, Emmaline!" the tone of Jean-Paul's voice brooked no amusement.

"Perhaps you need to look at the bigger picture, môn chéri..."

"Don't you dare be so condescending with me. How embarrassed do you think I am?" Jean-Paul sounded livid. Draco didn't want to hear any more and quietly walked back into his studio. Emmaline and Petite Amie could wait a little longer.

"He heard you, you know," Emmaline looked at the closed door before returning to her nephew's angry face in the Floo.

"Well he deserves to know the truth..."

"... He's not ready, Jean-Paul. He needs to see for himself. Let him." Jean-Paul huffed one more time, sending a few errant sparks from the hearth and onto the rug.

"So what do I do now?" he asked, completely unsure of what to do.

"Well, you do what you feel is right, of course." Emmaline smirked that knowing smile, before watching her nephew's head disappear and the flames return to their usual orange glow.

"Draco!" He had suspected it wouldn't be long before he heard that voice in his own Floo, and saw that face bobbing in the green flames. He turned, his heart immediately going out to the look of concern on Jean-Paul's face.

"Hi," he said bashfully. This was more awkward than his first date.

"You left…" Draco could only nod as he wondered just where Jean-Paul was Flooing from. No doubt he was using one of his work Floos.

Draco nodded. "I had to. I'm sorry Jean-Paul." He tried not to fall into those eyes, or the memory of those lips, and all the places they explored. If he closed his eyes, the memory was fresh enough he could still remember their touch. "I… I couldn't stay."

Jean-Paul nodded. "I'm sorry Draco," he honestly sounded repentant.

"I have been wondering... why did you invite me? I mean, it felt like you shunned me after a while. Did you get bored with your new toy?" He instantly regretted the bitterness that crept into the question, and wished he could take it back.

Jean-Paul seemed to sense this. "No, that's a fair question, Draco. I invited you to Marrakesh because I sensed your need. From the minute I first met you I could sense your ability to give – but you were not spiritually healthy; your disillusionment was radiating in waves through your aura. I won't deny that I knew I could help you; I guess I truly found you challenging. I still do, actually. You are beautiful, and I knew that with the right care you could open up and I could heal your wounded heart. You deserve so much love, but I don't think I am the one to give it to you."

"You backed off..."

"You needed to find that out for yourself. I am just a healer. I gave you all I could. I just don't think it was enough." Jean-Paul seemed wistful, but took Draco by surprise with his next question. "So," he asked with a glimmer of hope, "Did you find what you were looking for in Morocco?"

Draco was surprised by the question. "How…"

"It's all right, Draco. I do understand. You are seeking something - someone. I had hoped you might learn something from my invitation. I'm guessing you didn't find it."

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry," He whispered. "For what it's worth, I do owe you so much. You've taught me so much. You've been a sexual muse, and I know that what we shared will stay with me forever, even if there was just something... missing." He spoke sincerely as he realised it was true.

That wry smile crossed Jean-Paul's face. "For what it's worth, I enjoyed every minute, Draco. It was a pleasure. I think perhaps I enjoyed myself a little too much as well." That elicited a laugh from Draco, along with a raised eyebrow.

"I… I'm sorry I left so abruptly, but you were working, and I knew if I didn't go then, I'd have trouble leaving."

Jean-Paul held up his hand. "No, its okay, you don't need to explain. I can't give you every hour of the day, Draco, but I tried to give you what I could. It obviously wasn't enough. Please don't think badly of me."

"I don't. I just wish…"

"Don't wish, Draco. I would hate to lose your friendship."

"Me too. I love your Aunt like a mother, and I don't want any bad blood." Draco realised that he would have to explain this to Emmaline.

"You're right. She'll be most disappointed."

"So, are we okay with this?" Draco asked awkwardly. He knew they weren't, but he felt so bad. Jean-Paul seemed to be taking it so well, and he felt a little guilty that perhaps they should have talked before he walked away.

"I think so." Jean-Paul blew a kiss through the Floo. Draco was still standing there long after the flames returned to their normal golden orange glow.

April 7-13

He was being pulled by a magnet. That was the only explanation, a very large magnet that was somehow attracting his body instead of metal. Or was it his soul? He couldn't quite be sure, but he knew that he was helpless to do anything but follow the path of the pull. He couldn't help thinking there was something on the other end of that path, something that would make everything right again, but he had no idea what it was. Snitches began flying past him, heading in the opposite direction. He frantically reached for them – partially out of habit – and upon catching one, realised that it was merely a rock. The second one was a very large beetle. The third was clump of mud that promptly oozed through his fingers. He didn't know if he should be disturbed by the snitch that turned into dragon dung before his very eyes. Finally, a real Golden Snitch fluttered out of nowhere, hovered in his face for a moment, and zoomed off into the distance. It was heading in the same direction as that unexplainable pull. He had to follow it.

The confusing dream faded into memory as Harry was roused from sleep by the chime of his alarm. It had been so long since he'd used an alarm to wake up that he was momentarily disoriented, then finally remembered he was returning to work today. He knew he had spent a great deal of time away from work, and he really needed to go back, but he couldn't help feeling some level of trepidation. What if he lost his temper again? What if something went wrong? He'd been making excellent progress with his meditations during that last week at Hogwarts, and his libido had even begun to settle down just a bit, but he was still nervous about this.

As he went about his morning routine of showering, dressing and shaving, he thought about his dream. He was pleased that he actually remembered it, but was still confused by the continuation of that theme in his subconscious. It was only after he had dressed in his most comfortable trousers and a light jumper, and was busily shaving the stubble he'd been neglecting for most of the week, that he directed his thoughts to breakfast. He was just contemplating whether to cook something or just have a cup of tea, when suddenly he realised what his dreams were trying to tell him. Something in Trelawney's class must have stuck with him all those years ago, because he found himself with a very clear understanding that those dreams were symbolic of his life, and he was obviously chasing something that wasn't what it seemed. The true Golden Snitch would be the thing he should have, the thing that was right for him. Harry nicked his chin as his hands started shaking with the weight of this revelation. As he rinsed the blade and dabbed at the blood on his face, cursing himself for being stubborn enough to shave the Muggle way, he wondered what those Snitches symbolised. What was that elusive thing he was chasing and how could he find the real one?

"What are we doing?"

Harry smiled as he responded, "We're going on a field trip!"

"Where?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"What are we going to do there?"

"Lessons."

He sent a quick, silencing look over the small group of trainees. Claire had brought in this new group upon Harry's return, and it had only taken him a few days to realise that they were trouble. They couldn't stay focused, they didn't think on their feet, and they hated each other. He couldn't remember ever seeing a group of six people who had a harder time getting along. These kids didn't know each other and didn't care to, for one reason or another. When he spoke with them individually, he learned that, for the most part, even they didn't know why they were refusing to work with the others. He had gone home Wednesday night and put a great deal of thought into this, trying to find a solution that would work for everyone and accomplish his goal. Finally, just as he was dozing off, it came to him.

Harry held out the rusted spoon Claire had used to create their portkey. Checking to make sure that each student had the bag he had conjured for them, he waited patiently while they all reached out to the spoon. Only once he was certain everyone was ready did he mutter the activation charm.

The newly budding trees offered areas of shade, and the field was thick with wildflowers. Harry allowed a couple moments for himself and the students to settle into the landing, and look around at their new surroundings.

"Okay, I know you said we were going on a field trip, but I didn't think you meant you were taking us to an actual field, dude!" Harry had to smile at Gareth's statement. The boy had spent his teen years at The Salem Witch's Institute in the United States and had picked up a number of Americanisms in his speech.

"Yes, well, we will be spending the night in this 'actual field' so I suggest you all start unpacking those bags of yours, while I put up the tents." Harry thanked Merlin for wizarding tents, pulling the tiny packages out of his own bag in preparation. He set them gingerly on the ground, a good distance apart and facing one another so they could put a fire pit in the middle. With a quick wave of his wand, the two tents were fully assembled, and a peek inside assured him that the 'bigger inside than they are outside' aspects were in proper working order. He led the two girls into the smaller of the tents, and followed the boys into the larger tent, immediately claiming the only bedroom that didn't have two beds. He certainly wasn't interested in sharing a bedroom with any of his trainees.

By late that afternoon most of the new trainees seemed to have a decent handle on the basics of grounding and centring. Harry debated about showing them the first and most basic of the T'ai Chi katas, but decided they weren't quite ready for it. Instead, as the sun began to set, Harry began to discuss auras.

"Now some of you may have seen auras before, though you may not have realised that's what you were seeing. It's been my experience that most wizard schools don't put much emphasis on the teaching of our internal energies, and how they affect our magic. That's something I had to learn later on. We're not going to try to see auras today; instead, I want you to feel them. Start with yourself. Close your eyes and direct your focus onto the very centre of your being, your soul, whatever you visualise that makes you who you are." He paused, waiting for the calm to emanate from each of them that would signify that they had indeed found their centres. "Now, place your hands in front of you, open, palms facing one another. Then slowly move your hands closer together. You'll feel a point of resistance, like there's something between your hands. That's the edge of your aura." Harry watched as each of his students followed those simple directions and found the metaphysical edges of their own auras. The expressions of surprise and wonder that graced each of their faces told Harry precisely when they had recognised the feeling he was describing.

Briony and Donal opened their eyes at nearly the same moment and looked at their hands. Harry watched as Briony experimented, moving her hands closer together and further apart, as if testing the strength of her aura. Donal seemed to be examining the space between his hands, looking closely at the very spot where Harry, with his trained eye, could see the gentle yellow and orange swirl. As Donal focused more and more, grounding and altering his energy, tendrils of green began to seep into the swirl. Harry was impressed. It had taken him weeks to learn that under the tutelage of Snape. Of course, if it had been someone I trusted more, and felt more comfortable around, I might not have had such trouble with it. He compared it to the difference of learning Occlumency from Snape and learning it from Dumbledore. His personality just clashed so strongly with Snape's that it made learning anything difficult where that man was involved.

"Okay, next, I want you to get in pairs. Briony and Gareth over here; Elspeth and Donal there; and Henri and Declan on this side," he motioned for them to form a half circle of pairs around him and waited while they got into place. The cool spring breeze distracted him for a moment as he felt his hair gently brush the back of his neck. It seemed to trigger a memory of sorts, but was nothing he could immediately put his finger on. "Now, face each other and gather that focus again. Raise your hands so your palms are facing your partners, and slowly move forward until you feel that resistance again. It'll feel a little different this time because you're touching someone else's energy. Don't panic, just go with it. When both you and your partner are comfortable with it, gently begin moving your hands inside your partner's energy field." He noticed a couple of nervous glances at that statement, but they were all concentrating fairly well and he had faith that they could handle this.

"If you and your partner are doing this at the same time, you'll be mixing your auras, colouring each other's energy temporarily. This is all temporary. You won't be forming any lasting bonds or making any permanent changes to each other's auras." There were a few uneasy chuckles at that, as if they had been worried about just that notion. "Once you've gotten a good feel for the energy, smooth it over and bring your palms back to the starting position. You'll know when you've stopped mingling your energy, and you're welcome to add anything you feel necessary as closure to the experience." He had first done this exercise with Remus during his seventh year, and remembered the immediate sense of closeness he felt with the older man as a result. It was as if he'd been alone all his life, and he felt no one understood or even truly saw him, and then suddenly, someone almost literally touched his soul. They had fallen into a deep hug as soon as they finished the exercise, but Harry didn't want to push things with this group, considering their previous apathy toward one another. It was a powerful exercise, though. So powerful, in fact, that he'd only practiced it a handful of times over the years, as his intuition led him to reveal that part of himself to a very select few.

He watched with thinly veiled pleasure as his students followed that unspoken lead and embraced their partners as they finished his instructions. He knew that they would work much better together after this, and felt that the rest of the training would go better. He only regretted that he would have to return the following week to a mound of paperwork. According to Claire, this would be his last 'tutorial' session for at least two or three months, a thought that made Harry none too happy.

April 13 - Sunday

In spite of his early return from Marrakesh, Draco was busier than he thought. With only two weeks before he was expected at Hogwarts, he needed to finalise his business in Paris, and he very quickly lost himself in all the details of shifting his life to another continent.

Packing his studio was one of the hardest things he had to do. He kept putting off the task, but was soon packing and shrinking boxes of books, parchments, and clothing. Every spare moment, he took the opportunity to revisit favourite places one last time.

The pain charm on his knee had long worn off, and the regular pain had returned, curtailing his desire to walk the length and breadth of the bustling city. Although Paris wasn't his true home, he tried to convince himself he would not be homesick when the time came to leave. The first time Draco left home was when he was eleven, and Hogwarts became his new home. The hardest part of that move was the separation from his mother. She tried to ease his homesickness with regular 'care packages' of goodies from their elves, and little treats from his own room. He could still taste the wonderful cinnamon fairy cakes he enjoyed as a child. The Malfoy elves indulged his sweet tooth at every given opportunity.

He had grown fond of Hogwarts during his time there, but was glad to get away from it by the time his NEWTs were over. That had more to do with the war and his own duplicitous loyalties than anything else. By the time the war was over, he was just grateful to put his feet up wherever he could, without the scowls of his 'adoring' public. As he sat enjoying a rather intricate and very delicate fruit flan from the patisserie, he realised the he had spent more than half his life away from his ancestral home – the Manor. He would rather stay in Paris than have to return there, yet he was silently glad that under the new restrictions on his father's estate that the Manor was inaccessible. He couldn't imagine living there again. The most recent memories were too painful.

Emmaline had not been upset that Draco and her nephew had not 'hit it off'. In fact, she seemed quite pleased that Draco realised that Jean-Paul was not the love of his life. He quickly got back into the habit of helping her out in the store. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty that he would be leaving her alone, and mentioned that fact to her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Why on earth would you think I am alone? I have the store, and I spend a lot of time with my customers…" she sounded rather affronted at the accusation.

"But you can't run this store on your own…" he offered in his defence. "Not to mention the fact you'll need to let my studio…"

"Your studio?" she grinned.

"You know what I mean," he answered smartly. "I just don't want to see you overdo it."

"Draco Malfoy," he suddenly found her wand pointed at him threateningly, "if you so much as dare say that I'm too old for this, I'll hex you back to Scotland, without your most prized possessions…" she glanced down at his robes, and he gulped visibly. She would do it too, he thought. "Just never you mind what I'm going to do when you go. You never know. We might all have a party," she offered teasingly.

"You would too, you old hag."

"Manners, Draco. I have plans, and they don't concern you dear. Now, why don't you make yourself useful, and levitate that box down from over there…" Draco smiled. Yes, he was definitely going to miss Emmaline.

"You know I'm pea green with envy, Draco." Arianna spoke up from her coffee as they enjoyed what had become a daily session at the coffee shop with his friend. Draco raised an eyebrow at the assertion.

"Oh?" he had no idea what bee she had in her bonnet now, but he was curious.

"You are the talk of the whole department. All the lecturers are raving at how we should all wish to be half as talented as you, and then we might actually get an offer of apprenticeship. You are so lucky! I would do anything to get away from here."

"Why? Paris is best city in the world." He couldn't understand her concern.

"Yes, well for starters, you never struggled through your classes. Secondly, your father isn't the Minister for Magic," she said dejectedly.

"No, he never was, but that wasn't to say he didn't have designs on the position. What's Daddy done now?" Draco could sympathise with her when it came to their fathers. Hers was not a tyrannical lunatic bent on eradicating non pure wizarding blood, but sometimes, when he listened to Arianna's stories, he sensed shades of Lucius Malfoy. That was obviously the pureblood upbringing coming to the fore. With so few pure aristocratic families still in existence, many of the more eclectic habits and accoutrements had gone by the wayside. Gabriel le Roux, Arianna's father, was definitely old school, and he frowned upon his only daughter's desire to study.

"Well, he mentioned my twenty-first birthday party – oh, you horrid pig – you're not going to be here for it! I can't believe you'll be in some horrid dungeon in smelly old Hoggy Hogwarts." Arianna took pleasure in teasing him about the fact he had gone to Hogwarts, and not Beauxbatons.

"Like I had any choice in schools, Ari. It was Hogwarts, or Durmstrang. You sound like you are going to miss me, Ari!" he teased. "So what date is the party?"

"Of course I will miss you, you git. I have every urge to write to you completely in French, just so you don't forget that we all want you back here! Oh, I'm having it on Saturday the 19th."

"Oh, great! I can still make it! That's if you are inviting me. I don't have to be at Hogwarts until after the Easter holiday. I wouldn't miss this party for all the galleons in Gringotts!" He hadn't been to a proper pureblood coming of age since the start of the war. The fact he wanted to be there didn't even enter into it. This was going to be fun!

"Do they celebrate Easter at Hogwarts," Arianna asked curiously. "At Beauxbatons we only celebrated the proper sabbats."

"Oh, I don't think it's too bad, I guess it's something we have to give the Muggles. I guess Hogwarts has had so many Muggleborn Headmasters, they had to cater to the families of all the Muggleborn students." Draco remembered his father's rant about how they were contaminating the wizarding world with their religious beliefs. He could still hear the man's rant as clearly as the day he first heard it as a child. He shuddered, glad Lucius was no longer around. "Besides," he continued, "we get twice the holidays that way. You know," he drawled, "It's the only reason why I worked as a spy during the war. I didn't want him killing all the Muggles and taking away all my extra holidays. It was so unfair!"

"Oh Draco, you are incorrigible, you know," Arianna laughed furiously. "Now that you're coming to my party, you will have no excuse not to buy me a big gift!"

"No, the best gifts come in small packages, darling," he retorted.

"I know… Oh I'm going to miss the fact you manage to make me forget my horrid father, and his draconian ideals." She stamped her foot. "Can't we just owl Severus Snape and tell him that you were kidnapped and that we can't find you? That way you will have to stay here in Paris forever, and then you can't go."

"I'm sure Severus would see right through your plan. Trust me, if you think crossing your father would be bad, then I guarantee that Severus would be twice as bad."

"Oh, bugger then." They finished their coffee in silence. Yes, he would miss his friends as well. But it's not forever, Draco. You'll come back. If only to ensure you can come back and find someone to fall in love with. That's if you still haven't found what you're looking for.

By the time Sunday rolled around – his last Sunday in Paris – he felt he was ready to leave. He'd had several Floo conversations with Severus, and was fully prepared for his new role. His research was all packed and ready to go, along with his other belongings. He was expected at the castle no later than the twenty-first. He decided he would spend a few days in London before then. Severus needed a few errands run, and he also needed to ensure that Gringotts and Weasley knew of his new status and contact information. It wouldn't do for the goblins to think he had gone missing as well.

The following weekend was the Muggle celebration of Easter, and in deference to this, the students at Hogwarts would be on holidays. A train would be heading back to the school on the Easter Monday, and he decided it would be nice to ride the Express one more time. At least one trip without Potter's holier than thou attitude beaming from every fibre of the train. I might actually get through one trip without being hexed.

Draco desperately blocked out of his mind that horrid trip home from school he spent covered in tentacles. The only consolation was that in the absence of Lucius (conveniently in Azkaban), his mother worked doubly hard with him to pick up on his duelling skills, and it still smarted that he never had the opportunity to reciprocate the favour against perfect Potter.

Still, if he's prone to leaks of power like I saw the other week, I don't think I would want to cross him on the duelling floor. Damn he looked good in those robes. Fuck! I did not just think of Potter in that way!

The more he thought about returning to Hogwarts, the more Draco's thoughts turned to memories he would have rather forgotten about his school days. He found a frown crossing his face more often than not, as on several occasions he remembered his recent encounter with Potter.

It had come as a rather shocking revelation for him to realise that he would not be getting any decent coffee upon his return to Scotland. It had been the desperate coffee addict side of him that had begged and cajoled Emmaline into promising to send him regular 'care packages' of beans. It might seem a little excessive to arrive at Hogwarts with his own coffee machine; besides, he honestly couldn't afford one even if he wanted to. So he became resigned to the fact that he would have to coerce the school's house elves into making his coffee just the way he liked it. He never had trouble convincing them when he was at school, but then again, they knew how Lucius had treated the Malfoy elves. Especially since that Dobby opened his big mouth to every elf that cared to listen. If memory served, he was still at Hogwarts, unless he's gone off into personal service of Potter. Damn!

He was really looking forward to his chat with Flash. He had kept himself so busy that week, it had taken his mind completely off Jean-Paul, but he needed to connect to his friend. Every now and then he found himself thinking 'I must tell Flash', and he had plenty to tell him about Ari. Brewing a coffee, he was just about to sit down to write, when a hurried knock at the door interrupted his routine.

A flustered looking Arianna stood on the doorstep. She had seemingly dressed in a hurry, her curls flying in all directions. He suspected a glamour charm had been quickly applied to touch up her makeup, but he couldn't be sure. He hugged her earnestly.

"People are going to start wondering – what will they say about the Minister's daughter visiting the less salubrious part of town? And at this hour of the night!" He was pleased to see the grin returned. Whatever had troubled her was quickly forgotten.

"Oh, Draco. I'm not interrupting you? Am I? You weren't expecting anyone, were you? Merde, I'm a bloody idiot," Arianna suddenly seemed to realise that she should not have arrived unannounced. Looking around Draco's shoulder, she tried to peer into the studio. Draco stood back with a flourish and let her in. She seemed a little disappointed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, pouring the coffee without asking. Arianna accepted the cup gratefully.

"Well," she sat down on the couch, settling in for a long story, "You are the only other person I could think of who might be able to help a damsel in distress," she smiled sweetly.

Draco raised a smile. "A damsel in distress? You know I prefer a lusty young squire."

"Oh, but where is your sense of chivalry, and adventure? I thought you might want to live a little – and be my escort to my coming of age ball," Arianna spoke the last sentence very quickly, hoping it might sound better.

"Your birthday party? You want me to be your escort?" he asked in shock.

Arianna nodded. "Well, it's either you, or one of those morons father is desperately trying to marry me off to. I feel like a prize cow sometimes. All they need is the right combination of magic beans, and I'll be sold to the most foppish git. I can't stand for that." Her anger was somewhat rising, but he could sense she was ready for some sort of outburst.

"Surely it isn't that bad?" he offered.

"Are you nuts? Of course it is, oh, but it wouldn't be so bad for you? Would it?"

"What are you talking about?" he had no idea what she was thinking.

Her anger was slowly rising, "That… man. Father! Merde, I can't believe his audacity. I still don't know whether or not I'm angry, or sad."

"Okay, we've previously established your father's best and worst attributes. What's Atilla done now?"

Arianna took a few deep breaths before calmly explaining. "Well, he calmly tells me who is escorting me to my ball, and I flatly refused. He then threatened to pull me out of university. I hate him! I swear, one of us isn't going to live to see my twenty-first birthday."

Coming of age balls were a huge event for a pureblood witch. The rituals went back centuries, and many arranged marriages came from those escorts. Draco was beginning to see why Arianna wanted to invite him.

"So you're looking for your own 'beard' for this event?" Arianna nodded. "Preferably someone who can make those other pillocks looks even worse?" Draco puffed out his chest, relishing in the idea of helping Arianna in a moment of need.

"Of course, I thought of you immediately, Draco. Your charm, your wit, the fact that father will goggle at the thought of a Malfoy on my arm..." she nudged him with her elbow and winked.

"He's, er... not going to think..."

"Let the old codger think what he likes. As far as I'm concerned, I want to have my friends at my party, and I then have an excuse to spend plenty of time with you," she almost had a pleading whine in her voice, but held back slightly.

"Of course. I'd be delighted. I was going to ask Severus to let me Floo back so I could surprise you, but now I have the perfect reason to come back!" He was grinning from ear to ear. It had been ages since he had been to a decent party, and knowing her father, it would be a party worthy of their common heritage. He was suddenly excited. So excited, he nearly missed the familiar rustle of the journal pages. Flash was writing. Damn. He hadn't realised just how late it was.

Arianna turned, and her eyes widened. She could see the purple ink that magically appeared on the pages. She stood up, getting a closer look at the journal. "Draco! You never told me you had a Journal Intime Partagé!" Draco was surprised to hear the proper name for the book.

"You've seen these before?" he asked curiously. Only then did he realise that Jean-Paul had a rather curious reaction to the book also.

He really wanted and needed to talk to his friend, but felt rude doing so in front of his guest.

"Of course I know about these journals, you git." She wanted to take a closer look, but Draco sat before the book, ready to pen a quick note to Flash, postponing their chat.

"No, just let me tell Flash that you're here. He'll understand, then you can tell me all you know about these journals." He quickly sat and scanned the purple writing.

Evening Luc! I hope you've had a better week?

Draco smiled at the thoughtfulness of his friend as he grabbed his quill and began to pen a quick apology.

Hey Flash, Can we postpone tonight? Ari just turned up on my doorstep, and I hate to be rude and kick her out. I'm really sorry. Hey, no problem, Luc. I hope everything is all right. Same time next week? Perfect, talk to you then! Adieu, Luc.

He quickly closed the journal, and joined her back on the couch.

"Flash, huh?" Ari seemed to be a little brighter at this news about Draco.

"You just keep your gossiping mitts out of there," he admonished, but her grin was somewhat brighter.

"I never knew you had one of those. That the primary Malfoy journal?" Draco didn't know what she meant. He briefly explained how he 'found' it in the bookstore, and how he felt compelled to reply to Flash.

"You mean you've never met Flash?" she seemed stunned.

"No. He's in England anyway."

"England, and you're returning to Scotland." She waggled her eyebrows at him.

"You're delusional, girlie. Besides, we're just pen pals. A couple of lost and forlorn gay young men who need a mutual shoulder to cry on about our disastrous love lives. That's all." The coffee was long gone in his cup, and he asked if she would like another.

"I see. Whatever you want to call it," she grinned as she turned away. She seemed surprised that Draco didn't know the full extent of the journal's magic. She didn't feel like enlightening him, not after hearing how he described his relationship to the other wizard. Let him discover it for himself, she thought.

"Look, it does appear I was interrupting something. I'll let you get on with it, but thank you," she reached up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek and give him a hug. "You're a wonderful friend, Draco Malfoy."

"I'll remember that when I'm face to face with your father, and he asks me the awkward questions about my intentions towards his daughter," he mocked.

"I'm sure you'll improvise," she retorted as she left.

Things have been in such turmoil for so long, and now I realise that my problems are not nearly half as bad as other people's. I'm escorting Ari to a party; purely so that her father doesn't set her up and marry her off to some pureblood git who has more money than sense. It feels good to help a friend, and I just wanted to let you know that it is good to have friends. Especially when lovers are scarce on the horizon. I guess I'll just channel all my excess love into my friends and let them enjoy themselves. Anyway, I know I'm not saying much, but I felt I just had to share it. Merde! I can't believe I missed an opportunity to find out more about our journals! I suspect that once I go and sit down, I'll forget again. There is definitely some dark magic in here – some secret that we're either not supposed to know, or work out for ourselves. What do you think? Enjoy your week, and by this time next week, I'll be in a new place, ready to start the next act in the ongoing screenplay that is my life. I only wish Tolkien had written it. Take care Adieu,
Luc

In a subtle irony, Draco was fully aware of the fact that when he left for Marrakesh, he felt he was taking control of his life. Only now, after realising that going to Marrakesh had not yielded the results he had hoped, did he realise that he had been in control the entire time, even if he never found what he was looking for.

-TBC-

Publish Date: (this chapter) 26-October-2004
Updated: 28-February-2005

Chapter Length: 40,901 words.

Author Notes:

Azhure's A/N: Another mammoth chapter, and we are so glad to finally get it out. Between RL and everything, well, let's just say we're looking forward to the upcoming chapters. You can all guess why, can't you?

As for our last chapter, we had tonnes of wonderful reviews. Thank you all for your encouraging support.

Wintermoon's A/N: Many many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who read, and to everyone who REC'd us elsewhere! We've had fun with this chapter, even though it's had to be squeezed in amongst all the yucky necessities of life such as school and work and moving. We would like to announce that this chapter introduces a new addition to the preparation team. SeparatriX has been following PSL for quite some time and asked if we would be interested in an extra pair of eyes to roam the work before sending it out to the masses. Considering the perfectionist natures of both your authors, we decided that it would be lovely to have a fresh layer of editing available and have been pleased with the results thus far! Now, in a serious effort to wrap up loose ends, we are both planning to devote a little time (muse willing) to updating our other WIPs, but rest assured that we will be getting to chapter 13 in the very near future and will have it available for your reading pleasure as soon as possible!

So huge thanks to:

Shiseidox, Crimson Colored Cloaked Figure, Menecarkawan, Emily22, Silvia-Silver, driven to insanity, futago akuma-tenshi01, Angel-Wings6, Marlee, CelestialDrgn, Immortal Tears of, Moonybody, katsparrow69, Memeal, thedarkside45, Roslyn Drycof, Honour Nature, Awe, Kasia, Lelimo, M'Ladym elfwiththebrows, futago akuma-tenshi02, Obscurus Imber, CuriousDreamWeaver, Emerald Icicle

Ackyllin - We're very honoured you stuck around after chapter one, Ackyllin! Hope this chapter was as good for you as the last 11!

AnnieT - Sorry about the really long wait for this chapter, but hope it's worth it!

Autore - Will Harry meet Jean-Paul? Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. We'll see. We'll see. And that's all I'm saying on that!

ddz008 - I hope you don't get into too much trouble with your Mom for reading this! Glad you loved the story, even if you can't quite put your finger on why you like it. That's a sign of a good story (at least it is to me!) so thank you for your wonderful words! And welcome to our fic! Glad you're enjoying it!

Dragenphly - Apologies if you have no more fingernails left. Here's the next nailbiting chapter. We left enough time between them just so yours could grow back in time!

Hitomi-des - Well now we've resolved the Snape isn't Flash issue. But that's not to say that Severus won't ever find out... maybe. Perhaps.

It'sJustMe - (from WM) Wow, only story you're following on I'm feeling a bit honoured. :) Okay, so I hope you're feeling better now about the Jean-Paul thing? He sorta jumped into Azhure's head and from what I (Wintermoon) could tell, he just wouldn't go away. As you can see, though, he appears to be gone. Oh, and about the ranting and the lazing around… wonderful advice, and I'll be doing a bit of both before I head back to school! (from Az) - Wow - the longest review ever! Thank you! You know, I was worried that Jean-Paul was a little bit Gary-Stu, but as you can hopefully see, he's not perfect, nor is he the one for Draco. He's a workaholic who is excellent at what he does, however, he knows about these journals, and is hurt that he never knew Draco had one. I struggled with writing him this chapter, as I wanted to get rid of him, but leave an avenue there just in case we need him to return. Oops, did I say that? And thanks for your suggestions for time out! I do have a rant now and then, even if it is only to Wintermoon! As for getting out and about, I was in Sydney this weekend staying with Fayee and her darling husband. Pottered around the markets and send photos of Lemon meringue pie to Wintermoon over my phone (halfway across the world). I am certified!

Jen Red Robe - Hmmm, Jen, you are very good for asking some very pertinent questions about Draco's knee... and that's all I have to say about that... :) and, Is Harry going to teach at Hogwarts? What gives you that idea? He went back for advice and help, yes… but teaching? Hmmmmmm….

Kaaera - glad you like it. If you do find some spare dollars to send Azhure to the United States from Australia, then please email us with the funds. ;) (WM adds - yes, there will be no argument here!) So as mentioned before, Azhure lives in Australia, Wintermoon lives in the USA. Now that we've cleared that up, climb down the wall and enjoy the fact that you got another 40 page chapter despite the fact there was no visit involved.

Lalaluu - surely we wouldn't use forgotten dreams as a plot device. Never! Of course not! ;)

Lilya - thanks for leaving a review Lilya! Glad you could join us!

louise4 - Glad you love our Charlie. I hope you don't hate us for this chapter, but as you can see, it looks like Harry and Remus will never happen. Oops, did I say that? Never say never. Never rule out any pairing. But yes, it does look like the way is now clear for Harry and Draco to get together, doesn't it:) Well, as you can see it doesn't always take a visit to get 40 pages out of us. However, that idea of someone immigrating isn't a bad one… Wintermoon eyes Azhure pointedly and sighs in frustration at US immigration regulations

Michael Serpent - Glad we could keep up to your very high expectations, Michael! Always a pleasure to hear from you!

MJLuvsPolar - Unfortunately, Ms Wintermoon and Ms Azhure have been censured from speaking to any case workers from S.P.A.A.M. Suffice to say that the Muse is currently enjoying her new working conditions.

Rowenna - (from Az) Yes, believe it or not, we did meet through ff . net and now we've found the other halves of our brains, which is very nice! (from WM) Yes, you assume correctly, we met through began beta-reading for each other on Blast from the Past and Saturn Returns while simultaneously working out the beginnings of ideas for PSL. It's so nice to figure out where the other part of your brain has gone to! (special note - I've left these two responses as they were individually typed to emphasis the freakiness of said brain-sharing.)

saFire flame - is Harry going to be staying at Hogwarts too? Hmmmm. That's a very good question.

Sailor Grape - Thank you sooooo much for the lovely review! We're so glad that we could help you to forget about your RL troubles for a little while (or a couple of days even!). Glad you and everyone else enjoyed their little meeting and their near misses. We had a lot of fun writing those scenes. Now, I know you might not have liked the Jean-Paul action in this chapter, but, as you can see, I think he might just be out of the picture. Unless, of course, Autore gets her way and we have him meet up with Harry. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.

SeparatriX - Thank you for your in depth review. We are glad you wanted to read it more than once. We intend to keep up the good work, and there are a lot of new things in this chapter and beyond that should keep you coming back for more. Thanks again! As for the dreams, we are neither evil, nor wenches, we simply report to you what happens to the boys. We don't control them, you know! We're honoured that you appreciate our work enough to want your name added to it! Thanks for the beta!

Singukusa - Hmmm, on the journal - got it in one! On being a new reader of PSL - WELCOME! On the extreme praise and gushing - no apologies needed, it is much appreciated and quite inspiring! On the pond - right again, Azhure lives in OZ, and Wintermoon in the south of the USA. A goodly 15 hour time difference. Thank Merlin for yahoo messenger and very cheap phone text messaging!

Tangledhair - Hey tangled! Yeah, Harry is in a bit of a fix at work. Nobody should be in a deadend job for that long. Things are looking up for him, we promise! Wow - don't ignore the community! They need you hon! I'm sooooooo glad you liked it!