Per Solum Lacuna: By Words Alone
Chapter 14: You Can't Always Get What You Want

You can't always get what you want,
But if you try sometimes you might find,
You get what you need.
Rolling Stones

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.
Underlined Text: Suggestive comments in the diaries.

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

May 14 - Wednesday

Albus Dumbledore's face was unreadable as he watched the school's two newest staff members as they sat uncomfortably across the other side of his desk. The pair tried desperately to avoid the headmaster's keenly piercing gaze. Draco was studiously examining his fingernails as he completely ignored Harry, who was looking a little frazzled, if not somewhat guilty. The Quidditch master's fingers tapped a nervous beat against his thigh as his gaze wandered aimlessly around the room, avoiding the headmaster's obvious disapproval. It wasn't every day that Dumbledore had to deal with staff acting like children, but he had hoped that the two young men sitting before him could learn to finally get over their differences and work together.

"Well I never thought I would have to discipline my staff for acting like eleven year olds," Dumbledore's voice held no amusement as he sighed in frustration. The tension between his Potions apprentice and the Quidditch master had been palpable since their first day on staff together. It had been optimistic of the headmaster to think that they could resolve their conflict in an adult manner, but matters had come to a head not long after dinner, and Dumbledore immediately hauled them into his office to put a stop to it.

Nobody within the walls of Hogwarts who knew the two young men was truly surprised at the level of animosity displayed between them, but none were more surprised than Harry and Draco. It had been a most frustrating fortnight since Beltane, a fortnight both men could have done without.

Harry sat contritely as he tried everything in his power to avoid looking at Malfoy. Everything about returning to Hogwarts had seemed so perfect, until he realised that life in the castle also included one smug, blond wizard. It had come as a complete surprise to learn that Malfoy was firmly ensconced on staff as Snape's apprentice, but Harry could not curb his insatiable curiosity as he discovered many things about his one-time rival.

Once upon a time, Harry would have gained untold pleasure at having cut Malfoy down verbally. Ron would have been there, egging him on and patting him on the back for his cleverness. Remus had been correct in his assessment; Malfoy was not the same boy he remembered. The more he thought on it, the more he realised that the former spy had become more of an enigma than Harry ever thought possible.

Just when Harry thought he understood what motivated Malfoy, he would raise his mask and return to the pompous and smirking git that once strutted his stuff all over the school. This frustrated Harry endlessly. He honestly had no grudge against Malfoy, but for some reason, Malfoy continued to maintain their old feud, which unfortunately made Harry lose his hard fought for cool on several occasions.

Malfoy's refusal to accept an apology from Harry for his harsh words became an invitation for Malfoy to constantly bite back with acidic barbs that were more hurtful than childish, but Harry could only hold his own tongue for so long. Remus attempted to keep them from each other's throats during mealtimes, but each meal was thoroughly tainted by the distinct chill that rose from the pair.

But the worst thing of all was that Remus was becoming friendly with Malfoy, which upset Harry more than anything else. Harry knew he had no rights to claim Remus, no matter how much he wanted to. His own friendship with the werewolf was not in jeopardy, but he soon discovered that jealousy was one emotion he had extreme difficulty handling. He had mixed feelings upon learning that Malfoy was behind Remus' good health and vitality. On one hand it was hard to believe Malfoy could achieve something so... humane, but he really didn't want to begrudge Remus the one thing that was keeping his curse in check.

Harry was kept busy with the physical demands of running the school's broom and sports programs, which was a sheer delight. With a few exceptions, the students seemed to take his instruction well, and he gained pleasure from seeing young people extend themselves and overcome their own physical limitations to take to the sky. Harry had always enjoyed the physical aspects of his work, and he wondered why he ever allowed himself to become stale and stagnant sitting behind a desk for so long.

He had no intention of tempting fate, and continued to work on his T'ai Chi as part of an ongoing control routine. He was proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his errant power in check since returning from China and had not had any uncontrolled power surges. He hoped this was a sign that the Neo Death Eaters were not active, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before they would strike again. As he meditated, he pondered this new sense of jealousy, but upon reflection he reluctantly admitted that he had always been somewhat jealous of Malfoy and all that he had. It was hard seeing Remus talking casually with Malfoy. He tried, rather unsuccessfully, to bury all the feelings and desires he had for Remus, but it was nigh on impossible. Seeing the smirk on Malfoy's face as he was with Remus was enough to raise his ire.

The one thing Harry needed to do was talk to someone – someone who could understand him completely – Luc. He would know just what to do, and would give Harry just the advice he needed to deal with the annoying git who dogged his every waking step. It had been a few weeks since they managed to sit down and chat, and Harry felt the loss keenly. Their schedules had become overwhelmingly busy, and Harry ended up having to cancel one of their chats as he dealt with a visiting contingent of representatives from the Quidditch League. Just when he was ready to sit and talk with Luc the week before, he found a note from his friend telling him that he would be all night brewing and could not leave his cauldron.

Every time he thought he had overcome any jealous feelings, Malfoy would rear his well coiffed head and Harry would be immediately reminded of the git and why he was feeling jealous in the first place. It didn't help that Malfoy invaded the one moment of quiet solitude he sought every morning. Harry had discovered the Eastern courtyard was the perfect place for his morning T'ai Chi, but he had not expected to share the quiet and peaceful spot with Malfoy and his disgusting smoking habit. Harry still couldn't work out why someone like him could get hooked on such a disgusting Muggle habit.

He sure hoped nothing would prevent him from chatting with Luc come Sunday, for he really needed to hear his friend's thoughts about this unhealthy jealous streak.

And just in case he did not get enough of Malfoy's presence as he tried to meditate, Dumbledore forced them to share mealtimes together. Even though he would always start the day with the best of intentions towards Malfoy, his resolve would usually crumble by the end of breakfast. If Malfoy wasn't baiting him with one of his quick barbs, he was spending the meal watching Harry closely. He was used to Malfoy staring at him. He had managed to handle seven years of that type of behaviour from him, after all. It was just tiresome now. Surely Malfoy would have grown out of such a childish habit.

This confused Harry more than anything. One minute Malfoy would project a persona that emulated that of his childhood, and the next he would seem like a totally different person – a nice person. Was this the individual Remus saw when he talked to Malfoy? Because he certainly never showed that face in front of Harry. He would always display that familiar façade when he thought nobody was watching.

Harry had managed to observe the Potions apprentice a few times as he interacted with some of the other professors in the staffroom. Madame Pomfrey, Remus and Snape were all treated with a modicum of respect. On one occasion, Harry overheard a very candid conversation between Malfoy and Snape. This was not the brash and petulantly aggressive man that seemed to confront Harry at every turn. What happened to the outgoing braggart? He's really rather introspective, and serious when he's not putting on airs and graces. He obviously takes his work very seriously. Harry was surprised that the former spy had managed to create a career for himself that involved actual work. He had always assumed that Malfoy would spend his future living the high life on his obviously substantial fortune. Surely the Draco Malfoy sitting there discussing the properties of ground dragon teeth with Snape was not the same one Harry remembered from his youth.

He thought he might have some idea what caused this change in Malfoy. Harry still felt the guilt every time he watched him grab for his cane and walk uncomfortably through the school corridors and halls. It had been Harry's responsibility to finish off Voldemort, and had he managed the task earlier, he could have saved dozens of lives and thousands of injuries, Malfoy's included.

Is that why he's so different? It has to be the injury. It's like he only puts on that mask whenever I'm around, as if it is expected. Of course, I'm a complete git for taunting him about it too, but I couldn't help myself. Why do I always let him goad me into an argument? Harry did try not to rise to Malfoy's taunts, but found that it was a difficult habit to break, much as he imagined smoking was for Malfoy if the sheer frequency of his cigarette consumption was anything to judge by.

Harry found himself increasingly tired of seeing Malfoy at every turn, especially since every time he saw him, he was again reminded of that amazing dream from Beltane. How could he forget it – it had played numerous encore performances on many nights since the Sabbat.

He certainly wasn't complaining about the dream, as it had allowed him to release all that pent up sexual tension. Harry just didn't need the waking reminder of that smirk - at least not associated with such activities as it was involved with during the highly erotic and intense dream. The man was practically married, but that didn't help Harry in the least. His subconscious was playing nasty tricks and Harry wished his oversensitive libido would just choose some other person to target in his dreams.

All Harry knew, as he sat here waiting for the headmaster to pass out some pearls of wisdom, was that Malfoy had irritated him to the point where he nearly snapped. Their battle of wills had come to a head and it was so easy to let his control slip and the cutting words to escape. The fact that they had drawn their wands and were ready to duel in the Entrance Hall was not something Harry was proud of.

His gaze finally fell on Malfoy as they awaited Dumbledore's judgement. For a moment, Harry thought the headmaster might cancel his teaching appointment, which would be a travesty. He seemed so calm, his sneering mask of indifference completely in place. Surely he must be worried about losing his apprenticeship, if that's what it would come to. But this was the Malfoy that Harry remembered from school - the cool Slytherin. Why did he insist on keeping up pretences with his feigned apathy? Harry's gaze was drawn to the perfectly manicured hands. If he's brewing potions all the time, how is it his skin isn't all greasy and discoloured like Snape's? He could not believe his mind wandered to such thoughts, but it was another of the mysteries surrounding Malfoy – mysteries that Harry felt he would never uncover.

Draco seemed so self-assured and calm, that Harry was startled when he was the one to speak first to the headmaster. "I'm sorry, sir. I admit it was poor form to let our personal feud spill out in public. But if you must know, I was provoked..."

"That's bullshit, Malfoy, and you know it." Harry's tone sounded more weary than angry, despite his harsh words. Malfoy had been the only one doing any provoking. What Harry couldn't work out is why he was surprised to see Malfoy trying to wheedle his way out of any culpability in this. It was just the sort of behaviour Harry had learned to expect from the little ferret he'd known years earlier, but somehow, this time it was both surprising and confusing.

"Harry..." Dumbledore admonished.

"Well, sir, I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm really tired of this, and I know it sounds childish, but Malfoy really did start it. I admit that he goaded me into saying something I now regret. I've tried apologising to him, then ignoring him, but whatever I do it seems to upset Lord-High-and-Mighty here. I've had it up to here with his smarmy taunts." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a weary sigh. He regretted the fact that Malfoy's return to their teenage behaviour was pulling him down as well.

Draco cleverly kept his mouth shut – so typical of the Slytherin when in 'danger' – but his scowl showed his extreme displeasure. Harry could see the tiny mole above the peak of his lip quiver. That mole was awfully distracting, but Harry had learned to read it well. Malfoy was unhappy about something. The mole usually quivered when he was angry. Malfoy took a calm breath before responding. "I won't deny, Potter, that you antagonise me at every turn, but I certainly do not have to put up with your injurious barbs every time we come face to face. I merely responded in kind."

"Responded in kind?" Harry's voice rose in incredulity. "I tried to apologise once and since then you've done nothing but—"

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore's hoarse roar made everyone in the room jump. Even the captive onlookers in their picture frames leapt in surprise. "I'm not interested in your personal differences, and neither is anyone else. I will not have the students placing bets on which one of you is going to be the first to wind up seriously injured. I've already broken up one illicit betting ring amongst the senior students. I will not permit your behaviour any longer."

Both young men now looked suitably chastened, but the headmaster continued, "Perhaps I was wrong to think that the two of you have moved past your childhood rivalry, but I can see now that I seriously misjudged both of you." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it again. "I expected you both to uphold the highest standards when dealing with the students. Instead, I find you squabbling like a pair of Knockturn Alley gutter rats. Hostilities will cease immediately, is that clear? It might be too much to ask that you resolve your differences in private, but when you are in the public areas of this school you will act in a manner that befits a member of my staff."

Harry was contrite. "I am truly sorry, sir. I won't let it get out of hand. Of course, I can't speak for Malfoy, but I promise not to start anything."

Draco nodded reluctantly. "I doubt I will have any trouble ignoring Potter, sir. I really had no desire to become reacquainted with him in the first place, but I can certainly be civil when the need arises." Harry just rolled his eyes at the total condescension and sarcasm that dripped from Malfoy's statement. The snooty git was only doing it to grate on Harry's nerves. He took a deep breath and totally ignored it. He wondered how long their truce would last. He would give it until they reached the base of the office stairs.

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr Malfoy, but I am not sure that your assurances alone will suffice. Your very manner of addressing one another only exacerbates the hostility you still carry. I suggest that you both should get into the habit of calling each other by your given names. Yes, I do think that is a splendid idea." Both men missed the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, and they did not notice his amused chuckle as he flourished his wand to conjure a tray with tea items.

"Sugar, Draco?" Dumbledore poured a cup for Draco.

"Lemon, thank you," Draco's mouth soured in distaste at the thought of forced civility to Potter. He could do it, but he certainly didn't have to like it. He had done a great many things in the past that he didn't like. What was one more? He had been expecting something like this – Potter's cavalry to come and rescue him from the first sign of unpleasantness. Draco was actually surprised it had taken so long. It had only been two weeks since he discovered just how close he would be to his worst nightmare, but it was the two longest weeks of his life...

Draco had hoped that he could lead a somewhat peaceful existence during his tenure at Hogwarts, but that hope had been dashed the moment he saw Potter standing in his doorway on Beltane Eve. Despite the fact that Draco blamed him solely for his cursed knee, he knew that the former Gryffindor always brought out the worst of his competitive nature. Potter had always been a well practised target for his biting sarcasm, and even though he tried desperately to avoid the new Quidditch master, he could not avoid the habits of a lifetime.

It irked Draco no end that Potter's mere presence at Hogwarts would disrupt his plans to quietly complete his apprenticeship and carve out a niche in his chosen career. How was he expected to work with the git breathing down his neck at every turn? It lead to a very tense time for Draco.

It was that undue sense of tension that had nagged and nipped at his heels and had led to their near duel that evening. He really wasn't surprised that Potter was at Hogwarts; Severus had mentioned that he liked to hang around. Rather than ignoring the royal pain in the arse, Draco found their verbal bantering was somewhat comfortable, and something that had become expected of them. He could not resist trying to gain the verbal upper hand no more than he could resist scratching an itch. Somehow, that desire to be one up on Potter had festered and deepened to the point that he found himself unable to stop thinking about him. This disturbed Draco more than he would ever admit.

Draco continuously tried to repress the memory of that embarrassingly intimate Beltane dream which had featured Potter in a starring role. Unfortunately, the more he tried to forget, the easier the dream slipped into his forethoughts. It hadn't been the first time that he dreamt about Potter in such a way, but he easily explained previous dreams on raging teen hormones. He had been a thoroughly horny teenager at the time, and he dreamt of nearly everyone at some stage or another. Of course, the old dreams about Harry had been helped along by a rather eye-opening spy session in the Quidditch showers. There had been no such impetus for this new dream.

He had been surprised, then angered when Potter returned his taunts with a blatantly insulting blow about his war injury. He didn't fail to notice the menace in his rival's tone, even though he saw immediate regret in those green eyes. He had been used to Potter coming up with rather witty remarks on occasion, and a few well placed hexes on others, but he repressed those memories even further.

The more he thought on it, the more he realised that so much of his life had been defined by Potter's. His presence overshadowed more of Draco's life than he would willingly admit. He recalled that even as a child, his father spoke about Potter incessantly. He felt he knew all about the boy before he started at Hogwarts, and was keen to become his friend. He had never really overcome the snub at his offer of friendship. After that their rivalry was cemented and it seemed that the popular Gryffindor featured heavily in every aspect of his school life.

The longer he thought about it, the more he realised that it was Potter's fault that he was even involved in the war. Had Lucius not thrown his lot in with a maniac obsessed with the Boy Who Lived, Draco would probably be living a very different life. Naturally, the entire war was one horrific mess after another as Voldemort poured his considerable resources into sending his Death Eaters on ridiculous missions to find and destroy his nemesis.

Of course, once it was all over, Potter again defined Draco's life by his lousy timing. Five minutes earlier or later, and Draco's cover as a spy would not have been blown. As it was, he was lucky to escape with his life, but the degenerative curse in his knee that had been a parting gift from the nearest Death Eater was the primary source of Draco's resentment. It didn't matter that Potter was on the other side of the country when it happened - Draco had spent the past three years assigning the blame.

Draco tried hard not to let the injury get the better of him, but at times it would limit him severely. He found his inability to ride a broom extremely upsetting at first, but he learned to live without that one thing that he had once loved so much. He felt fully justified in his resentment of the wizarding world's saviour, despite his own war hero status. Unfortunately, current events were conspiring against him and he was again forced to coexist with the person he despised more than any other.

But that's not what was upsetting Draco at this moment. It was the fact that Potter continued to feature in that recurring dream that raised Draco's ire. After three days in a row waking up from that same dream – that wondrous, sensual, mind blowing dream that ended with the shocking discovery that his dream lover wore Harry Potter's lust filled face – Draco gave up sleeping. It didn't matter that as a result of the dream, he would wake up feeling more sated than he had in a long time.

Fortunately, he could forget the dream once he immersed himself in the dozens of tedious tasks required of an apprentice. Severus told him he didn't need to take on some of those burdens (that's why I assign detentions, Draco), but Draco took the opportunity and was glad for the diversion. Anything to keep from bumping into Potter every time he stepped beyond his rooms.

The stress of reduced sleep led Draco to reacquaint himself with a very old habit – smoking. Draco had initially been introduced to cigarettes during that stressful period when he first took the Dark Mark and began to spy. Smoking seemed to calm him down and allow him plenty of time to think. It was the ultimate form of rebellion against his father. Lucius never knew, of course, but the fact Draco partook of it was rebellion enough.

It was either smoking, or anxiety potions, and Draco wasn't stupid enough to take up an addiction to the latter. Besides, he needed his wits about him as he worked, and something about the cigarettes left him feeling sharper than before. He was fully aware of the dangers of such a habit, but right now, it was the lesser of two evils.

Severus had noted a return to old habits, but Draco snapped at him as well. The Potions master knew to leave well enough alone. Draco could not be faulted in his work, so Severus would leave the fatherly advice for another day. He had an inkling about the cause of the habit, but knew there were some things Draco had to work out on his own.

Draco's short temper and irascibility were at the fore whenever Potter was around. The headmaster's polite request that all staff appear at the head table for breakfast each day did nothing to improve that, not when Potter's assigned seat was next to his. Surely someone could have seen that seating them together was like waving a red cape to a bull. Luckily, Remus was aware of the discomfort to both young men, and stepped in, diplomatically choosing to sit between them during meals. It helped somewhat, but barbs and snide remarks still managed to be traded over the werewolf's head.

Draco eventually managed to get some sleep at night, but that exquisitely intimate recurring nightmare did not cease. He had no idea how long it was destined to continue, but he fervently wished he could wake up just once without that image of Potter's face burned into his memory. He would also cope a whole lot better if his rebellious cock would stop enjoying the dream so much.

As he (yet again) went through the motions of washing away the dream's physical evidence, he wondered if Potter had somehow hexed him. Curses of a sexual nature were certainly not unheard of, but he could not be sure. He wouldn't have been surprised if the smarmy bastard had. He even considered heading out on his next day off to pick up some cute piece of arse just to relieve his frustrations and get Potter's image out of his head. Of course, that would not help him with all the other emotional baggage he was carrying around, but he was ready to do almost anything for it to stop.

Every morning he would watch as Potter would be the last one to straggle in to breakfast. Draco doubted his tardiness was due to spending too much time primping and preening before a mirror – goodness knows the prat could use it. That rat nest on his head was beyond hope, and he usually managed to look like he just got up out of bed – right down to the casual way he wore his Quidditch robes. Draco told himself he was not checking out the git, but long repressed memories and recent dreams left little to his disloyal imagination. Curse his eyes for their disobedience. It was no wonder Draco bit back with anger each time Potter deigned to speak to him.

A day trip to Glasgow to pick up some supplies for Severus provided Draco with ample opportunity to escape the castle's confinement. With the wizarding stores hidden amongst the Muggle high street, Draco relished the idea of getting out of his drab apprentice robes and into his Muggle gear. It was nice to spend some quality time away from all sources of tension. After his last trip to Hogsmeade, he had enough presence of mind to be watchful for any more old acquaintances. Fortunately, his day was free of Death Eaters, and he enjoyed a leisurely browse through the stores after he picked up Severus' parcels. An interesting second-hand Muggle bookstore distracted him for a couple of hours. He was reluctant to leave the quaint store, but had little choice after he began to sneeze uncontrollably. Curse those Muggles for not having dust repelling charms on their books.

An attack of the munchies struck mid afternoon, and he ducked into the local corner shop. As he grabbed a variety of chocolates from the counter, he was immediately drawn to the rows of cigarettes behind the shopkeeper. Without a second thought, he had bought a carton, and very quickly reacquainted himself with the most noxious of Muggle habits. But, oh, he felt so much better.

Unfortunately, the noxious chemicals in cigarette smoke were a hazard in Draco's work area, so he was forced to partake of his 'relaxing' habit out of doors. Draco remembered a perfect spot in the corner of the courtyard that was the standard haven for Muggle-borns and other school rebels who smoked.

Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised to find that even his enjoyment of that haven was to be tainted by the presence of Potter.

Draco woke up in desperate need of a cigarette after yet another mind-blowing dream. The details of the dream never altered, and Draco refused to admit that he was somewhat enjoying waking up from them each morning. The irony of his situation certainly didn't go unnoticed. Just when Draco had determined that he needed to take a break from his love life for a while (he was never in doubt that his options would be severely limited at Hogwarts), he was constantly bombarded by dreams of the one person least likely to ever get his hands (or his mouth) anywhere near his cock.

He had heard no sound in the courtyard, but was surprised to find Potter standing in the middle of the quiet space, eyes closed. Draco was ready to open his mouth, but saw that his own presence had gone unnoticed. Dressed in what Draco could only describe as a pair of Eastern pyjamas, Potter seemed self-absorbed. Well that's not surprising, Draco thought. But after a few moments, he noticed Potter was moving in a smooth and choreographed way. He thought it looked like martial arts, only in slow motion.

He didn't realise he'd been watching Potter's smooth and graceful movements long enough for his cigarette to have burned down to the filter tip.

Harry's meditation was disrupted by the unmistakeable smell of cigarette smoke. Not wanting to stop, he continued with his exercises from the Book of Forms as he focussed on pushing away the negative energy. He also tried to do the same with the presence lurking at the corner of the courtyard, but the soft striking of a match sounded like an explosion to his senses, and he faltered. Harry immediately knew who would be presumptuous enough to stand there and just watch him. His breathing faltered and he lost the rhythm, losing his centre and focus.

"Can't you find somewhere else to destroy your lungs, Malfoy, or are you just here to disrupt my concentration and piss me off?" Potter sighed heavily and stared through Draco.

Draco casually leaned against the stone wall and took a long drag. He had managed to affect Potter, which was a perfectly acceptable way to start the day.

"Oh don't let me stop you, Potter. Surely you love having an audience."

Harry breathed deeply. Draco could see he was desperately trying not to give in to anger. "I find one quiet and lonely place in this whole castle to meditate, and you have to come along and spoil it."

"Ahh, the price of fame, eh Potter? It's a bitch, isn't it?" Draco finished his second cigarette and stubbed it out dramatically with the end of his cane. He turned and walked away, desperately trying not to smirk at the incredulous look on Potter's face.

Harry closed his eyes. He had to work hard to regain his centre, but he was forcing himself to push away the bundle of negative energy that now enveloped him. His own frustration got in the way and he quickly gave up. It would take more time than he had to get back to that wonderful sense of calm he sought.

Draco arrived late to breakfast. He could not believe he spent a half hour watching Potter, but it had all been worth it to see Potter's barely concealed anger as he stalked in and sat at the staff table.

For the better part of seven years at school Draco had watched Potter. That habit was extremely hard to break, even now. He blatantly tried to ignore his own roving eye and its admiration of the cut and swathe of Potter's lithe form in the well-cut Quidditch jerseys. He frowned when it wanted to draw a comparison between that and the earlier loose Eastern linens he wore during his meditation. Someone has definitely been teaching the git how to dress properly. At least his clothes seem to fit these days, even if they are a little too casual. Perhaps there is hope for the wizarding world yet. Still, he doesn't have to fuss with these ridiculous apprentice robes. Once upon a time Draco's barbs would have Potter seething for a full day. It surprised him to see that Potter had fully regained his composure, becoming centred within the space of a few breaths. But what a grand show it was when he did fly off the handle.

Draco continued to be impressed as he carefully watched Potter, hiding his distaste behind the bland fare that passed as breakfast on his plate. Why can't they serve decent food here? It is so tasteless - a man's tastebuds could die of boredom. As he turned away, he sensed he too was being watched, but not by Potter. He turned his gaze toward the Slytherin table. Michaels, again. Draco had almost forgotten the keen and eager student that shadowed his every step.

It seemed that Damien Michaels was keen to renew his acquaintance with Draco Malfoy. Draco had an inkling as to Michaels' motivation for seeking out his company, but Draco was plainly disinterested. He had watched the arrogantly confident young man flirt with both other boys and girls, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be targeted. Draco remembered what it was like to be seventeen, arrogant and full of sexual confidence. Even if he had been toying with the idea of accepting Michaels' no doubt generous offer, he was not stupid enough to get involved with a student. It was more than his job was worth.

Michaels had not yet approached him directly, but it was only a matter of time before the inevitable proposition was received. Michaels was an ambitious Slytherin who would not let an opportunity go begging. Draco acknowledged the young man's gaze with a curt nod.

As the week progressed, things did not improve. He had taken to walking all the way down to the lake in the mornings for a cigarette – anything to avoid watching Potter prancing about in the courtyard. He desperately tried to ignore the other man at every juncture, but still felt a compunction to watch Potter like a hawk, because he just knew Harry would be following his every move. The Quidditch master was not so practiced at stealth as he might think.

Their childish taunts continued for the remainder of the week. Potter, surprisingly, was the one to draw Draco out with numerous barbs about the dangers of smoking. Draco was incensed. It was none of Potter's business. Perhaps the former Gryffindor felt it was his civic duty to be helpful to the point of arrogance. Any minute he's going to sound as obnoxious as bloody Granger. Of course, he's just doing it to look good for his adoring public, as usual. Attention seeking git. He hoped Potter would eventually get bored with his feigned concern and give up the charade when something more worthy came along.

Draco's lab was a hive of activity as he was busy preparing numerous items for the NEWT students and their upcoming practice exams. The day was warm and the windows flung wide to provide adequate ventilation for the cloying fumes of the preliminary base he was preparing for the seventh years. Fortunately, Draco was only stirring a cauldron when he first heard the crisp, clear tones of Potter's voice wafting up from the courtyard. He groaned at the intrusion and tried very hard not to lose the rhythm of his stirring. It seemed the git decided to commandeer that courtyard for everything, including his classes. Draco's demeanour soured at the interruption. He would have gladly drowned out the voice with his wireless, but he needed to concentrate carefully.

Potter was apparently attempting to explain a number of safety manoeuvres to the class, when his voice soured and showed a hint of frustration.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Brown," Potter's voice sounded firm.

"But—"

"That topic is not for discussion in my class. If anyone else would like to know more about the events that ended the second war, then I suggest you take it up with Professor Binns during your History of Magic class. This is not an appropriate time for such questions."

Draco was surprised the git wasn't basking in his own glory. Surely he loved the attention, and would have dearly wanted to regale them all with the tale of Voldemort's last stand.

"But sir, Professor Binns doesn't tell us anything of importance. My brother has told me more than him. You were there. You saved us all, Professor Potter. We just wanted to know—"

"Twenty Points from Gryffindor, Miss Abercrombie, and a detention after your last class." Draco was surprised at Potter's no-nonsense tone. He obviously had a bee in his bonnet about something. Why else would he sound so affronted? "This is a class for you to learn the intricacies of flying a broom. Events that are unrelated to the history of broom making and the sport of Quidditch have no room for discussion. Do I make myself clear? The next person to ask an irrelevant question will become much more intimate with a non-magical broom during their spare time."

Draco seemed genuinely surprised that Potter was deducting points – from his own beloved Gryffindor. Surely he would be crowing about his achievements at every avenue? Just as Severus said, Gryffindors are becoming progressively more stupid each year. I doubt any of the Slytherins would deign to ask Potter about the war. He's likely to deduct a hundred points from them.

His current cauldron boiled over from inattention. "Fuck!" he yelled at the cursed flame as he attempted to scourgify the resultant mess. His obsession with Potter was now interfering with his work. A spate of giggles erupted from the courtyard. They obviously overheard his outburst. No doubt the 'teacher' was giggling along with them. He certainly wasn't trying to stop them. Why couldn't he be off lauding his deeds and spouting platitudes to his adoring public elsewhere? Anywhere but underneath his window.

But something completely different was at the root of Draco's frustration. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with Potter. His own busy schedule, along with Flash's, meant that they had not managed to chat for a couple of weeks. Draco wanted to write about all that had happened since their last conversation and he truly missed seeing his friend's wonderful words and humorous suggestions. He was certainly going to make the time to sit down this Sunday evening, no matter what got in the way.

Their correspondence was a bright highlight each week – something he had begun to look forward to. He had originally been a little unsure about Flash's romantic notions of him, but Draco seriously thought about it and realised that he was quite flattered. The more he thought on it, the more he wanted to get to know his friend, Flash. He could not explain it, but something had changed in their correspondence, and he keenly missed his friend's witty conversation.

He had so many things on his mind, it was a wonder he could relax at all. His tentative working relationship with Remus was promising, and Draco honestly enjoyed his company. He dared to suggest they were becoming friends. Remus Lupin was a well-learned man who had very quickly come to accept and appreciate Draco's expertise and knowledge. It certainly helped that his former professor never judged him in any way.

Of course, just when Draco was making the first tentative steps of friendship, Potter had to come in and stomp all over it, laying claim to Remus like a spoiled child unwilling to share. He could easily see that Potter was insanely jealous of their interactions. He wore his emotions so easily on his face (and in the depths of those green eyes, so expressive) and Draco suspected he was trying to muscle in.

Potter, along with everyone else who spotted his photo in the Daily Prophet, was under the misapprehension that he was engaged to Arianna. He saw no reason to disabuse him – or anyone else – of that notion. Of course, he had to share his amusement with Arianna, having written to her on a regular basis.

Arianna had written back, naturally, and the arrival of her usual flowery envelope at the breakfast table only cemented that misconception in everyone's mind. Only Severus truly appreciated the humour. Unfortunately, Arianna made no mention of Emmaline, and that worry was gnawing at him. Where was she? He toyed with the idea of Flooing Jean-Paul, but didn't have any International Floo powder, so he reluctantly let it go.

Of course, now he was in the midst of having to explain himself to Dumbledore. No doubt the old man would not believe Draco if he told of why he despised Potter so much. Naturally, Dumbledore would want him to play nice with Potter. Draco could pretend to be civil. It would just require the git to move to the opposite side of the castle, and ensure that they never crossed paths. That was the only acceptable solution – short of his returning to Paris for good – but he knew that wasn't likely.

As Draco sat back and mulled over the events of the past two weeks, Harry sipped his tea and carefully watched Malfoy. He thought the distasteful smirk on his face suited his sour disposition. The three sat drinking in uncomfortable silence for the next few minutes. Harry knew they could work together civilly – as long as Draco could learn to keep his mouth shut, Harry would have no problems ignoring him.

"Well, I think it's splendid that you could work out your differences," Dumbledore smiled as he stood. It was a clear indication that their meeting was over and the pair was dismissed. Draco seemed perplexed, and Harry was equally confused by Dumbledore's sudden pronouncement. They had not worked out any resolution. He set his cup down carefully before turning to speak.

"Sir, I don't think Ma..." Harry's voice faltered as he tried to say Malfoy's name. His eyes widened in panic at his sudden loss of speech. Harry tried to speak further, but no words came out. Draco had already risen and was half way to the door when he heard Potter falter. Seeing the panic on Harry's face, Draco quickly realised what the headmaster had done. Harry tried to speak again, but no sound was issuing forth. The headmaster's eyes twinkled in amusement.

"You have to say my name, Harry," Draco nearly snarled the word, his glare aimed at Dumbledore. How could I be so stupid to fall for that old charm? The headmaster is as sneaky as a Slytherin. How dare he use dark magic on us! Harry looked at Draco in confusion, but Draco quickly explained. "It seems that someone in this room has cunningly cursed us both with the rather obscure Vocalisfavere spell. Unless you want to lose your voice permanently, you'll have to call me by my given name, Harry." He seemed quite irate at the idea, but kept his anger reigned in.

Harry's green eyes widened as he stared at the headmaster in disbelief. He attempted to speak, "...Draco," he rasped, his voice quickly returning. "I'm not sure I am familiar with that spell," Harry rubbed his vocal chords, glad his voice had returned.

"Congratulations, sir," Draco drawled, "I didn't expect that at all. I would never have suspected you to use such dubious magic." Dumbledore nodded his acknowledgement. Draco turned to Harry, "It seems, Po... Harry, that the headmaster is not averse to using the Dark Arts when it suits his own agenda. That spell is a rather obscure derivation of the Imperius curse." Draco was impressed, yet angered by the fact that the old fool managed to get the better of him. He was slipping in his vigilance. Now he was being forced to be civil to Potter. The headmaster really had no right, but Draco was in no position to argue and keep his job at the same time.

"You're welcome, Mr Malfoy. I assure you both that the charm will wear off when it recognises that neither of you hold any animosity toward one another. Now, I do believe that I should be getting back to my stargazing. Would either of you gentlemen like to join me?" Both recognised the headmaster's dismissal as they quickly made their leave.

The pair stood in stony silence as the spiral stairs descended from Dumbledore's office. Draco was still pouting over the fact the headmaster cursed him without his knowledge. Harry finally broke the silence with an amused snort. "The students had a book open on us?" he sounded surprised at the headmaster's revelation.

"Of course they did, Harry." The word was spoken through clenched teeth. "I can't believe the old man shut it down." Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco smirked, "I understand your odds had shortened considerably after yesterday. Honestly, I thought that little vein in your temple was going to explode during breakfast. I was ready to put a few Galleons into the pool myself, but Morrison wouldn't allow me to place a bet," Draco seemed genuinely upset.

"The Hufflepuffs were running it?" Harry could not believe Julian Morrison, a Hufflepuff seventh year, would do such a thing as run an illegal book. I would have thought the Slytherins in charge of that, but I'm not going to say anything else to antagonise Malfoy. He's touchier than a flowering tentacular in spring.

For his part, Draco was still silently fuming. The mole above his lip was twitching furiously. First, Potter had tried to annoy him at every quarter. Now it seemed the headmaster was again supporting his golden boy. Of course Dumbledore didn't want Draco to argue with Potter, it didn't look good.

As they emerged from the gargoyle at the base of the stairs, the pair realised they were both heading back to their rooms. Harry shrugged, and they reluctantly walked side by side towards the staff wing. Now was as good a time as any to start showing the students they could behave civilly to each other. A silent nod was all the agreement necessary to indicate that silence was most likely the best way to display civility. Anything to avoid that damn curse activating. I don't think I've ever addressed him personally, not in all the years I've known Potter, Draco thought.

Even though the headmaster wanted them to cease hostilities, Draco could not help his naturally competitive nature. He would not give Potter the satisfaction of falling behind as they walked, and he didn't want to accept the false pity when Harry obligingly slowed down to allow Draco to keep up the pace. He stalked briskly, stopping only when they were caught on one of the moving staircases.

"I really should not have flown off the handle like that before, Draco," Harry said quietly. "You know I am working on keeping my power under control, and I know that we can't help goading each other. I guess I am so used to biting back whenever you speak. I didn't think." Harry quickly shut up and stood with his arms folded. They continued with their stony silence as they walked the rest of the way back to their rooms.

Just as Draco reached his door, he turned, looking directly at Potter for the first time. "What do you want me to say to that, Harry?"

Harry was very tired. He sighed, "Nothing, Draco. I don't expect you to say anything. I spoke out of line, and I apologise. I'll just keep my mouth shut."

Draco nodded in assent, closing his door quietly, glad that he didn't have to spend another moment in the git's presence. He was in desperate need of a cigarette, but didn't feel like the effort of heading out of the castle. Instead he poured a (generous) brandy to dull the craving as he flopped down into the armchair. He really wanted to talk to Flash. He toyed with the idea of just writing down his thoughts – like their early missives, but he wanted to hear – to see – those purple words flowing across the page. He wanted to read them and to know that he wasn't suddenly all alone in this big, wide and crazy world.

May 15 - Thursday

Harry sighed in relief as the last flying lesson of the day was nearly over. This group of young Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were busy putting all the school brooms away as he mulled over the end of another successful class. Thursdays were always a full day of classes, which seemed to make time go much faster. Harry couldn't be more pleased. This close to the end of term, he really didn't have to do much during lessons, as they'd already learned the basics from Madame Hooch. His primary purpose at this point was to allow the students ample opportunity to consolidate their skills, whilst ensuring that they were supervised and continued to follow safe flying practices. He was pleased to see that a few of the first year students had improved under his direction, and felt certain that Julia Brinsford and Brian O'Malley would both be excellent additions to their house Quidditch teams the next year. Once the brooms were neatly stored and the broom shed safely locked and charmed to prevent unauthorised flying, class was dismissed and everyone eagerly returned to the castle. He'd made plans to have afternoon tea with Remus and was looking forward to the relaxing visit he knew was ahead.

However, all visions of an enjoyable tea with his old friend flew out of his head faster than a snitch the moment Harry approached Remus' office. He heard Malfoy's familiar drawl wafting down from the office as he walked into the defence classroom. He stopped in his tracks as Remus casually laughed. What could Malfoy say that's so funny? Harry lurked carefully before the door, not wanting to interrupt just yet.

"So you've been doing well these past few days? No signs of illness? Fatigue? Anything?" Harry couldn't help but wonder why on earth Malfoy would seem so genuinely concerned about Remus' health. Preparing the Wolfsbane potion didn't require such inquiries, did it? Nonetheless, he was relieved to hear Remus respond with assurance that he was in great shape and had no ill side effects.

"I feel rather embarrassed asking this, Remus, but if I am to do thorough research..." Draco asked shyly.

"I did promise that I would help. Go on – ask away."

"Well, I was wondering if you've noticed any change in your libido – any major increase or decrease in your sex drive," Draco had the decency to sound ill at ease as he asked. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. That's none of his bloody business! Harry huffed indignantly, nearly storming into the room and telling Malfoy to keep his nose out of Remus' affairs.

Remus chortled in reply, "Well that is a rather personal question, but if you really must know..." Harry refused to admit his jealousy, but he couldn't bear to let that conversation continue. Breathing deeply into his centre as Lao Kuai had taught him, Harry finally took the last few steps to the doorway and pasted on a fairly realistic smile for Remus.

"Remus! Ready for tea?" Harry paused a moment, glancing at Malfoy and deciding to try his hand at civility despite the gnawing feeling in his gut. "Oh, hello, Draco. I wasn't aware you would be here. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Remus sensed the irritation coming from his younger friend despite his overwhelmingly affable façade. Everyone was surprised by the pair's sudden cordiality during breakfast, but Remus sensed that the headmaster may have been up to his old tricks. The last time he saw two people this affable was when Dumbledore cursed Sirius and Severus to make them get along. That was in the weeks before Sirius died, but Remus sensed the similar empty pleasantries, just the same. Remus sometimes wondered about the cause of Harry's barely hidden anger toward the young Potions apprentice. Surely he would be glad that Draco was being so helpful with the Wolfsbane. He really was quite a considerate young man.

"No, Harry, of course not. Come on in. Draco was just checking up on me and bringing my latest dose of Wolfsbane." He held the steaming goblet up as he spoke and took a long sip from it, pleased to note that it still tasted better than Severus' original formula. Meanwhile, Draco closed his notebook and put away his quill. He really wasn't in the mood for any of Potter's extended sarcasm and decided that leaving before a confrontation began would be a good thing. He said his goodbyes, maintaining the civil tone Potter had started upon entering.

"You know where to find me if you need anything, Remus. I'll bring you another dose tomorrow, and we'll continue our discussion on Saturday morning. I would suggest some extra rest if you can, as that seems to help your recovery rate after the transformation," Draco took two steps, paused and nodded cordially at Potter, "Harry, good day." Of course, the underlying tone was really saying 'Fuck you, Potter'.

Harry nodded silently in response as he quietly acknowledged the odd feelings he had inside. Keeping in touch with his centre allowed him to more easily recognise when he felt differently about things, and this was a prime example. He was irritated, not by Malfoy's behaviour, or even by his presence, but by the fact Remus and Draco were spending time together. Though Harry was completely confused as to why, he could inwardly acknowledge a feeling of frustration that they were sharing conversations and discussions Harry had no part in. He knew he didn't really have any proprietary right to Remus' time, but it irked him that Malfoy managed to rub him the wrong way just by hanging around.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when Remus set the empty Wolfsbane goblet down on the desk. The sound caught Harry's attention and he quickly dismissed those feelings, chalking it up to regret that he hadn't spent more time with Remus lately, and the slightly uneasy feeling between them since that heavy flirtation a few weeks earlier. Harry wondered if he would be regretting that mistake for the rest of his days.

"So, did you want a cup of tea?" Harry smiled at the familiar question and noted that Remus had already poured two cups, one with just the amount of milk and sugar Harry preferred.

"Thanks." He took the tea and relished the warmth of the cup as it quelled the slight chill of his fingers. Flying in spring always left the extremities a little on the cold side. Harry watched as Remus twirled the honey dipper, capturing the stream just long enough to move it from the honey jar to his cup. After a pause to allow the amber sweetener to ooze into the tea, he twirled it again to avoid sticky drips on the way back to the jar. Though Harry had never grown used to the flavour of honey in his tea, he couldn't help but admire Remus' technique to avoid making a mess. It's interesting how such simple things can be appreciated when the mind is relaxed, he thought, sending a silent thank you to Lao Kuai for that lesson.

The time passed swiftly, but comfortably as Harry and Remus drank and discussed normal daily life. They talked about Harry's work with the students and how much he was enjoying this temporary teaching position. Remus commented that Harry seemed like a born teacher, destined to pass his knowledge on to others in one area or another. He knew Remus was right. All his work at the Ministry, his tutelage of the trainees there, his anticipation about taking over in Hooch's absence, it all led to one thing.

He wanted to be a teacher and couldn't quite hide his excitement when Remus asked if he would consider covering the Defence classes the next day.

"Are you kidding? Of course I will!" Harry paused a moment, realising that the full moon wasn't until Friday night and heard the concern in his voice as he continued, "Do you feel all right? Was there something wrong with that Wolfsbane? Do you need anything? Are you coming down with another flu or something?" Remus had been constantly reminding Harry of Draco's contribution to the Wolfsbane potion. He was constantly surprised by the fact that the Potions apprentice was putting so much time and energy into helping Remus, but he was pleased at the results it had garnered, even if it meant that Malfoy was spending quality time with Remus.

"No, Harry, I'm fine. I haven't felt this good in years, but you heard Draco," Harry tried not to cringe at the name; really it was just an habitual reaction. "He suggested some extra rest if I could manage it. I thought that since you don't have classes tomorrow, and you won't have any practice sessions until after regular classes are over, you might be available. That leaves me with an extra day to rest before the moon, and the weekend to recover from it. This way, we can see how much the newest formula helps my recovery speed without any chance of lack of rest slowing me down. I'll just lounge around tomorrow as if I'm someone important with nothing better to do." He smiled saucily as he poured another cup of tea.

"Okay, as long as you're all right, I won't worry about you. And I would be glad to handle your classes for you, Remus."

"Are you sure I can't twist your arm any harder?" Remus smiled. "Those fifth years will need plenty of help with their OWL revision and I thought you could take everyone through their paces with their practical techniques." Harry completely forgot the unpleasantness that was Malfoy as they discussed Friday's lesson plans.

Just as Harry was leaving, he stopped mid-stride as a poignant thought struck. "You know, Remus, I hate to say it, but I almost hope Madame Hooch decides not to return next term, because I'll hate giving up this post."

"Well then, we can only hope she becomes thoroughly enamoured with motherhood," Remus smiled warmly, but avoided Harry's gaze as he waved him away with a knowing smile.

May 18 - Sunday

Harry sighed heavily as he sat back in his new armchair. The old leather chair had been liberated from Algie Abbot's Antiques in Hogsmeade. A few swift cleaning charms and a little elbow grease brought back the chair's original lustre, and Harry was now enjoying the fruits of his labour. It had been a satisfying couple of days. Remus' classes went extremely well on Friday; the students thoroughly enjoyed Harry's rather unique way of preparing them for their practical tests. The classes had been a complete success and he spent almost two hours telling Remus about his day. The grin was yet to fall from his face. Even the sight of Malfoy was not enough to make him lose the smile. He was truly grateful for the opportunity Remus gave him.

As the exam period began in earnest, the professors were just as busy as the students. Harry spent the better part of Saturday giving the broom sheds a thorough scourgify and sorting out the damaged equipment that would need replacing for the new school year. He was yet to test the old brooms, but he knew that some of them were no longer safe. The quick trip to Hogsmeade on Sunday to buy more broom polish led to Harry's bout of retail therapy, but he didn't regret his new purchase for one moment. Finally Harry could see what he wanted in life, and the idea of being surrounded by quality furniture was one of them. Even if he would be moving out of the castle in a few weeks (he had no idea what he would do next), he could imagine many nights curled up in this amazingly comfortable chair. But tonight, there was one more thing he needed to do.

He showered quickly, not wanting to be late. He forewent the usual shave to save time, but Harry had been rather slack in that department of late. It felt good not having to maintain obsessive facial grooming habits now that he wasn't working for the Ministry. Their insistence that Aurors remain beardless ensured that Harry had to spend twice as long shaving than anyone else. Sometimes he cursed the fact he had such dark hair.

Harry scratched at the now three day old stubble as he relaxed after the shower. I wonder what I'd look like with a beard, he pondered absently. Checking the clock, he had a few minutes before Luc was expecting him. Too tired to get up again, he levitated a bottle of wine and lazily cast a spell to pour it into a glass. This was one of his last bottles from France, and he was going to savour the taste as he chatted away.

There were no tidy, green notes in the journal, much to Harry's relief. He had worried for a brief moment that perhaps his friend might have honestly been scared off by his revelation during their last chat. The thought had played on his mind the entire time.

Sunday 18 May Hey Luc, are you around? I certainly hope I haven't missed you again.

The weekend had been mercifully quick for the Potions apprentice. All the preparation for the upcoming exams was complete, and Draco was now ready to tackle the unenviable task of cleaning and reordering the student stores. He would need to discuss what was needed with Severus so that they could advise the local apothecaries. Some ingredients would need all of the summer to be prepared. Despite the lack of students, there would be plenty for Draco to do over the summer months. Luckily, it had kept him busy most of the weekend and away from any possible run ins with Potter. Thank the gods for small mercies, he thought.

Draco had just uncorked a bottle of wine when he heard the welcome rustle of the journal opening. He smiled warmly and was relieved to see Flash's familiar scrawl across the page. He made himself comfortable as he sat at the desk by the open window, the cool spring breeze blowing in from the late evening air. Draco's quill and ink quivered in the anticipation of another deep and meaningful chat.

Bonjour, Flash. Of course I'm here. Sorry about last week. Things are hectic around here and as you know, you can't just stop a cauldron in mid brew. I know what you mean. I have only just sat down now. I don't think I've stopped since Thursday. That's the great thing about this job – it's so physical and I get to spend so much time outdoors. I never realised just how much I missed interacting with people, too. Being stuck in a thankless desk job sometimes makes you forget such joys. I don't doubt that it is very different, Flash. You sound like you are having a great time. I am glad for you. Oh oh. You sound like you aren't having the best time in the world. Things aren't perfect at this end, but I can't complain. Still not shagging anyone, but I'm starting to think that this waiting business will make it all the more special when I do find the one that I want. Well, things aren't perfect around here for me, as you guessed. I am so glad you are here to talk tonight. I don't want to sound clingy, or needy, or frightfully foppish, but I've missed your company, Flash. Now, I wasn't really going to tell you how much I've wanted to talk to you, but I guess I just have. You, clingy? Why, I could never imagine it, Luc. I'm also extremely glad you're here tonight. I admit I was worried you might have been avoiding me after what I said last time. Nonsense. I am flattered that you thought of me that way, Flash, but even if I had wanted to avoid you (which I don't), I probably would have been more blunt about it. As it is, things around here have been rather disconcerting, and I need to hear your sensible outlook and opinions. I fear that I might be creating another melodrama, and I need your calming influence. You think I'm a calming influence? I'm flattered. You might not think so if you knew me in person. I've been known to fly off the handle on occasion. I think my recent trip to the Orient has helped me curb my excessive outbursts. Why do I get the feeling that there's something wrong? You know I'm here to listen. Tell me what's been going on. I've spent the better part of the past couple of weeks wanting to talk to you and now I really don't know where to start. How about at the beginning? I'm going to hazard a guess that this has something to do with someone who is bothering you. Call it my latent divinatory talent again. Have you shagged him already, or are you in a dither because you want to? Sweet Merlin, I wish it were something that simple, Flash. But you are right, it is someone that is driving me around the twist. Actually, it's several people. The crazy thing is that I can't seem to ignore this one idiot in particular. Everywhere I go, he's there. I have never suffered fools (not without suitable recompense), and I seem to be surrounded by idiots and their various hangers on. One of my co-workers is the boss' favourite. My tolerance level is honestly at breaking point with him and now the boss has forced my hand. Is he really that bad? Is he really incompetent? Surely he's not blowing up cauldrons everywhere? I had a friend with a distinct lack of ability in the vicinity of a cauldron. But he wasn't an idiot – he was just very highly strung. Oh I'd like to highly string this guy up. I don't have to work with him that closely, thank goodness, but he is on the same staff and everyone seems to think we should be best friends – after all, everyone else seems to adore him. I've just been so frustrated. His presence has upset the balance of my work, somewhat, and I find that I have this burning resentment towards him. He annoys me to the point of fury. Burning resentment? Sounds like you've had plenty of time to think about this. What triggered that? Where do I start? Everyone thinks he's wonderful. He manages to get away with anything – he always has. People are mesmerised by him and they can't truly see him for what he is. He is arrogant and so full of his own importance; he thinks he is the greatest wizard alive, which he most certainly isn't. Everywhere I go – there he is. He has to be involved in everything and I have difficulty concentrating because he just seems to be constantly in my face. I can't tolerate it much longer, not when the boss wants us to work together.

This guy sounds like Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry thought as he read Luc's concerns. If I didn't know that Lockhart was safely in St Mungos', I'd think it was him. Still, he was concerned that Luc seemed to be so negative about his co-worker. It didn't sound like Luc at all. The man seemed to be made of sterner stuff than that. Of course, you're a fine one to talk, Harry. You are barely able to stand Malfoy, and you're now making judgements for Luc? It made Harry seriously rethink his ideals. If I'm seeing Luc like this, how do others see my rivalry with Malfoy? After a moment of hard thinking, his dipped the quill and began to write.

But is this resentment justified? Is there a perfectly rational reason why you don't like him? You mention several times that he is an idiot and that you can see him for what he truly is. I only ask this because I've recently come across someone and felt the same way. I have had to sit down and really think about why I didn't like this person. He is a prancing git most of the time, but life is too short to waste hating him. It's difficult, but only recently I've come to realise I never really knew him all that well in the first place. It's not my place to judge him. I guess I've overcome my preconceptions. He's still a prancing git all the same, but I haven't got it in me to hold any hatred toward him. Not after seeing him and his war record.

Harry was surprised by the words that flowed from his own quill, but when he thought about it, he realised they were truthful.

I haven't really thought about it like that. Do I have preconceptions about him? Well, yes. Life is too short to let this tosser ruin my life any further, but it seems that it may already be too late. I've spent an inordinate amount of time just thinking about him, which has become an annoying habit.

Draco was taken a little aback as he read his own words. Life really is very short, and I'm sitting here complaining to Flash about bloody Potter.

You said he ruined your life? What has he really done? What aren't you telling me? I sometimes forget that you don't know my whole life story (I feel like I've known you forever, Flash). I have known this git for quite a while. I suppose it's his appalling sense of timing that has caused me the most grief. It caused me no end of trouble there near the end of the war. I have to live with the consequences of his actions every day and it's hard for me to forgive that. And you don't think he has to live with the same consequences? I know a little bit about the guilt that some people carry, particularly those of us who survived. I know all about survivor guilt. Been there, done that, occasionally indulge in it. Still, I never realised you'd known this guy for that long. Yes, we go way back. Still it is a long time to hang on to hatred, Luc. Was what he did really so bad that it is unforgivable? Well, he never did aim an unforgivable in my direction, even if I've wished a few AK's at his head. A few people have tried to help, but very few can see my point of view objectively. I guess since you are so detached from the situation, I wanted to talk to you about it. You see, this is turning into a rather unhealthy obsession with him. I can finally see that. Sorry about being so down about everything. When he's around, I have such difficulty thinking of anything else. So you can't stop thinking about him? Are you thinking about him, or thinking about him? Isn't there a fine line between love and hate? Is he good looking and do you want to shag him rotten? Sorry, that one track mind is stepping in again, but when a person affects you that much, it usually means... Merlin, that's the last thing I need. I certainly can't imagine shagging him. Actually, that's a lie. I can imagine it. That's another part of my problem that I was just about to mention. Ever since Beltane, he's featured rather heavily in my dreams. My most intimate and vivid dreams. Unfortunately the dream has come back for an encore performance every night. That's very interesting. I wonder what happened during Beltane? I only ask because I've been having a similar problem. I had a very explicit dream about someone I don't particularly like, but I can tell you that it was a bloody amazing dream. It too has had a few repeat performances since then. I honestly can't complain about that. It makes up for the lack of action during my waking hours. I wonder why we seem to be dreaming about people we can't stand. I will admit that it has made up for the complete lack of action here too, but I have to see his smug and smarmy face every day at work, and that rather spoils it for me. So would you really want to shag this guy? If he weren't an idiot and you weren't dreaming about him, and you hadn't hated him since forever? Are you trying to avoid the possibility that perhaps, deep down, you might just want to shag this guy? You weren't supposed to tell me that, Flash. You were supposed to say that the dreams would stop immediately and that this moron will leave here and I would never have to see his face again. It's driving me insane and I hate it. I hate him! Do you really hate him that much? It's not healthy to be so hateful, Luc. At least you need to face your obsession. I can sense it is something that might be holding you back. I saw so much hate consume people during the war – the Death Eaters in particular. It's not a healthy emotion at all. I guess I shouldn't talk. I've been known to indulge in it on occasion. You have to forgive him, Luc. I think a certain amount of hatred can be healthy. You wouldn't be human if you couldn't understand hate. I certainly know what you mean about the Death Eaters. They were thoroughly irrational in their beliefs, but they were brainwashed from the beginning. Could you really say that you hate him that much? On a comparative scale, would you hate him as much as say... Voldemort? You sure don't hold back, do you Flash? No, I don't hate him as much as Voldemort. He honestly hasn't done anything terribly awful lately; I just can't ever forget what he did to me. His arrogance and his stuck up, self-righteous attitude just irritate me no end. I think I just hate the fact that I have to put up with it. He must be doing something right, Luc. You say lots of people like him, the boss included. Tell me, does he have any redeeming features? I want you to think of one thing that you like about this guy. He can't be all bad. I have to think of one thing? Could you make it any harder? Well, I was hoping for more, but how about you just tell me the first positive thing you can think of about him. Okay, I guess you could say that he isn't ugly. At least I know he's queer, and I suppose that some guys might think he's attractive. He's certainly not fat and spotty, and he can manage to wear a set of robes quite well. That was two things, Luc. Are there any more? You seem to be obsessing about his physical attributes. Is he that good looking? How about his performance in your dreams? Anything positive there to report? You know, you really are evil. I try to forget about that dream, and you keep reminding me. Sorry. No you're not. You are living vicariously through me, remember. Damn, you remembered... And here I was hoping to get a free show. Who told me he 'was not' a voyeur? I never said I wasn't. I just said that I've never really had much opportunity to watch. Call this practice. So, what is he like in bed? I certainly hope that I never find out what he's really like – it will be a cold day in Hades if I do. His lips are getting nowhere within the vicinity of my body, and I can tell you now that his mouth will be hexed closed forever if he ever thinks of trying. You're not really helping here, Flash. I wanted to forget about my dream. It's starting to get old. Of course, it doesn't help that it always starts out with Jean-Paul, and he ends up transforming into this other git. You're still in two minds about leaving Marrakesh? Yes. Part of me wants to go to sleep just to see Jean-Paul in the dream, but the other part of me knows exactly how it will end. You know, my dream has been somewhat similar. You said it's been happening since Beltane? That's really odd. My recurring dream is about the man I having been longing for, then he somehow turns into Charlie, then some other guy I saw in the newspaper, but it always ends with the least likely guy in the world finishing off the evening's proceedings. I've never been with this man, and I know that he's straight, but that doesn't stop my vivid imagination from working overtime. I wonder what happened at Beltane? Did someone burn a gigantic pyre of some hallucinogenic weed that covered the entire UK? I can't think of any other logical explanation. I find that rather strange that your dreams seem to mirror mine. I'll have to look into any bizarre Beltane coincidences. I wonder if we aren't the only ones. I really don't know who else to ask. You could ask the horrid git that you can't stand. He might be having the same dream. You never know. Please, I'm sure he's so full of himself, if he were having dreams about me, he would be thoroughly pleased that he managed to make me come around to his way of thinking. But enough. I've spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about him, and I knew you would help me to get him out of my system. Thanks, Flash. I'm going to try and get past it – I have to before I go insane. Now how about we forget about him for a while, and you tell me about what's been going on with you these past couple of weeks. Deal. Like I said earlier, I have been busy. Too busy to even contemplate going out and getting laid. Dare I ask if you've had any luck in the search for love whilst you angst over this horrid git that you can't stand? The search for love has ground to a screeching halt. Fortunately there have been plenty of cauldrons to stir and ingredients to store, or dry, or there's always research to be done. Despite the fact I've been terribly preoccupied, there aren't that many prospects around here. This place is just so different from Paris. Plenty of cute guys, but most are not gay, or even bi. Although there is this one twink who has been giving me the 'all knowing' eye of late. He really hasn't got the hang of being subtle. He's yet to progress to the subtle and awkward flirting stage. You aren't going to torture him and let him come on to you, are you?

Draco thought about Damien Michaels. The boy's intentions were obvious, even though he was yet to approach Draco. He thought back on his own teen years and his own inappropriate crushes. He went a little crazy after Daphne died, trying to lay anyone that crossed his path, but there was an arrogance to Michaels that sent a shiver up Draco's spine – not the good kind of shiver, either.

Why not let him flirt? How else is he going to learn? I'm sure you had to learn the hard way. I know I did. I guess you have a point. We were all young and inexperienced once. Are you going to shoot him down in flames immediately? Oh, I don't think so. I think it is fun to let them 'practice' for a while. You do have a wicked streak, Luc. I think I like that. Although I would probably hate you if I were the twink in question. It is cruel to lead them on. I hope you don't do it for too long. But I do have to ask you, what about your momentous search for a soul mate? You said you were going to carefully watch out for any new guys in your life. Anyone new wandered into your path these past few weeks?

Harry had completely forgotten that feeling that overcame him a few weeks earlier. Who had come into his life? Remus? No, he was already around. One of the students? No, none of them – with the exception of that Slytherin seventh year – were even remotely interesting. He was dithering and trying ever so hard not to think about the fact that Malfoy stepped back into his life just after that feeling cropped up.

Sigh. There is someone who has surfaced, but I sincerely doubt he would even be remotely interested, even if I were. Oh, is he taken or is he more interested in chasing skirts? Well, yeah, I'm fairly certain he's straight. But sometimes I'm not so sure. He's got that neat thing happening – he's overly fussy and no doubt is on a first name basis with his mirror. So he's not ugly? Not ugly, more likely he could be described as striking. And you would describe him as... Unique. Thankfully. The world couldn't cope if there were two of him. Now who's indulging in being uncharitable? Hmmm? Are you sure he's totally straight? Maybe you could... enlighten him... Are you suggesting I seduce him? How else do you find out? Besides, that would kill two snidgets with the one bludger. You can find out if he obliges, and you might get to scratch that itch you keep mentioning. I doubt he'd tell you if you asked in conversation. Why not turn some of that Flash charm on him? I really don't know about that, Luc. I doubt I'm his favourite person. This guy wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire... Besides, I don't think that would help our tenuous working relationship. It feels so wrong to even think of him in such a way, even if he's been a regular player in my dreams. Oh, so this is the guy who has been in your dream? Maybe you should find out if the reality lives up to the dream. I could suggest you do the same, Luc. Is your colleague really that unbearable? I thought we weren't going to mention him any more? Sorry, Luc. He must have really upset you, I can feel your tension bleeding through to here. You have to let go of it before it consumes you, Luc. I don't know what else to say. It's like fear – don't give in to it. You have to embrace it. I think you need to make an effort to get to know this other guy. You really haven't given me a good reason why you don't like him. Your excuses are quite vague. Even the fact about what he did during the war. The war is over. Life goes on. I tried to make an effort once to get to know him, but he told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested. He was quite rude about it, and I really took offence at it. I guess it all started then. I have known this guy for quite a while, actually, but I've never had to work with him before. We moved in the same circles there for a time, particularly during the war. He was always out to show me that he was better than me, and it really was uncalled for. I guess that he is one of the reasons I choose my friends and acquaintances so carefully. And you hate him for this? I admit there is someone I know who always thinks he's better than everyone else. I know for a fact he's a little insecure, just like me. Perhaps this guy was intimidated by you. I can't imagine that, but you might be on to something there. I overheard a couple of conversations this week, and it seems he is full of surprises. I did learn a few things about him I never knew before, but I can't find it in myself to forgive him. Not yet. I'm going to need some time. So why not bite the bullet and try to get to know him a little better. Pretend that you are meeting him for the first time. Bite the bullet? What sort of saying is that? A very apt Muggle saying that means you need to adjust to whatever unpleasant circumstances are around you. You can't keep going on like this, Luc. I do worry for you. I do appreciate that, Flash. I really wish you could understand more about this situation, but I guess you would need to be here to do that. It's taken a few weeks, but I realised the other day that I really am quite homesick. I thought that I could just up and come back here and things would be fine, but now this whole mess has erupted, and it's been ever so hard. So there is nobody else around you that understands your situation? What about your mentor? Oh, he's fine. He understands it only too well. He's been a great help and has done as much as he can. Unfortunately, I really don't want to tell him about my dreams, for fear of the lifetime of laughter I will no doubt face. You are the only one who can see through my dilemma. It's so good that you are detached from this situation and can look at it clearly. How is your new job going? You haven't said much, and I feel as though I've really wasted most of your time tonight. It's never a waste of my time listening to you, Luc. Please don't think like that. You need to pick yourself up out of the doldrums, and I think if you make a positive start, it will happen sooner, rather than later. But I guess I'm feeling a little self-centred. I don't want to be nice to this guy – it would be out of character for me, and he'd definitely notice. I'm only considering it because you want me to.

Harry thought about the hex that Dumbledore placed on Malfoy and him. It had forced them to be somewhat civil, and things had certainly calmed down. Of course, that could be because we are both so busy with upcoming exams, he's hiding out in his laboratory.

Then I'll take that as progress. You know, have you thought about using some sort of persuasive curse against this guy? I know that might seem harsh, but I understand that these curses and hexes can sometimes be used in mediation. I would give my eye teeth to hex the bastard into oblivion. But persuasive curses are quite closely related to that whole family of dark curses. It's a wonder the Ministry doesn't ban them. They are considered Unforgivables in Middle Eastern countries. Really? I never knew that. Don't think I haven't thought about putting a curse on him. I tried several times when I was younger, but he always managed to get the better of me. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if the git (as I shall now refer to him) had cursed me. It was the only logical explanation for my dreams. Now that you've mentioned yours, I assume that isn't the case. I'm almost afraid to go to sleep sometimes because I know he'll be there, and I know what he'll be up to. Well then you should be thankful that he is lending a helping hand during your dreams, even if he rubs you the wrong way during work. Tsk, tsk. That was your worst pun yet. Yeah, he rubs me the wrong way all the time. Only you could see the bright side to that, Flash. I guess I haven't really had time to worry about my own sad lack of love, but there you go. I do have to get past this and bite the bullet. But just remember, Flash, if anything goes wrong, I am blaming you and I will find you and hex you. I have no doubt that you would do that, Luc, but I'm sure that you'll be pleasantly surprised once you get over your preconceptions and get to know him. You should start off by being pleasant to him. Do you think you could manage that? I don't know the answer, Flash, but I can only try. I think I'll need to relax first. Every time I see him, I do get tense. I should meditate, but I think I'll just finish off this bottle of sweet Rosé and then fall asleep. I won't be any good to anyone if I don't have a real cup of coffee soon. Ah, well, granted then, but I'll swap the sweet red for a dry white. Ah, so you're a Chardonnay sipper then? Oh I do appreciate a good wine of any description, but I guess a Chardonnay would have to be my first preference. Well I think we've just found our major area of disagreement, Flash. I knew it! You don't like Chardonnay? I'd rather drink dragon piss, but I admit to having had the odd Chardonnay when I was younger. Luckily, I grew up and discovered real wine. Okay, so I know that my bottle of Chardonnay is safe around you. I don't mind a Rosé, but it would have to be a top quality one. None of that nasty stuff. I guess that my soul mate would have to appreciate wine also. Merlin knows I couldn't stand to be with someone else like Ollie again. I want someone who can appreciate wine with me. Yes, I couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone who couldn't appreciate a fine wine, or the finer points of haute cuisine. I find that my food choices are so limited here. My tastebuds will die of boredom soon if don't get some variety. Or some decent pastry. I think your palate must be more refined than mine. It must be a French thing. I really couldn't complain if I had fish and chips or chicken and ham pie every night of the week. I do enjoy experimenting and I like to cook different things. I think it's the comfort issue for me. After my recent trip I've taken a keen interest in some wonderful Chinese dishes. I'm itching to get into a kitchen and make some steamed salmon with black bean sauce and stir-fried Chinese vegetables. Oh? The salmon sounds wonderful, but make sure it's a good salmon. Poorly cut or oily fish can ruin a good dish. I really have to say that I'm desperately missing the multitude of wonderful restaurants and cafés from back home. No doubt if I get an opportunity to travel further afield I will find something to suit my tastes. I have been in this part of the UK before, and I have visited one or two good restaurants, but I'm not able to get away at present. Guess I'm stuck with my limited choices. Unfortunately, I'm yet to find a chicken and ham pie that I can gush about. You don't like chicken and ham pie? What's not to like about it? I could live without it. It's so... pedestrian. It's as bad as shepherd's pie. It's just leftovers disguised by a crust of pastry – or something that is posing as pastry. Now the French – we know how to make pastry. Well, that's it. I can't remain friends with someone who doesn't like the simple pleasures in life, like chicken and ham pie! Oh, I never said I didn't like the simple pleasures, Flash. Fresh tomatoes, lots of wonderful herbs, crusty hot bread slathered in butter, a bowl of steaming vegetable soup, and a glass of wine. Besides, I doubt any of my friends even know how to make chicken and ham pie. It is so plebeian! Fair enough. I do enjoy cooking, as I mentioned, but I could eat almost anything you put in front of me, so it has never occurred to me that others may not like certain tastes and cooking styles. I'm going to experiment with the Chinese herbs and spices I brought home with me. That sounds interesting. I hope you put them to good use. Although I find it interesting that you like cooking, yet you say you are hopeless around a cauldron. I know. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that I never got the hang of potions. I added a pinch too much and I would blow up a cauldron. If I add a pinch too much salt, I add a pinch of something else to counteract the taste. I know the whole thing won't blow up and cover me with green goo. I'm planning on heading to a small market in London when I'm next in town so I can pick up some scrumptious Chinese greens. There is nowhere around here that has such a range of fresh produce. But I might overlook that if there's chicken and ham pie in the works. What I truly loathe the most about this country is the distinct lack of coffee. Why can't there be at least one decent coffee shop on this gods-forsaken island? I'd Apparate just about anywhere for a cup right now. There might be a couple of good coffee shops hidden away in Muggle London, but I can't just Apparate there every day. Curse that stupid immigration law about Apparition. I'd be eating three square meals a day in Paris if I could just pop over there as I like. I really do envy the fact that you could probably do that, purely because of your citizenship. I could at that, if I honestly wanted a cup of coffee. Can't say that I would ever enjoy the taste. Definitely tea for me. You don't like coffee? I can't say that I've ever acquired a taste for it. I do think that tea is a much more versatile and genteel drink. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Flash. I can't ever say I'd agree with you there. I think I'd have to prefer Chardonnay to tea, and that is really saying something. Oh, do we agree to disagree on something? Most definitely. I've had enough tea to sink a ship, and I don't know how much more I can stand. Do you think I would be deported for just Apparating back to Paris for an espresso? I think the security wizards at the Ministry would notice that. You aren't a British citizen then? Alas, no. I was born in Paris, even though my mother was English. So those ridiculous laws preventing foreign citizens from Apparating around unfortunately apply to me. If your mother was English, then you could apply for dual citizenship. The laws wouldn't apply to you then. You could Apparate around the world at your leisure. I thought about pursuing that before the war, but I never got around to it. I think I would die of thirst in the time it would take those Ministry fools to approve my application. I guess you are right there. I suppose you will either have to live on Rosé or die of thirst. Or you could garner an appreciation for tea – it is quite a versatile drink. Or I could just open my own coffee shop. That would solve the problem. You know, too much caffeine isn't that good for keeping you calm. I wonder if you aren't suffering a little from caffeine withdrawal. I haven't had a decent cup recently, so you could very well be right. You really can't go wrong with a good cup of tea. I thought we amicably agreed to disagree about coffee and tea? We did. I was merely pointing out the disadvantages of too much coffee on your ability to keep yourself calm and centred. Okay, point taken. But I'll only agree until you can find me a perfect cup of coffee on this side of the Channel. Agreed, but only if you'll promise to give this guy at work another chance. You aren't going to let me get away from this, are you? No, I don't think I will. I'm a little stubborn at times, and I think you need to do this. I've said before that I care about you, Luc. I don't want to see you wallow any further. Thank you, Flash. I promise I will give it my best try. You haven't led me astray yet. But my bottle of wine is very empty now and I am nearly out of ink. I can't believe I've gone through a whole bottle. Hmm, my ink is getting low too. I don't want to leave it so long to talk to you again, Luc. I have missed this. Even if you really didn't get to tell me too much. You seem to be the one doing all of the helping tonight. Don't worry, Luc. I'm sure you'll be there when I need you. I promise I will. Au revoir, Flash. See you next week. Goodnight, Luc. Take care.
Flash had given Draco plenty to think about. Did he really want to be nice to Potter? Dumbledore's hex was forcing him to be somewhat congenial toward the former Gryffindor, but could he really try to get over his unbidden hatred? What did he really have to lose? Could he possibly lose any more face by doing so? He had no idea, but for once, Draco had successfully kept himself busy enough to avoid the git as much as possible.

For two whole days, Draco managed to keep his mouth shut and keep his distance from Harry. The habits of half a lifetime were hard to break, and he had to stop himself several times from making a snarky comment in Potter's direction. Fortunately, Severus kept him rather busy, for which he was truly grateful.

He needed the well-earned rest and was enjoying a quiet smoke down by the lake. Summer was nearly upon them and he watched as the sunset lingered over the lake and beyond the western highlands. He reluctantly admitted to himself that there were some good things about Scotland. He could rarely find such a solitary place in Paris. Draco spotted the interloper as he headed in his direction, but he quickly remembered his promise to Flash. Potter had just as much right to be there as he did. All the same, he didn't have to like it.

Harry had wandered down to the lake after classes, hoping to find a quiet place to meditate amongst the trees. He'd found that sitting in the grass and listening to the ripples on the lake and feeling the gentle breezes blow past him allowed for a very relaxing meditation, and had adopted it into his routine at least a few times a week. Most evenings he was lucky enough to find the area deserted when most students were busy with homework and various extracurricular activities. It appeared as though Harry had chosen another good time, until he saw a dark clad arm and a glint of blond hair in the fading light. As he watched the arm move, he saw the glow of a lit cigarette and the puff of smoke resulting from the inhalation. It triggered a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Ma… Draco?" He hadn't quite intended to say anything, but once he tried to speak and the blasted Vocalisfavere hex took over, he knew he might as well follow through. It was only when Malfoy moved slightly in response that Harry was able to see the Muggle jeans and leather jacket he was wearing. It took him momentarily by surprise to see Malfoy dressed like a Muggle (even then he managed to wear his clothes so well), but he pushed that thought aside to pay attention to his response.

"Harry," came the quiet reply as Malfoy took another drag off the cigarette. "Aren't you supposed to be off dazzling the masses with your brilliance, or something to that effect?" It wasn't the most auspicious start to civility, Draco thought, but it wasn't a complete put down either. He was trying – he had promised Flash he would do so.

"Aren't you supposed to be snivelling at Snape's cauldron-side?" Harry countered.

Draco snorted in a half laugh, "Malfoys don't snivel, Harry."

Harry began to realise that their childish cut-downs and snide remarks were a comforting defence mechanism for both of them, and he could see that Draco was also tiring of them. He'd seen Malfoy interact with other people and knew that he wasn't truly the spoilt brat Harry had always believed him to be. It had taken a while, but that message had finally sunk in. Besides, he was a fine one to talk. One day he's telling Luc that he needs to be civil when he can't even muster the courage to do the same. Would it really kill me to be honestly nice to Malfoy?

After his initial scepticism, Harry fully accepted and appreciated Malfoy's role during the war. His only regret was that Malfoy carried a lasting injury that was a constant reminder of his war service. He felt personally responsible for every war injury, and seeing Malfoy plagued by that limp made him wish that things could have been very different. Malfoy could easily rub him the wrong way, but he seemed to carry a deeper animosity toward Harry – so much so, that he seemed to portray a different personality whenever he was nearby.

"Well if you don't snivel, then what do you do, Draco? Why are you doing this?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Doing what? Smoking, standing by the lake, apprenticing to Snape? What is it that you're questioning this time, Harry?" Draco tried to keep the bite out of his words, but he didn't expect the Spanish inquisition from Potter, either.

"Aren't you tired of acting this way toward me, Draco? I know we've had our differences, but Dumbledore is right about one thing, you know. We're not eleven anymore. I've heard about your work during the war. I've seen the way you talk to Remus. I know you're not really the git you pretend to be, so I'm wondering why you're acting like someone you're not."

For once, Draco could not think of an answer. Why am I acting this way? I only do it because of Potter and the fact that I hate the UK. Dare I let go and try to be myself?

"Perhaps who I am, and who you think I am aren't quite the same." Draco had a distinct sense of déjà vu as he remembered a similar conversation from years ago, and knew that he was quoting himself, but he felt the words were just as appropriate now as they had been so many years ago. Potter thinks he knows me, but he doesn't have a clue. I don't think anyone really knows me, not even Severus. He took another long drag and watched as the smoke swirled up from his mouth and dissipated into the brisk evening air. Well, I take that back. Flash knows me. He knows me, and he still likes me. Flash wants me to be more tolerant of this git. I promised him I would try, but I would rather be hit repeatedly by a bludger. I did make a promise, and Malfoys don't break promises – at least, I don't.

Harry heard a deep sigh escape Draco's lips. "Or perhaps I just don't know how to act any differently towards you, Harry. Can you say the same?" The words held no animosity, but Harry sensed a slight hint of resignation. Draco didn't wait for an answer as he flicked his cigarette butt into the lake and cast one last glance at Harry before walking back toward the castle. The squid, ever vigilant about pollutants, flailed wildly as it flicked the offending butt back out of the water, flinging it into the nearby bushes. Harry was taken completely by surprise – not by the squid – but by Draco. He pondered Draco's words as he unconsciously watched him walk away. How is it that he can make denim look like a fashion statement, he wondered, his gaze unable to leave the sight of how well the denim jeans hugged Malfoy's nicely shaped arse.

May 24 - Saturday

Draco was pleased to escape to Hogsmeade early Saturday morning. His uncertain truce with Potter was holding, and the pair managed to maintain an uncomfortable air of civility in front of the school. Fortunately they had managed to avoid each other for the better part of the week, which couldn't please him more. Draco found things were running more smoothly – even his crazy dream had begun to abate in the absence of Potter. The dream was still enticingly erotic, but the mystery lover had morphed into someone with indistinguishable features. Draco felt that his preoccupation with Potter had led to the git's face forming during the dream.

It was the school's last scheduled Hogsmeade day before the final exams, and despite his joy at getting away from the school for a while, Draco also wanted to return before the hordes of students were allowed out. After spending quite a while chatting with Alonius Jigger, he grabbed his parcels and made his leave of the apothecary. Just as he turned the corner, a very familiar scent wafted past his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled in joyful longing as he took a deeper breath. Coffee. He literally changed direction mid-step to head towards the source of his obsession. He had not had a decent cup in weeks, and he was beginning to think he would never taste the nectar of the gods again.

Draco had been so exasperated with Dobby and his dismal coffee making efforts, he resigned himself to going without. No coffee was better than bad coffee. Arianna was yet to comply with his begging and cajoling to send him some beans. If Emmaline had not vanished without a trace he might have asked her to send him some more of her special blend. He spotted the source of the glorious smell – it was coming from the store that once belonged to Madame Puddifoot.

The Leaf and Bean. Draco was surprised by the very French provincial look to the store's décor. He was also surprised by the signs over the door. 'Under New Management' and 'Opening Specials'.

As he stepped over the threshold he heard the tinkle of a very familiar bell. The shop was empty, but he felt as if he had come home – or at least back to Paris. A wonderfully recognisable coffee machine stood behind the counter, and a respectable number of bookshelves adorned the other end of the room. The sense of déjà vu was not lost on Draco as he spotted a familiarity to the haphazard stacking of the bookshelves. Before he could wonder any further, he heard someone coming from the back room. He blinked several times and his jaw dropped to the floor in complete surprise.

"Oh, môn chéri, you know that look doesn't suit you. You wouldn't want a stray Doxy to get in there, would you, hmmm?" Emmaline grinned as she made her way to the counter.

Draco stopped her. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Emmaline? Why..." his eyes narrowed, "You are Emmaline, aren't you?"

She smiled irrepressibly and laid a hand on his cheek, that ever present mischievous twinkle in her eye. "What do you think?" Emmaline bustled over to the coffee machine, her hands automatically making coffee for her thoroughly startled guest. "I decided you were right, Draco. The store in Paris was too much for me. I have, how you say - downsized. Besides, I arrived not a moment too soon. You look dreadful. You could use a good feed, môn chéri." She poked him in the ribs with her wand before flicking it in the direction of a box of books, which immediately began to empty its contents and the books flew onto the shelves.

"But... but..."

"Oh, don't act so surprised. Here," she placed a freshly brewed espresso under his nose. "Sit. Drink this, and I'll explain." Her firm hand guided him to the nearest table.

Draco did not need to be told twice. He savoured the proffered cup as she spoke.

"The store was getting too big, Draco. I had everyone from Jean-Paul to my own medi-wizard telling me it was time to retire. But you know how stubborn I am; I cannot stop what I love doing. Madame Puddifoot is an old friend. She wanted to head back to Wales to spend more time with her grandchildren, so I bought out her store. I thought I could liven things up here by adding some continental pizzazz to this quaint old village. Besides, I knew you would not survive long without a little taste of Paris nearby, hmmm? You like the store name?" she asked about the sign. Another flick of her wand conjured a mouth-watering plate of brioches and small fruit tartlets. Draco grabbed one hungrily, the pastry in his mouth before the plate hit the table.

"The Leaf and Bean. Very cute. Mmmph, these are divine. Are they from Harold's Patisserie? But what about the Paris store? You haven't sold it? My studio..."

"Oh, I leased it out. Stop worrying, child. I have a whole new range of books for you to browse through here." She sighed, flicking her wand at yet another box of books.

"I'll just have to relearn your entire filing system, won't I?" he grinned heartily. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" Draco pouted petulantly, but he had already forgiven his petite mère. "Arianna knew, didn't she?"

Emmaline nodded. "I wanted to surprise you, and your friend helped me with my little secret. So, are you surprised, môn chéri?"

"Thoroughly delighted," he smiled warmly as the caffeine and delicate pastry coursed through his veins. Sometimes caffeine felt better than magic, he thought, or even sex.

"I only opened the doors this morning. Luckily I managed to collect most of these books from a deceased estate, so I don't need to bring much stock from Paris."

Draco could only nod as he continued to reacquaint his tastebuds to the joy of delicacies. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was back home. The shop was not quite as large as the one in Paris. This was only on one floor, with half the bookshelf space of the Paris store. A few sofas for reading were interspersed with the tables. The place looked extremely inviting, and Draco wouldn't put it past her to actually have cast a few charms to entice wizards into the store. He still wasn't sure if she had done that to him back in Paris all those years ago.

"I still can't believe you did all this without telling me! You're a crafty old witch. It's fantastic! It's perfect, and I think you will be more popular than you can ever imagine." His grin showed his genuine pleasure at her presence in Hogsmeade.

The chatted for a while longer, and Draco was beginning to feel more relaxed than he had in a while. He realised just how homesick he had really been. He could see now that much of his stressed state could be attributed to that fact. Things would be much better now that he had a regular supply of coffee, pastries and good company with an old friend. "But can you convince these local culinary heathens to drink coffee?" Draco thought about telling Remus of the store. He recognised that the werewolf was a well-read man with a penchant to try something new. Perhaps he could convince him of the wonders of coffee. The thought of lacing coffee into the Wolfsbane flitted through his mind, but he would have to study the effects of it later.

"But of course," she drawled. "And if they cannot see their way to drinking coffee, I've got over two hundred types of tea."

Draco could not believe that she had kept such a huge secret from him. He had no inkling that she was considering setting up a store in Hogsmeade, but for the first time in weeks he was thoroughly happy. He even had every intention of dragging Severus along before the day was out. He had already stamped his mark on the best table in the house – down in the back corner. It was secluded, yet afforded a view of the entire store. He had no doubt that he would find himself down here at every available opportunity.

As he pushed away the empty plate, his thoughts turned to Flash, and how this would be a wonderful place to sit in peace and write in the journal. This small piece of home was going to help him cope with all the craziness in his life. Somehow, dealing with Potter didn't seem so hard now that he was 'home'. Draco scrapped his earlier plans to return to the castle as he relaxed in the comforting atmosphere and caught up with Emmaline's gossip. Lighting a cigarette, he could not help but smile as a familiar ball of fur rubbed lovingly against his leg.

"Petite Amie," he didn't know whether to scold or cuddle her. "Where did you run off to? I thought you had abandoned me, you fickle floozy." He scratched the errant tabby under the chin, the cat lapping up the attention.

"I think she missed you, Draco. She was very keen to follow me when I told her where I was going," Emmaline stood and smiled. "Of course, I don't think I spoil her nearly half as much as you do. And what is this?" Emmaline frowned and pulled the cigarette out of Draco's mouth, vanishing it with a quick spell. "I thought we agreed years ago that you would not be smoking again. I can see I came here just in the nick of time."

He was suitably admonished. It had taken quite a while for him to give up on his old habit, but Emmaline had been most adamant. He nodded to acknowledge her chastisement. He had given up once; he could do it again – when the time was right. Petite Amie was quite satisfied to sit in Draco's lap and she did not protest the attention he lavished upon her.

"I think she wants to go up to the castle with you, Draco."

"Old Mrs Norris might not be too happy with a new face, but I'm sure she can hold her own against that mangy old bag of bones." He realised he had never asked about having a pet other than an owl, but he really couldn't see any problem, not when there were dozens of student pets roaming the halls.

"But of course, if you can't, I'm sure she won't mind staying here. You might come down and visit me more often, then," she smiled.

He stood and kissed her on the cheek, "I don't need an excuse to visit you, you old witch."

She slapped him playfully. He had other errands to attend to and reluctantly made plans to head back to the castle. He decided to take a box of pastries back with him - Severus would enjoy them during their afternoon meeting. He turned as he heard the first horde of students make their way down the high street. Many were curious about the new store, and he spotted Damien Michaels at the same time the boy looked through the window. He knew that was his cue to leave.

"Draco," Michaels nodded in his direction as he entered the store, alone. "What is this place?" he asked conversationally.

"It's a coffee shop, Michaels. You'll do well to be nice to the proprietor. If anyone gives her grief, I'll be the first to know, so just watch yourself."

"Oh sure thing. Can I interest you in sharing a pot of tea then, Draco? We could talk – catch up on things..." Draco could sense where this was heading, and knew this was neither the time nor place for it.

"Sorry, Michaels, but I've just finished here and Professor Snape is expecting me. Perhaps another day?" He nodded and left with his parcels, not waiting to hear the answer. The disappointment was plain on the young man's face. He felt really bad, but wondered if it was because Flash told him it was mean to string Michaels along. The young man consumed his thoughts as he wandered back to school. He would have to tell the boy sooner, rather than later, that he was not interested. It was flattering to be the object of his infatuation, but the quicker he could move on, the better. In his haste to leave the store, he forgot all about Petite Amie.

Before he could chastise himself for leaving the cat behind, he was thoroughly surprised to find her waiting patiently at the school gates. He didn't fail to see the reproving look on her face as he stubbed out the cigarette he had enjoyed on the way back. So now I'll have Emmaline and the cat both telling me what to do. Is it any wonder why I prefer to be with men?

May 25 - Sunday

The changing seasons were truly becoming obvious as Harry and Remus strolled down the path toward Hogsmeade on Sunday morning. It was just after ten o'clock, but already the sun was shining brightly and warmly enough for Harry to take off his jacket as they walked.

Remus had been somewhat preoccupied during breakfast, but he dragged Harry away before he could eat more than a slice of toast. The werewolf seemed anxious about something, but it wasn't anything grim – Harry could sense an air of excited anticipation from the expression on Remus' face. It made him look years younger. It wasn't the first time that Harry noticed such a change in his old friend. The improvements to the Wolfsbane were certainly helping Remus to regain a semblance of youthful vitality, if Harry's observations were anything to go by.

He was looking forward to a day of relaxation and window shopping in the small village shops. He'd been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed how tired he had become. It was that good sort of weariness that comes from doing a thoroughly satisfying day's work that you enjoy. As they strolled, he rambled excitedly about his students.

"...And Dominique seems to be doing much better lately. I swear when I first got here, I had trouble believing she'd ever been on a broom before, but she's finally getting the hang of it. She does really well in your class. I think she could be a great curse breaker or something when she finishes school. She seems to have a natural instinct for the little quirks behind certain hexes and curses. Oh, but I've been meaning to ask you about Silas Staggerton, you know, the quiet, moody Ravenclaw? Does he seem okay to you? I mean, has he always been so anti-social and introverted? It doesn't seem healthy for a fourteen year old to be so mature yet such a loner."

"Yes," Remus replied. "I have noticed that he's gotten a little quieter this year. The first couple years I was here, he seemed fairly quiet and he's definitely a bit of a loner, but I'll keep an eye on him and see how things go. I seem to recall another student of mine that was quite mature and alone at fourteen." Remus glanced sideways at Harry and noted the nod of agreement and the mildly nostalgic expression. "It's good of you to noticed things like that, Harry," he continued. "That's the mark of a good teacher, and I know that you'll find just the right niche to make use of those talents one day."

Harry seemed to be on an unconscious path to Honeyduke's, but Remus stopped and redirected his steps. "Where are we headed, Remus?" Harry wondered at the silently pleased look on Remus' face.

"I thought you might be interested in some tea – and a fresh pastry or two. Actually, there's someone I'd like you to meet, Harry," he replied cryptically.

"Oh?" Harry was curious now. For a split second, he thought Remus might be trying to set him up with someone, or introduce him to someone that he was interested in dating. He shook such nonsensical thoughts away quickly. He would soon know why Remus was being so mysterious. As they wandered past the Three Broomsticks, Harry thought about what Remus would be like without his curse. It was a futile thought, but he couldn't help but wonder if his friend would have been the same if he had not been under the influence of the moon for most of his life.

He was surprised to find Remus leading him to the new store – the Leaf and Bean. The dark green door and the bevelled glass window panes only hinted at the treasures within. A sign in the window boasted that fresh pastries were available daily. Remus looked from the storefront to Harry with a questioning quirk of the eyebrow. "Shall we?"

Harry indicated that Remus should enter first. The distinct aroma of coffee assaulted his nose as he opened the door. Harry was immediately drawn to the cosy and inviting atmosphere of the shop. He seemed a little puzzled to find that the back half of the store looked like a library – or was it a bookstore – Harry wasn't too sure. The arrangements of tables and chairs seemed to mirror the haphazard layout of the books on the shelves. The books were stacked as high as the ceiling and despite the apparent disorganisation, Harry got the distinct impression that nothing was out of place. This included the hundreds of different jars of all shapes and sizes that adorned the wall behind the counter. They were filled with more varieties of tea than Harry had ever seen in one place. A shiny copper coffee machine took pride of place on the counter, its shiny surface reflecting the bright sunlight as it streamed through the open window.

As promised, there was a case full of fresh pastries. Some were covered in chocolate or sticky icing; others were topped with glazed fruit slices, whilst others burst with lashings of whipped cream and custard. Harry immediately knew that this place was definitely better than Honeydukes. As he looked around further, he realised that this store was once Madame Puddifoot's. The source of all my greatest triumphs with the women, he thought wryly. The new decorations made the place seem more inviting and less cloying than he remembered. He felt welcome here, unlike Madame Puddifoot with her oppressive curtains and stuffy chintzes.

"Remus? Remus Lupin?" An elderly witch enquired in disbelief as she popped her head up from behind the counter. Her eyes sparkled in delight at the sight of Remus, and Harry saw the werewolf return the wide smile with his own grin.

"Enchante, Emmaline," Remus grabbed her hand and kissed it lovingly before enveloping her in a warm hug. "Que vous apporte à Hogsmeade, petite mère?"

Since when does Remus speak French, Harry wondered as he looked on in disbelief. At least, I'm fairly certain it's French. He was suddenly mesmerised as he stood quietly and patiently whilst Remus became reacquainted with someone he obviously knew. Who is she? He wondered with morbid curiosity.

They carried on in their own private conversation for quite some time. Harry didn't mind. Listening to him speaking in that foreign language was quite... stimulating. He was not following the conversation at all, but he quickly realised that listening to Remus speaking in the foreign tongue was the most stimulating thing he had heard in quite some time. He found himself suddenly aroused as he listened to his friend conversing with the old woman. Is it the language, or is it just Remus? Harry closed his eyes to try and shake the image, but realised he could still hear them talking.

He quickly chastised himself for thinking of Remus in such a way. It was difficult, but Remus had made it abundantly clear he wasn't interested in Harry's sexual advances. Feeling the overwhelming sexual urge as it began to build, Harry quickly took a deep breath and began to practice his control techniques.

If it wasn't one thing that made Harry's power begin to waver, it was another. Firstly it was the Neo Death Eaters, then Malfoy and his ever-present smirk. Now he was finding it hard to control his urges when it came to Remus. At times like this he was glad he was doing everything he could to keep his power under control.

As he closed his eyes, he attempted to block all sensory input. He was unable to stop their conversation from entering into his mind, and he found the meaningless words quite soothing. The comforting smells of the tea and coffee and old books helped Harry to clear his thoughts and bury deep those unwanted sexual urges. A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his reverie.

He opened his eyes to find the old witch staring straight at him. At first glance Emmaline, as Remus introduced her, reminded him somewhat of a much older and grey haired Molly Weasley, but with a slightly more worldly glint in her eye.

"Emmaline," Remus returned to speaking in English, "I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Harry. Harry, this is Emmaline."

Harry shook hands with the old witch, but sensed her piercing gaze was doing more than just assessing his physical attributes.

Remus continued, "Emmaline and I met in Paris many, many years ago. She was kind enough to take me under her wing when I first arrived in the big city."

"I never knew you were in Paris, Remus," Harry was genuinely surprised.

"It's true. I was there. I found the pace of life there quite different after leaving school. I had hoped that my affliction would be more accepted over there, but unfortunately, I was mistaken. Luckily, Emmaline took me under her wing and helped me make it through my studies."

Emmaline smiled as she continued his story, "Unfortunately for my young friend here, he had been given bad advice. Paris and indeed the rest of Europe hold no special love for those victims of the darkest of curses." Emmaline's voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke about the last. Remus nodded.

"Luckily she took pity on me, because I lived in a studio above her shop for quite a while."

"And you left without saying goodbye, I still haven't forgiven you." Emmaline's gaze returned to Harry, who found it interesting to hear stories about Remus' past. "Look, Remus, you make me forget my manners. You must both sit down and I will make you coffee, hmmm?" she herded them to the nearest table.

"Er, actually," Harry interrupted, "could I have some tea instead?" he lingered over the hundreds of different varieties before settling on a pot of Orange Pekoe.

"So what do you think of this place, Harry?" Remus seemed eager.

"It's unusual, that's for sure. Hermione would have a field day in this place. Mind you, she'd probably want to reorganise everything and set up some cataloguing system for the books." Remus nodded in agreement with Harry. "How'd you know that your old friend was here?"

"Oh, I was chatting to Draco, and he mentioned this place. It only took a few minutes to realise that Emmaline was the one in charge. She is a one of a kind, Harry, and I know she's taken a liking to you."

Harry sighed. "Everyone takes a liking to me, Remus. I'm the saviour of the wizarding world – what's not to like?" he offered with faint sarcasm.

"Harry, she has no idea who you are. I just introduced you as Harry. Emmaline is a wonderful judge of character. Does she remind you of anyone?" Remus asked knowingly. Harry nodded. "Yeah, Ron's mum." Remus agreed.

Emmaline returned to the table as a tray laden with tea and coffee supplies landed on the table next to them. A selection of pastries from the counter had also accompanied their drinks, and Harry realised why Remus dragged him away before he could eat a hearty breakfast. Harry could never say no to a fine fruit pastry, nor could he deny that a chocolate croissant was complete decadence.

The store was still quiet, with most people still in their beds. Emmaline brought over her own tiny coffee cup and joined them. "So, 'Arry," she patted his hand, "how do you know young Remus here?"

"Oh, I've known him for a very long time. He was a friend of my father's, actually. He was one of my teachers after that, and now, well now we're friends and colleagues." But I wouldn't say no to something more, he mentally added.

Emmaline raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Honestly, Remus. You let someone this 'andsome get away and be just friends? I am surprised in you." Remus had the decency to blush at her forthright comments, and Harry tried not to snigger into his teacup. Had she read my thoughts?

It was quite an eye opener for Harry to see Remus embarrassed by Emmaline and her suggestive comments. He liked her – a lot. He didn't think on it at first, but he had easily allowed her to mother him. It took him a good half hour before he realised that he had let her do so as she had been plying him with a constant stream of pastries.

"Emmaline, I am full. If I eat another one I'll burst like a puffapod." He patted his stomach.

"What is it with young men these days? You forget to eat – you are too skinny, by half, young 'Arry."

"I'm not skinny," he pouted. "I'm just lean. This is all muscle, Emmaline. I work hard to keep in shape."

"And a good shape it is, môn chéri. Don't you dare stop doing whatever it is you do, but it wouldn't hurt to eat a little more." She pouted. He couldn't help repress the grin as he realised the old witch was flirting with him.

He took the opportunity to wander through the bookshelves, his interest piqued by a number of extremely old and rare tomes. On more than one occasion he found his arms filled with books he wanted to buy but forced himself to put most of them back. He wanted to buy the entire store, if the truth be known, but he doubted that the store would be going anywhere in the near future.

Remus and Emmaline had returned to their private conversation, again spoken in French. Harry was curious about what they were discussing, but he assumed that Remus had reverted to Emmaline's native tongue as a measure of politeness. Had he the foresight to listen in with a translation charm, he would have discovered a most interesting conversation. He mentally returned to his meditation, lest the unwanted feelings return as he listened to Remus' voice.

Remus had a completely different reason for visiting Emmaline that morning. He could not have been more surprised to learn of Emmaline's presence in Hogsmeade. Draco had given Remus a thorough description of the store, and the proprietor that left no doubt in his mind that this was the same witch who had helped him during a rather bleak period in his past.

He wasn't sure if her presence was coincidence, but having her show up here at this time seemed a little too contrived. If he were to be honest, though, Emmaline was the most mysterious witch he had ever met. Since the moment he found out she was in Hogsmeade, he had been champing at the bit to ask her one simple question.

"He is rather taken with you, Remus," Emmaline gazed over at Harry.

"There's nothing between us, Emmaline. You of all people should know why." Remus didn't know whether to be cross, but she could feign innocence with the best of them.

"Whatever do you mean, Remus?"

"Who did you give my journal to?" He hadn't planned on being so demanding, but she had forced him to ask.

Emmaline paused for just a moment as she looked over at the young wizard perusing the shelves. "I don't know what journal you are talking about, Remus. You left a number of books with me when you returned to London. Whatever book you're talking about could have been sold a dozen times over by now."

Remus wasn't letting her get away with it. "I know you gave my Journal Intime Partagé to someone, Emmaline. I want to know who it was. Harry is not one to have his affections toyed with."

Emmaline raised an eyebrow, "Oh, so he's the one with the other journal now, is he?" she seemed to pay a little more attention to Harry now, but Remus sensed she already knew. Remus was frustrated at her hedging.

"Yes, and I want to know who you gave my journal to."

"So he is using it already, is he? Hmmm." The twinkle in her eye brightened for a split second.

"Emmaline, this is not one of your silly matchmaking games. I will not have you messing with Harry. He means too much to me," Remus admitted.

"Really?" she turned her gaze fully to Remus and he swallowed his guilt. He was no longer the young man easily cowed by this formidable witch, and he was ready to let her know. "Whatever happened to your soul mate, Remus? Why are you not here with him?" She raised an eyebrow in query.

Remus looked away. "He died, Em. I barely had five years with him – on and off – with the war and everything else..." His words faltered as he brought himself to think about Sirius.

The smile died on her lips for just a moment. "Oh, I am so sorry, Remus. Forgive me for being an old fool. Of course you would be with him if you could." She glanced back at Harry. "And this young man is now toying with your affections?"

He nodded, "Yes, I care for Harry. I care enough to reject him outright, especially when he wants nothing more at present than to be with me. I know it, Emmaline, I can smell the desire that's constantly dripping from him, but I can't have it, can I?" For just a moment, Remus sneered. "Of course, now that the journals have reared their heads again, I know that in the long term I wouldn't make Harry happy. I still think it is fairly early days with whomever he's talking to in the journal, but we both know what is going to happen next. I just don't want to see him hurt."

"He won't be," she said confidently.

"So why won't you tell me who you gave the journal to?" Remus was now conversing in circles. He knew she had no intention of telling him.

Emmaline patted the back of his hand, "Remus, môn chéri. Have the journals ever been wrong before?" Remus had repressed all the memories of his own time writing to Sirius. He gave in to the emotions and the thoughts and feelings and memories. He could see their words and relive their conversations as if they happened only yesterday, not twenty five years earlier. Those piercing blue eyes were still waiting for him to answer.

He merely shook his head and sighed, "No, Emmaline, they weren't wrong. But I do worry for Harry. He has no idea about the significance of..."

"I'm sure he'll know soon enough, if he hasn't already discovered it for himself." She spoke knowingly. "Relax, Remus. Let him find out what he truly wants in life. He will be all the more better for having done so. He will know. When the time is right, he will know."

Remus nodded and admitted defeat. "Alright, petite mère. You win. I won't ask you again. But if he hurts Harry in any way, I'll be down here personally to show my displeasure."

"Why Remus, whatever happened to the mild mannered boy I once knew? You wouldn't dare threaten your old petite mère, would you?"

"I might not, but then again, I know a wolf that might disagree." She raised an eyebrow at his obvious threat. Just as they finished, Harry returned with a couple of books he planned on buying. Emmaline changed the subject, and quickly reverted back to English.

"So 'Arry, you must come and visit me again. Come closer, môn chéri. My eyes are not as good as they once were. I get so lonely at times, and I am so far from my old home right now." She indicated for Harry to move closer so she could see him.

"Emmaline," Remus looked incredulous. "There's nothing wrong with your eyesight. Stop flirting with him – he's not used to outspoken old witches trying to take advantage of his youth."

"Oh?" Harry seemed rather embarrassed, but soon laughed at Emmaline's blushing pout.

"Ah, you know me too well, Remus." She pouted further, but quickly vanished their now dirty plates and cups.

"So, I take it you don't hold to reading tea leaves, Emmaline," Harry was curious about the old witch. She seemed to know an awful lot about Remus, and she seemed so nice. It was nice to be around someone who wasn't intimidated by his name.

Emmaline laughed, "Don't be ridiculous, 'Arry. Tasseography is for amateurs, darling. I prefer books," she offered emphatically.

"You sound like someone I know," he rolled his eyes at the thought of Hermione ending up like this old witch. She could do worse, he thought.

"No, I mean you can learn a lot about a man by the books he reads."

"Oh?" Harry was curious. Was this some other obscure form of Divination?

"Don't listen to her, Harry," Remus interrupted. "She's a thorough busybody and will want to know every piece of gossip she can lay her hands on." Remus' words were good natured, and it indicated to Harry that she was most likely trustworthy.

"Well, I'll have to be careful what I read, won't I?" he smiled warmly. He found this old witch quite intriguing, and he would certainly be coming back to visit her in the future. He was again reminded of Molly when she began to unconsciously brush a few non existent hairs from his robes.

He was surprised to find that they had wiled away the better part of the morning with Emmaline, heading out into the bright midday glare. He had enjoyed the relaxing time with Remus, and with the captivating old woman. He had such a good time, he almost forgot that it was Draco who mentioned the quaint shop to Remus. As they wandered slowly back through the high street, it suddenly occurred to Harry why he felt so comfortable around Emmaline. She didn't mention his fame, or his scar – not once. Remus had only introduced him as Harry. She didn't seem awed by his deeds, as many people did when they met him in person. Either she knew, and chose to ignore it, or things like that really didn't impress her.

It was at that moment that Harry decided he would be spending a lot more time with the enigmatic Emmaline and her charming shop.

Even though they had eaten their fill of pastries that morning, Harry felt the need for a more substantial meal. The scent of something hearty wafted from the windows of the Three Broomsticks. Remus wanted to join him, but reluctantly headed back to the castle and a rather large pile of marking that he had been putting off. Harry offered to help him with the marking, but Remus waved him away.

He didn't plan on wasting his afternoon either; the weather was too good to pass up an opportunity to take his Firebolt for a fling down the lake and across the Highlands. With the amount of daylight lengthening, the opportunity to head out for a long flight was promising.

As he wandered into the quiet pub, he noticed the shock of blond hair as its owner skulked in the corner of the bar. He was again reminded of the fact that Draco told Remus about Emmaline's shop, and pondered yet again the closeness of his relationship with Remus. His good mood faltered somewhat at that thought. He frowned as he noticed the young man talking to Draco. It's not a Hogsmeade weekend – what's he doing down here? As he slid into a booth alongside the bar, he noticed the student was Damien Michaels, the Slytherin prefect and probably one of the most talented seekers Harry had ever seen. The boy would do well in the professional league. He had all the arrogance the professional players loved.

The pair of Slytherins were having a quiet discussion, but Harry didn't fail to notice the distaste on Malfoy's face as he shook his head frantically. Michaels hand gestures became more frantic, but Malfoy was firm in denying whatever the student wanted. "Please, Draco," Michael's voice became a little louder and Harry heard the desperation in the tone.

"You know I can't, Damien. Now please, why don't you head back to school," Draco's words hinted at the finality of their conversation. Damien pursed his lips and was ready to start another plea, but Draco stared him down. The boy slammed his butterbeer down on the bar and stormed out of the pub in a flurry of robes. Malfoy didn't seem at all perturbed at the scene.

What on earth was that all about? Harry wondered, but kept himself hidden behind the menu. He could sense Malfoy's bad mood, but didn't really think their cursed civility could hold up under the strain. Better to avoid him than end up on the receiving end of a hex, he thought. He saw Malfoy finish his drink and stub out the remainder of his cigarette before donning his gloves and leaving nonchalantly.

For his part, Draco was somewhat bemused. Granted, he had not needed Damien Michaels to choose that morning to make his move and force Draco to reject his now blatant sexual offers.

"You've been avoiding me, Draco," Damien Michaels slid up alongside him as he sat at the bar of the Three Broomsticks. Draco had woken up with a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong that day. As soon as he spotted the obvious smirk on the prefect's face, he knew exactly what it would be.

"No, not really, Damien. I do have work that keeps me busy."

Michaels ordered a butterbeer from the cheerful barmaid. "You promised we could catch up at some stage." His tone was petulant, but Draco knew better.

"Well, you've caught me now; what is it you want to catch up on? I've got some time to chat before I have to head back to the castle," Draco replied casually.

Michael's hand crept closer to Draco's and he leaned it to whisper, "I was hoping to find somewhere a little more... private. What I want to catch up on usually doesn't require an audience... unless..." The teen's smirk reminded Draco of his own. Did it really quirk up in the corner when he was trying to be suggestive, he wondered.

Draco closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and answering. "Look, Michaels..."

"Please, call me Damien."

"...Damien, I know what you are after, but I'm sorry, I can't help you. I'm afraid you may have misread the signs. I'm not interested in you... not in that sense, anyway."

All joy fell from the teen's face at the realisation Draco was rejecting him, "But Draco, I thought... but we used to..."

Draco didn't want to drag this out into some long winded confrontation. "What happened in the past is best left in the past. Besides, I'm on staff. I don't fraternise with students, and I have no intentions of jeopardising my career because you're horny and you think I'd make a grand notch on your bedpost."

The boy took another sip of his butterbeer, seemingly to gather his courage for further pleading. "Please, Draco," Michael's voice became a little louder and Draco wondered if any of the other patrons could overhear them. Naturally, just when he least wanted it, Potter was lurking in a corner of the pub, no doubt overhearing this embarrassing moment.

"You know I can't, Damien. Now please, why don't you head back to school," Draco's words were final. There, I let him down, and I really tried not to be too nasty to him. He probably hates me now and is already plotting some way to ambush me. I know that's what I would have done if I had been similarly infatuated. Damien gave him one look that only hinted at resentment, but he slammed his empty butterbeer glass on the bar before storming out of the pub in a thorough sulk.

As Draco recalled the words on his slow amble back to the castle, he wondered why that bad feeling didn't go away. Even though he knew he did the right thing by stopping Damien Michaels and his misplaced infatuation, why did it feel like he had made things worse? He shrugged off his unease at the thought of talking to Flash. He knew his friend would be proud. Now that his mind didn't turn to misplaced thoughts about Potter every five minutes, Draco again found himself wondering about his pen pal, and resolved to find out more that evening.

I don't want to talk about serious things tonight, Flash. You're not trying to avoid something, are you? No, it just feels that all we've talked about lately is stuff that is quite serious. I had to do something rotten and rather distasteful today, and I feel like being frivolous. I need a diversion. Well, I can do that. I can be frivolous. But before we do that, would you care to share what it was that you had to do? Oh that twink finally made his move, and I ended up having to reject him outright. He's not terribly happy about it. Hmmm, most young men don't take well to rejection, if I recall. How young is he? He's only just turned eighteen. That's barely out of school! I know. I'm not comfortable with that – that's why I turned him down. Of course, that stupid appendage between my legs thinks otherwise. Yes, we always know that that stupid appendage has a mind of its own and makes shocking decisions when left to think for itself... well, sometimes it does. Mine, on occasion has been known to have some fantastic ideas. See, you're making me laugh already. Thanks, Flash. But I just wonder when I grew the moral conscience that determined that having sex with this young man would not be a good idea. Once upon a time I would have been shagging him up against the nearest surface within minutes of his proposition. We were all like that at one stage, weren't we? It's only human nature to find someone attractive physically. Even if you know that getting involved with them is not a good idea. I guess that's why I am finding my friendship with you so different. I find each week that I like you more and more, yet I've never met you in the flesh. Even so, I admit that the thought of us getting together has crossed my mind... on more than one occasion. You know, we must have some strange mental link. I was only thinking the same thing. You are my closest friend at present. I can tell you things I wouldn't dream of telling other guys. I have always found the flesh attractive, and I've rarely had a relationship with someone who is unattractive. In the end I've always found that the person didn't live up expectations in other areas. Antonio was gorgeous, witty and funny, but he lacked the ability to talk about things on an intellectual level. Jean-Paul... well, let's not revisit his sins so soon. I can't pick them either, but you know all there is to know about Ollie and my foolish notions. It's not foolish to want certain things in life, Flash. I am still only discovering what I want. It's taken a few events that are out of my control, but I'm learning. Why just this week I learned that I miss you when I'm not talking to you. So what are you saying, Luc? You're not going to trick me into writing something that I don't mean, Flash. I know that this book will drag stuff out of me if I try holding it back. I just told you upfront so that I didn't let anything accidentally slip and make it sound foolish that it's actually you I envisage when I imagine being with a future life partner. Merde. This bloody journal. If it wasn't the only way I could talk with you, I would have got rid of it ages ago. I feel the same way, Luc, but I told you that a while ago. It seemed odd at first that I could imagine sharing things with you, when I don't even know you. I mean, I don't know you, but yet I know you so well. Does that make sense? Perfect sense, Flash. At least once a day I think about something I want to tell you about, and you don't want to know how miserable I truly was when I couldn't chat with you. I think that's why I got myself so worked up and so stressed. I admit that I was worried the whole time that I might have scared you off with my terribly unsubtle suggestions. That's been getting me into quite a bit of trouble lately. It would not have surprised me to find that I had alienated you with it as well. Who else have you been suggestively whispering to, Flash? I'm thoroughly jealous. You don't want to mess with me when I'm jealous, either. I can be quite nasty. Let me at him and I'll send off some nasty hexes that will make him wish he were never born. Oh, relax, but remind me never to get on your bad side. I can only begin to imagine what sort of hexes you are talking about, but I'm squirming uncomfortably at the thought. I was merely referring to the time that I flirted quite heavily with my dear old friend - you remember me telling you about that? That action has been so hard to live with because I'm working with him now. We seem to have moved past it, but I'm still living in denial. I don't know if he'll ever come around to my way of thinking. I can accept his decision, of course, and I can't imagine it would be more than a good time, but I certainly wouldn't say no if he changed his mind. Yes, I remember. That's okay, then. I was beginning to think you had other journals stashed around and were writing sweet nothings to other strange men, or women that I know nothing about. Now see... I have no idea what made me think that, but it is definitely some little insecurity that has just leapt out onto the page. Actually, I doubt there are dozens of these journals around. I was told that they are fairly common in old pureblood wizarding families, but I never saw any in our family library. Mother said her cousin had the one that belonged to her family, and I have no idea whether or not father had one. However, visiting the family estate and checking over the library is not on my list of things to do in the next few years. I would actually love to know exactly what spells are in this book. I had a curse breaker look it over and she told me it was harmless, but now I'm not so sure. There's more magic in here than appears at first glance. I'm remiss in actually investigating it further. I would hate to lose this link to you Luc, and I couldn't live with myself it I lost contact with you because of my insatiable curiosity. I would hate that too... So when are you going to tell me your Floo address so we can shag and get this over with? You're incorrigible, Flash. That's one of your best features. And your ability to completely ignore my suggestive tone is a little frustrating at times, but I still love you for it. I wish my friend had been able to brush it off so easily.

Harry paused a moment, glancing over his words. "I still love you for it." His heart sped up a bit, contemplating the possible weight of those words; the type of reaction they might trigger in Luc. He really didn't want to lose this connection, and was beginning to feel quite nervous that he would do just that if he continued to allow things like that to come out in their chats. But internally, that begged a deeper question… did he feel something that strong for Luc? Was there truly that much emotion, that deep a connection? He shook his head in frustration and focused instead on Luc's reply.

I thought we weren't going to talk about deep and meaningful stuff this evening, Flash. We've managed to fall into the trap again, and I think it's the journal's fault. Yes, let's blame the inanimate magical object. So what sort of frivolity did you feel like talking about? There's knitting or perhaps shagging. I know that if we start to talk about wine we'll never come to an agreement, because we don't agree on that. Knitting or shagging? I'm not surprised at the shagging reference, you seem to have a one track mind, but you're crazy if you think I'll waste good ink discussing knitting. I think I'd rather find out something more interesting about you. I found out the other day that you drink swill wine, so I hope to goodness your taste in men is a hell of a lot better. Tell me, how do you like your men? Preferably naked and extremely willing is always a good start. You know, I was expecting some sort of answer like that. I guess, since you said you do fall into the trap of going for good looking guys, just what physical type attracts you the most. Do you like your men strong, submissive, muscular, thin, tall, short... I knew what you meant. I couldn't miss the opportunity for the joke. Actually, there is no one physical type that I prefer. I guess I've never really thought about it. I'm trying to think about my past conquests, and from what I can gather, they were a bit of a mixed bag. I think I sometimes just took what was on offer that didn't look like a troll. I definitely draw the line at trolls. Charlie is a strong and muscular type, but Ollie was not so big. As for my dream guy... I have no idea. So what about your first? What was he like? What did you fancy when you were a nervous and horny twink? I'm just curious about dredging up old and horrible memories. Goodness knows I've had to deal with a few of those lately. Ooh, my first? Hmm, let me think. That was so long ago. It was at school – oh yeah, I remember him now. Nothing terribly much to tell – he was a year younger, and gay, and at the time we were both horny, and that was all that mattered.

Harry had long forgotten about his foolish dalliance with the obnoxious Zacharias Smith. That was so long ago, and Smith had, at the time, been the only one interested in the Boy Who Lived. Despite their initial fumblings, and the embarassingly awful sex, it had made him feel wanted, if for a brief moment. Unfortunately for Harry, Smith had really only been interested in going public with Harry's preferences, which taught him a valuable lesson about life.

It certainly wasn't a grand passion, that's for certain. Despite the horror that is first time sex, it ended in the usual teenage mess. Even worse than my first kiss with a girl. That was certainly another event in my past that is best left forgotten. Now, your turn. I remember you telling me about your fiancée, but when did you first realise that you should test things on the other side of the fence? Well, I had partaken of both the pleasures of males and females. Again for me, it was at school. It was in the showers after a Quidditch match that I first became aware of the fact that I might be turned on by the male form.

Draco thought back to that time. It had been the Quidditch match in his fifth year – the one where Potter punched him. He really didn't care for the pain that was caused – all he could remember was that the bastard had been banned from the team for his efforts. That had been the happiest he had ever felt after a game.

I'd just been in a stand-up Muggle type brawl with an opponent. He was the one who started it, and I copped a low punch. So that was when you discovered you liked the down and dirty tactics of Quidditch? All those brooms and the polish and the slightly modified 'cushioning charms'? Yes, you could say that. Those public showers don't leave much to the imagination, and I managed to find myself quite aroused by the sight of two of my fellow team members a they did their own little after game celebration. I was then invited to join in. The rest, as you say, is history. They were an amazing pair.

Draco could still remember the sight of Miles Bletchley and Christian Warrington as he caught them celebrating the removal of Potter and the Weasley twins from Gryffindor's team. Christian was a well built young man who was popular in Slytherin house. As he entered the showers after the game, Draco could see exactly why he was so popular. It wasn't long before he realised he wanted to be a part of the action as he watched in aroused fascination.

Ten minutes later the virginal Draco found himself indoctrinated into the Slytherin Quidditch team in a completely different way. Moments later, he realised that this was something that he would definitely try again.

Of course, he followed that up much later by making love to Daphne. It had been good, but was nowhere near the same level of arousal that he felt from that first time with Warrington and Bletchley. He loved Daphne, at least, he thought he did at the time, but if he were being totally honest with himself, he knew that if Daphne had not died, things might not have been the same now.

He sighed to himself, swallowing down the dregs from his wineglass in the process. That's all water under the bridge now. Daphne is long gone, and I'm here talking to one man who seems to understand.

So your first time was a threesome? Wow... I'm guessing that you, like me, would rather forget your first time? Not so much forget (how can you forget that first time ... Is there any other feeling like it?) Sorry... what was I saying? I don't know, but whatever it was, I will agree with you completely. There is definitely no other feeling like that in the world. I doubt I'll ever get a chance to have a go with them again. They both died in the war.

One of them was a Death Eater and died at my own hand, Draco remembered Bletchley's betrayal. Of course, that was right after Bletchley had killed Warrington – right before Draco's eyes. Somehow Bletchley knew that Draco was not completely loyal to the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, killing Bletchley had not been the most distasteful thing Draco had to do during the war.

Oh, I'm sorry. Don't be – one of them turned out to be a Death Eater, and I killed him at the end of my own wand. Oh shit, now I really am sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up any horrible memories. It's fine, Flash. I'm not sorry. It is long forgotten. Anyway, now we both know the dimmest and darkest secrets of our first time. But what I'm interested in knowing now is exactly what do you find that turns you on immediately. Is there one thing that makes you rock hard in an instant? Ooh, you know, sometimes that stupid appendage between my legs doesn't need much of a reason to become rock hard, but there is something that I've only recently discovered. You might get a laugh out of this. I was listening to someone speaking French. His voice sounded totally different, and it was an immediate turn on. I've heard other languages before, so I know it's not the fact it's a foreign language, but it is the idea of listening to French. Ahh, le français, la langue de l'amour. Je pense que c'est totalement compréhensible d'être excité par quelqu'un parlant les mots doux d'amour dans la plus belle langue parlée par tous. Je suis étonné que vous n'avez pas fait un charme de traduction et n'avez pas écouté à leur conversation. Mais je suis curieux pour savoir si lisant la langue écrite vous tourne aussi sur. Okay Luc, now you're just messing with my head. I just tried a translation charm on the page, and it did nothing. I have no idea if you are teasing me, cursing me or trying to turn me on, but the written French word does nothing. I think I can recognise about one in every five or six words. Sorry, Flash. I just had to know. I didn't realise that a translation charm would not work. All I said was 'Ahh, French, the language of love. I think that is totally understandable to be aroused by someone speaking soft words of love in the most beautiful spoken language of them all. I'm surprised you didn't do a translation charm and listen in to their conversation. But I am curious to know if reading the written language also turns you on.' So now I know it's only spoken French. I would be interested to hear you speak what you just wrote, actually. So what has been turning you on lately? Apart from things that we won't mention, such as dreams and the like. Well, I have to confess that since my time in Marrakesh, I've come to appreciate hands. Long fingers that know what they are doing. I find myself watching other men's hands and wondering whether or not they would be controlling or submissive hands. Would the fingers feel soft, or light, or calloused and rough. Oh, yes! Hands are definitely something I notice (actually, it was after you mentioned Jean-Paul's that I first started to notice). Of course, mine are just wonderful at present, if not a little stained by purple ink. I can assure you that they certainly are confident enough to know their way around a firm body. Although, with all the physical work I've been doing, they could use some softening lotion. Oh, you should try to get your hands on some Sprouting globutonius gel. Some what? I have no idea what that is. The sprouting globutonius is a succulent that likes the colder climates – there are plenty over here in the forests – you just have to know where to look. Be careful of their spines – they like to poke you. But if you can harvest their gel, you can make a wonderful hand lotion. You have to mix it with a flobberworm base that's simmered... I'll take your word for it, Luc. Is there anywhere I can buy that stuff? I doubt I'll be making my own. Oh, sorry, I suddenly went into lecture mode, didn't I? Yes, you can buy it over the counter in Diagon Alley, but make sure you go to Slug & Jiggers, not Clawthorn & Hoges. What you get from them is not exactly what is listed on their potions labels. I just thought you should know. I'll keep that in mind, thanks for the advice. I really am tired now, I think I should head to bed. I hope we were frivolous enough to keep your mind away from the serious stuff. I know I'm going to have plenty of images to keep me going for the rest of this week. Yes, thanks, Flash. I am sufficiently distracted, I won't go and think about anything I'm trying to forget. I think I might read a novel before bed. I discovered a Muggle bookstore, and I've a stack of Muggle fantasy novels that are rather intriguing. Yes, some of those novels are, aren't they? You did know that some of the authors are actually wizards? I did. I'm reading a book called 'Magician'. It's a terribly interesting read. Oh, I think I might have read that one. That's the guy who is the Magician's apprentice – Pug? That's him. You like reading Muggle literature? Yes, actually, I must confess that I have read more of that than wizarding fiction, actually. I never had much chance to read a lot when I was growing up. By the time I was interested in reading books for pleasure, I was surrounded by Muggle novels. I do enjoy a series by Robert Jordan – the Wheel of Time books. Oh, I started to read those. I'm sure that guy knows about the wizarding world. I gave up after the third book – not because it was bad, but because it seemed like he was trying to glorify that lead character. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to take Harry Potter's deeds and embellish them, turning them into a fictitious book. I really don't need to read books like that. I had enough of the war without some git trying to glorify it. I never thought of them in that way. I just enjoy the action. But the books are so slow, and very little gets resolved quickly. A bit like real life, isn't it? I suppose so. I might read them again one day, but for now I'm immersed in the fictitious land of Midkemia. Excellent. I won't tell you then about the dozens of sequels that follow that book... Flash! I don't need to know that... I'd curse you, but you already read Robert Jordan's books. That's a curse enough!

Draco was startled by a firm knock on the door.

Could you hold on for a moment, there's someone at the door. Okay, Luc.

Draco hopped out of his comfortable chair and was surprised to find Remus standing there.

"Remus? Is everything all right? Come in," Draco saw a concerned look on the werewolf's face.

"Oh, it's nothing dreadful, Draco, and I'm sure it's not the Wolfsbane, but I just thought you should know that I've been itchy all day, and I seem to have broken out in a rather ghastly rash." He turned up the sleeve of his robe to display the unpleasant looking rash. "It only came up this evening, but I didn't know if it was something that might help or hinder you..."

Draco stopped his concerned babbling. "Relax, Remus. I'll have a look and see what it is. Would you care for a glass of wine?" Draco offered a seat to Remus as he cast a spell to increase the light in the room.

"Thanks," Remus sat at the table as he waited for Draco. He was impressed at the quality furnishings in Draco's room. They were not lavish, but he could not help but think that this was probably quite primitive for Draco. But the more he got to know Draco, the more he realised the young man was not necessarily as flashy as his father, and rarely gave in to excessive displays of wealth. He had obviously inherited his style and grace from his mother who – despite her poor marriage – was always understated and quite stylish.

He noticed the eclectic mix of books on the shelf, but smiled as he saw the well thumbed Muggle novel beside the chair. He would have to talk to Draco about that later.

Draco came back and offered him a glass of wine. "I guess we really should go through what you've been doing the last couple of days, but I'll just head into my office and get my notes. There's a possibility you might be allergic to some of the flower bases I included in this month's batch. We'll get to the bottom of this. I've just got to let a friend know what I'm doing, then I'm all yours." The smile was genuine and Remus saw that the apprentice took his work seriously.

"Oh shit. Sorry, did I interrupt you?" Remus looked toward the fireplace, but didn't see anyone there.

Draco waved him away as he sat at his desk. "It's fine. He understands these things. Give me a couple of minutes."

Duty calls, Flash. I've got someone here I need to assist. A possible allergy to one of my potions. I'd better get onto it. Thanks for keeping me so cheerful tonight. I really needed it. Sure thing, Luc. I should be the one thanking you. Actually, I am really tired, so I might just cover my hands in stinksap, or whatever you mentioned, then head to bed. I'll talk to you next week, Luc. Hope things are better for you this week. Cheers, Flash. Sleep well, mon ami. Adieu, Luc

Remus frowned at first as he wondered just who Draco could be talking to. Surely he hasn't got a telephone – they don't work here in Hogwarts. It came as a thunderous shock when he realised that Draco was writing in a book. Remus' heart thumped in his chest and he stood up to take a closer look.

Surely it was just coincidence that Draco was writing in a book – to another person. He glanced casually towards Draco's book, and his thundering heart skipped a beat when Draco closed the book. Remus closed his eyes as he realised what it was.

He knew every inch of that book – had carried it around for the better part of two years. It was his journal – his old journal. Emmaline had given his old journal to Draco.

And Draco was writing in it.

To Harry.

Draco Malfoy was writing to Harry Potter.

And they were soul mates.

Remus stood silently and pondered the enormous ramifications of that fact.

Draco was puzzled. Remus was standing there staring at his journal. "Remus?"

The werewolf snapped out of his thoughts as Draco spoke to him, "Oh, sorry. I was just noticing your Journal Intime Partagé. It reminds me of one I once had."

Draco's eyes lit up. "Really! How interesting. I never knew a lot about them until this one came into my hands. It came as quite a surprise to discover I was actually talking to another wizard. He's quite an interesting fellow, actually."

Remus felt conflicted. Should he say something to Draco? Should he tell Harry? "So you, er, haven't met your mysterious correspondent?" Remus already knew the answer.

"No, not yet." Draco seemed quite disappointed at that. "So you had one of these? Who did you talk to? Was it someone you knew - I'm really curious."

Remus really didn't want to answer all the questions, but he reverently touched the mottled tapestry on the cover. He felt the imbued magic and for just one moment, he felt as if he could open it up and talk to Sirius. A lump formed in his throat at the thought. Cursed magical artefacts. Why did they choose Harry to torment? How will he react when he finds out he has been talking to someone he despises? For that matter, how will Draco cope?

"Oh, I lost my journal many years ago, but it wouldn't matter now. Padfoot is dead."

Draco was suddenly upset by Remus' sullen tone. "Oh, I'm sorry I brought it up. I get so excited when I learn stuff about this journal – actually so does Flash..."

"Oh, so you are writing to someone named Flash?" Remus could not believe Harry was using his old nickname.

Draco nodded, "He seems to think that there is something in the journals that make us forget. I'm never forgetful, but I always manage to forget to investigate the journal magic. What do you know about it?" He seemed genuinely curious.

Remus shrugged. "It's been a long time, Draco. But there are generations of spells in there – I know for a fact that each witch or wizard can add their own spells to the journals. Depending on how old they are – they could contain a multitude of magics." He saw the look of comprehension on Draco's face.

"That makes perfect sense. I'll tell Flash. Oh, sorry, now I'm being distracted again – you came here to see me about an allergy. I am sorry."

"It's fine, Draco. I think it could be just an allergy, come to think of it. I was helping Professor Sprout to move some Aggreva Aggrevolious yesterday, so I wonder if that has anything to do with it."

"Could be. But I've got my notes here – we could go through them now." Draco stifled a yawn.

"Actually," Remus found it hard not to yawn as well, "I really should not have disrupted you so late. I'm sorry, Draco. I guess I am overreacting. We could talk about this after breakfast, if you like. I don't think it's going to cause me any grief."

"If you're sure."

Remus nodded, "Quite. Sorry again for disturbing you. Thanks for the drink." He put his barely touched glass of wine aside before seeing himself out.

Draco thought Remus seemed somewhat abrupt, but as he yawned again, he realised that he was probably too tired to help him.

As Remus passed Harry's rooms, he paused. He wasn't sure if he should go in and check on his young friend. It had been quite startling to discover that Harry was using Sirius' journal. It was something quite different to learn the identity of the other wizard – someone who would become markedly important in Harry's life.

He paused with his hand ready to knock, but changed his mind. A flood of memories returned, and he recalled many of his own chats with his own soul mate. He was choked with the emotion and the intensity of the memories. Seeing and touching the journal had triggered them. He was in no fit state to talk to Harry right now.

Remus quietly returned to his own rooms. Harry has to learn about this on his own. I can't interfere. Just like nobody could interfere between Sirius and I.

But what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when they discover the truth.

May 26 - Monday

Harry sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. "Ow!" he flinched as Madame Pomfrey tended to his wrist. Yes, I'd definitely say it's broken.

"I'm sorry, Harry, your collarbone was just dislocated, but you've broken this wrist," the medi-witch tutted her way through her diagnosis of his injuries. "What possessed you to get out there on such a dangerous old broom?" Harry didn't fail to note the disapproval in her voice.

He shrugged, wincing in discomfort at the stiffness in his shoulder. "Well someone has to test the old brooms, Madame Pomfrey." Harry had taken the old Cleansweeps out for a test ride to determine just how dangerous the ancient brooms were. Nobody else had been reckless enough to determine their flying capability, but Harry thought a short flight at only a few feet would not be dangerous. He had been sadly mistaken. The charms on the oldest broom backfired spectacularly and Harry was shot from the broom like a cannon ball, landing hard against the stone wall of the courtyard.

"I suppose I should be grateful that it was you and not one of the students." She held Harry's wrist out and frowned in puzzlement. She aimed a number of healing spells at the wrist, but Harry couldn't sense any difference in the level of pain.

"That's always me," he commented wryly, "always looking out for everyone else but myself. Ouch – why does it still hurt so much? I thought you could mend broken bones in a flash." His collarbone already felt better, and the bruising on his ribs was already fading, but his wrist was beginning to worry him.

Madame Pomfrey thought for a moment and quickly referred back to a fairly hefty folder on her desk. Harry recognised it as his own medical file. Had he really visited her that often during his schooling that he had an inch thick file? I bet it's not as big as the file Filch kept about me. Her memory was jogged and she nodded in recollection. "Oh dear. I'm afraid, Harry, that this wrist won't mend with the traditional spells. That's the arm that we regrew when you were twelve years old. Skele-Grown bones are finicky and don't respond well to the usual healing spells. We've really only got two choices."

"And they are?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, we could either dose you up with Skele-Mend, which will fix it up now, but it's as painful as regrowing your arm, and it will still be weak for a few days. You'll need to spend the night here so that I can keep an eye on you."

"Or we could vanish the entire bone again and regrow it with another dose of Skele-Grow." Harry was about to suggest that he didn't really want to do that again. He could still vividly remember the horrific pain from all those years ago. Poppy pre-empted his protests. "The problem with that treatment is that it won't be as effective as the last time you had a bone regrown. It could take twice as long, and the bone will never be as strong. I doubt you would be able to fly in that condition." Harry guessed from her tone that it was not her preferred choice of treatment. "Seeing that it is your wand arm, I would not recommend that course of action."

"What if I do something dreadfully radical – like wait for it to mend the Muggle way?" he suggested.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "You really want to go around for three weeks with a cast and have me ban you from flying or casting any spells?"

"What do you mean? It's just a broken wrist." Harry was a little confused.

"I'd like to see you try a few charms with a broken wrist that's all bandaged up. Your swish and flick technique will be a shambles. I could not guarantee that any spells would work properly."

"Oh." Sometimes, Harry was still amazed by the small nuances of the wizarding world. Things he took for granted. Ron could have probably told him that, but only now did he realise how lucky he was to have made it through the war unscathed. He had never really considered that a physical injury could disrupt his magical ability. It was a sobering thought – one that made him – yet again- ponder how much some wizards had lost during the war.

"I suppose my luck had to run out sometime," Harry muttered and sighed heavily. "I guess it will be the Skele-Mend, then?" Madame Pomfrey had already gone to the cabinet and produced a bottle and goblet. Strangely, just seeing the bottle made Harry vividly recall the ghastly taste of Skele-Grow from all those years ago.

"I don't suppose I could wash it down with a bottle of firewhisky, could I?" he asked hopefully.

Madame Pomfrey laughed. "I'm sure that you can have a glass or two tomorrow, at the earliest." Harry downed the goblet quickly, trying hard to think of anything but the disgusting taste. It wasn't any better than the other potion. Why did most potions taste like shit? I'll have to ask Luc why that is so. The pain of the broken wrist vanished suddenly, but a new prickling sensation replaced it. It seemed bearable at first, but soon felt like his wrist was being held over an open flame. It was going to be an unpleasant night.

"Here, this might help. It's not firewhisky, but the acid in this orange juice might help burn the taste out of your mouth." Harry was grateful for something to take his mind off the pain. The medi-witch continued to minister to his wrist, carefully strapping it up in a bandage. Harry seemed a little puzzled by what she was doing.

"Skele-Mend takes a while longer to work, Harry. I don't recommend that you do anything more strenuous than sleeping on it tonight, and try to avoid any wand work that requires lots of movement. I really don't want you flying, Harry, but if you must, then I suggest you use your left hand to steer. Rest up tonight and you should be okay to continue with the classes for the rest of this week."

Harry nodded. "I can probably stay on the ground for the rest of this week's lessons – barring any emergencies."

"Yes, you have been quite good with the students, Harry. I commend you. Yours is the only broom related injury I've dealt with since you've been in the job."

"I must be doing something right then," he shrugged, still stiff from his fall. He was feeling weary and the thoughts of the war were beginning to play at the corners of his mind.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him fondly. "Harry, I've known you, and tended to your injuries since you were eleven. I have never known you to sit back when someone was in danger. I'm surprised that for the number of battles you've been in you haven't got any more lasting injuries. Most Aurors have some battle wounds."

Harry snorted in mock laughter. "Yes, well most Aurors manage to be out in the field, and not behind a desk. I got lucky during the war – I honestly don't know how I ended up uninjured."

"Not all scars are physical, Harry. I seem to recall a young man who had his fair share of control problems, and other power struggles. That must have taken quite a toll on you mentally." Madame Pomfrey was also surprised that Harry made it through the war physically unscathed. But after many years in the job, she could recognise signs of mental fatigue. Harry had not made it through completely unscathed. Something was bothering him, she could tell.

"Still, it isn't fair that so many died and were injured during the war," Harry felt his long repressed guilt suddenly overwhelm him. A sense of weariness accompanied it. "What did you put in that orange juice, Poppy?" he asked accusingly.

"Just something that will help you to sleep. I'm sorry if it makes you feel a little maudlin, but it will help with the pain. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"You're a sneaky woman, Poppy. You would have done well to get Voldemort on your own," he could feel the sedative attacking his mind, and he wanted to sleep. The burning pain in his wrist was becoming worse, but the idea of sleep was one he wanted to fight.

"But you got him in the end, Harry. You did what you set out to do, and in the process you saved the entire wizarding world – not to mention the Muggle world."

Harry snorted. "But I couldn't save everyone. It's not fair. Why did they have to die? The entire conflict came from one stupid prophecy. It was always between Voldemort and me. Nobody else should have been involved. I may as well have killed them, for all that it was worth." Harry could feel the weight of guilt on his shoulders. He could not help his depressing feelings.

Poppy plumped up a pillow as she led Harry to one of the infirmary beds. "Nobody wanted to see Voldemort gain power, Harry. Everyone wanted to help. Nobody, apart from yourself was forced into the conflict. They didn't die in vain. Don't blame yourself. It's all over now. Everyone can get on with their lives." Poppy's words were intended to help the now drugged young man to rest, but something was nagging at him and he became quite vocal.

"No!" he cried as he fought the potion in his system. "Not everyone has it as lucky as I do, Poppy. How do you think it makes me feel when I see those who carry war injuries – Do you know how much guilt I feel when I see those like Draco, who carry around some injury because they were in a war that wasn't any of their business? I hate it, Poppy. I hate seeing it. It's not right. They shouldn't have been injured – it should be me in their place. If I could take back every death, every war injury I would. It was all my fault... I should have killed Voldemort sooner. I should never have let him get so powerful..." Harry's words quietened as the sedative finally kicked in and sleep overcame him.

The medi-witch was not surprised at Harry's fairly morbid thoughts. Most sedative potions would bring out such feelings, but Poppy could thoroughly understand Harry's depth of feeling. He cared too much about others sometimes, which was usually at the detriment to his own condition. She carefully laid his broken and strapped wrist on his chest, and then placed his glasses on the bedside table.

Fortunately, he would be able to sleep through the pain of that recovery. As for his feelings of guilt, she thought, what will it take to make him see that nobody blames him?

A sudden rattle and the tell tale tinkle of glass bottles alerted her to the fact someone was in her office. She bustled in quickly to find Draco standing by the potions cabinet, looking quite pale and shaken. He was sitting back against the desk, a spilled potion bottle at his feet.

"Draco? Are you well? Do you need my assistance? You look quite pale."

He seemed somewhat lost for words for a moment, but quickly regained his equilibrium as he recalled where he was. "I... I'm fine. I was just checking your stores and taking stock of what needed replenishing. I must have lost my balance and slipped. Terribly sorry." A little bit of colour returned to his cheeks, but something had seriously disturbed him. He quickly cleaned up the spilled potion with a quick spell. "I've got what I needed, thank you. I had better get back and start working on some replacements." He made quickly to leave.

"There's no hurry, Draco. You don't need to start now. It can wait a couple of days," she offered, but he had already left her office without looking back.

Draco took his time returning to his rooms. He had come into Poppy's office whilst she was tending to Potter, and turned his ear to listen to their conversation. Unfortunately, he overheard more than he anticipated. Much more.

He actually apologised. Apologised! Draco's mind could not move past that one thought. He had lost count of the number of times he wished and hoped that Potter would realise that his cursed knee was entirely his fault. He was the one who mistimed the Dark Lord's demise, causing Draco to blow his cover. He may as well have been the one to cast the bloody Aboleo Adesum curse on him.

But now Potter had apologised. He honestly did regret the war. He wasn't one to seek fame and glory, as Draco had thought. He apparently hated the war.

Of course, Draco had no idea why his breath came in short gasps, or why his chest felt tight. He only knew that he had to get back to his room and have a long, stiff drink. Potter apologised. He always suspected that if that ever happened, he would be dancing around and saying 'I told you so'. Why then, did he feel so horrid? Why did he actually feel pity for Potter?

Why did he feel like he had thoroughly misjudged the other man? Could I have been completely wrong? How could I manage to do something like that?

It was a long time before Draco realised he had returned to his rooms and was sitting in front of a cold hearth. The long, stiff drink was still in the bottle, but Draco didn't notice.

Have I really misjudged Potter all along? Is that why everyone else loves him whilst I loathe him?

A veil had lifted from his eyes, and he suddenly recognised it, having felt this only once before. It was the sudden awakening after a paradigm shift. He felt it once before, when he realised that he didn't want to follow his father's cause. This felt the same, only it cut deeper into his spirit. I have been blind when it comes to Potter. Perhaps he is a completely different man than the boy I once knew.

Flash was right. He wondered how he could have misjudged Potter, and how he could not see the truth. He apologised. He blames himself for my injury. It's all I've ever wanted. So what happens now?

Draco had no idea what was supposed to happen now, but thoughts and words in purple ink coalesced in his mind. He would have to make amends. Somehow.

Draco would have to apologise to Potter. And that was going to be the hardest thing imaginable.

So caught up in his thoughts, he never noticed when Petite Amie curled up in his lap. He fell asleep in his chair with one thought at the forefront of his mind. I have to bite the bullet and apologise to Potter.

He waited for the dream, and when it came – when Potter's face formed on the body of his mystery lover – he found that he could not say the words. How do I apologise for being so very wrong?

May 28 - Wednesday

Harry heartily tucked in to the extremely decadent Pain au Chocolat from the patisserie case in the Leaf and Bean. Emmaline could not convince him to try any of her coffees, but he was thoroughly enjoying the thick and smooth taste of a pot of Lapsang Souchong with his chocolate filled croissant. It seemed that his feet always led him into the store every time he tried to pass by. It could have been the decidedly decadent pastries and fine tea, but he wondered if she hadn't put some sort of compulsion on the passing customers. It was an intriguing shop, and he would have visited, compulsion or not. It would take quite a while for him to sample all the teas she had available – much longer than the time he had left at Hogwarts. Whatever his future, he would undoubtedly be returning to Hogsmeade to sample her full range of teas.

He thought it was a novel concept to sell books and food in the one store – at least he had never before seen it in a wizarding bookstore. He loved the fact that he could browse through the books whilst enjoying a cup of tea, and a treat. The books might not be new, but that didn't matter to Harry. There was so much history to the wizarding world that Harry knew nothing about. Seeing books and stores like this just reminded him again of how hard he fought to retain such a quaint culture. Emmaline's regular anecdotes made for interesting listening, and he was sure that she had a story to tell about each of the books in the store.

He could get lost for hours just perusing the wide variety of books currently on her shelves. He was enjoying flicking through the assortment of titles on a myriad of subjects and made a note to keep this place secret from Hermione – Ron would find himself terribly alone if Hermione discovered the place! A shelf laden with a few extremely old and delicate titles caught his eye. Emmaline mentioned that she had taken delivery a large number of books from a deceased estate, and there were some rare finds amongst the stock. Quite a few were written in other languages, but one book in particular caught his eye. The leather binding was undoubtedly snakeskin, yet it felt smooth to the touch. The binding seemed quite delicate and the parchment within had yellowed with age.

As he handled the delicate book with care, he though it must have been written in some obscure ancient runes. It took a longer glance for him to realise that this was definitely not the case.

"I have no idea what language that one is in. I do not even know what it is about, 'Arry." Emmaline shrugged when he asked her about the old green leather book. He stared at the runes for some time before comprehension dawned. The runes had morphed into something else – and he hissed, dropping the book on the counter as a very familiar yet long forgotten feeling overcame him.

"'Arry?" Emmaline looked concerned.

Harry looked up at her, his green eyes wide in surprise. He hissed something incomprehensible, and Emmaline just shook her head in confusion. He put the book down and looked at her directly. He took a deep breath and swallowed before speaking. "It's in Parseltongue." He muttered quietly, still in shock at the revelation.

"Oh," she smiled in relief. "Is it really? How interesting. You had me worried for a moment. I thought it might have tried to bite you – or poison you."

"Wherever did you get it?" Harry frowned. He had never seen Parseltongue written down before, but the moment he touched the book again, the incomprehensible runes transformed into something Harry could readily comprehend.

Emmaline shrugged. "It was a part of a deceased estate that I recently purchased. I dare say that if it is written in Parseltongue, then you should probably take it. I doubt anyone else will be buying it in the near future. But now you have piqued my curiosity, 'Arry. What is the book about?"

He dared to pick up the book again, scanning through the well thumbed pages. Despite the book's age, the words were clear and there appeared to be no missing pages. Who could have owned this, he wondered. As far as he knew, he and Voldemort were the only two Parselmouths of the current generation. He soon recognised much of the book's content, but put it down before talking to Emmaline.

"It's a retelling of a series of ancient curses from the Middle East." He saw the name at the bottom of the last page, but was not surprised. "It was written by Salazar Slytherin." Of course, who else would think to write in Parseltongue? He gave the book a reluctant look, not wanting to relive memories of his freakish language ability. He had not used the language since the war. He pushed the book away.

Emmaline could see his resistance, "I'm sure it won't bite – or it would have done so by now. I insist that you take it, 'Arry." She pushed the book back towards him.

Harry was still hesitant, but nodded reluctantly. Before she could question him further, he insisted on another pot of tea, and he could not say no to another chocolate croissantHis eye wandered toward the book time and time again. Eventually curiosity got the better of him, and he began reading.

It was a grim tome, full of terrifyingly destructive curses, from a time when wizards used their magic to overwhelm and conquer. Even with his own extensive knowledge of the dark arts, this book was full of things Harry had only ever heard of. From what he could see, there were dozens of variations on the Imperius curse alone. He noted, ironically, the Vocalisfavere curse was explained in extreme detail. So Albus thinks that we were as bad as feuding warlords. Interesting.

It was a good thing that he was the only person who could read the book, for in the wrong hands, it could be exceedingly dangerous. He reluctantly acknowledged that a few of the most dangerous curses might have helped him out of a sticky situation during the war, but he was mostly curious as to how this book could have slipped the notice of the previous owner. Of course he would have had no idea what it was about unless he were a Parselmouth as wel. If he was still an active Auror, he would have immediately translated the book and presented the team with a full list of the curses and potions contained within.

As it were, he had no idea of what to do with the book. Harry toyed with the thought of just leaving it sit on his shelves forever, but realised it would probably help if he translated it. It was written by Slytherin himself, which meant that some people would be interested in the book for that reason alone. He smirked at the irony. A book by Slytherin – translated by a Gryffindor. Still, it would be something to keep me busy for a bit after this job is finished. He put the book down and got back to the important business of finishing his tea.

Emmaline chatted with Harry a while longer, mothering him unconsciously in the same way Molly Weasley did. Harry admitted that the eccentric witch and her homely shop made him feel so warm and comfortable. The French décor made him think of Luc, and whether he was from a similar place. For some unknown reason, he felt a strange connection to his friend whenever he was in the store. He pictured himself sitting there with his journal and spending hours writing to Luc. They would have to arrange a chat at a different time if that were the case, for Emmaline did not leave the store open late enough on a Sunday evening.

The tinkling of the bell alerted Harry to the new customer. A dull thud followed and he turned sharply. He was surprised to see Dobby sprawled across the doorway, looking terribly displaced. A few parcels had flown from his arms, but were now hovering – suspended mere inches from the floor. The elf looked terribly embarrassed, but was yet to spot Harry. Draco suddenly entered the store, scowling as he nearly tripped over the house elf standing in the doorway.

For a mere second, Harry recalled a long forgotten memory of Dobby with Lucius Malfoy. Harry didn't see Dobby fall – had Draco been treating the elf the same way as his father? He was about to get up and help Dobby when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Draco stopped and offered his arm to help the elf get up off the floor.

Well, there's something I never thought I'd see, he admitted reluctantly, a Malfoy helping a house elf. "Are you okay, Dobby?" Draco asked with genuine concern. Harry suspected that Malfoy was not as dispassionate as he usually appeared. Dobby dusted himself off and Harry began to studiously stare into the depth of his tea cup. It seemed that Malfoy was just full of surprises. It didn't help that he was somewhat like his father. The sight of Lucius during the war had been enough to send any wizard scrambling for his wand. Seeing Draco every day was not helping him to overcome the unconscious urge to go for his wand.

I suppose he can't help the fact that he looks like his father, but does he have to dress up in that full regalia every time? Malfoy was always resplendent in his full robes, taking particular care with every lacing and button. He must spend hours getting dressed every morning. Perhaps it's a pureblood thing – all those full robes. Harry knew he would become all thumbs when trying to put on his most formal of robes – the traditional ones with the dozens of buttons. No doubt there's some trick spell I don't know about that makes the robes look perfect all the time.

He tried to stop thinking about Draco and clothing and buttons in the one thought, as an image of him in jeans fought with an image of him in black silk pyjamas. Harry shook his head. He gave up wondering about Malfoy's dress style – but he couldn't help but question why he chose to wear such fiddly clothing when Harry knew perfectly well that he owned some quite nice Muggle gear. He shrugged the thoughts away as he turned his interest to Dobby. The elf was wide eyed as he stared at the dozens of jars of tea and coffee lined up along the wall behind the counter.

Emmaline came bustling out from the back of the store. Upon seeing Draco, she smiled warmly and began babbling in excitable French. Draco seemed animated as he spotted the old witch, and enveloped her in a loving hug as he answered her in perfectly flawless French.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy was just full of surprises today. Although, it would seem logical that he understands French, Harry thought as he listened to Draco's dulcet tones speaking in the unfamiliar tongue. Somehow it softened his voice, and the drawl was gone. Malfoy's voice tugged at him in a way like never before as it flowed rich and deep, sending a shiver down Harry's back. He recalled the same reaction to hearing Remus talking to Emmaline the week before. As he adjusted himself to quell the pleasurable response to the words he dismissed a fleeting thought. This is how Luc must sound when he speaks in his native tongue. Merlin that language is a turn-on.

Draco laughed heartily and broke the spell. Harry was surprised at the unmasked joy on Draco's face. He had never seen him so casual, so relaxed in his demeanour. He wondered what they could be discussing with the old witch to bring out that side of Draco. Had he not been so distracted by the flowing lilt of the language, he might have had the presence of mind to cast a translation charm and find out what they were talking about.

Dobby spotted Harry and quietly crept over to talk to him. Harry put his finger to his lips to tell the elf to keep quiet.

"Hello, Dobby. What brings you to Hogsmeade, and what are you doing here with him?" Harry jerked his thumb in Draco's direction.

"It's good to see you, Harry Potter sir! Professor Snape asked me to pick up his parcels and accompany Master Draco. Master Draco has asked a favour of me, and we are here now!" There was no hint of cowering fear or coercion in Dobby's tone.

"Is he treating you okay?" Harry still could not help his concern. Seeing Malfoy with the elf brought back a few unwanted memories and he wanted to be sure that Dobby was completely fine with the situation.

Draco turned to talk to Dobby, only to spot the errant elf chatting casually with Potter. Oh bloody hell, why does he have to be here? I was looking forward to a quiet cup of coffee. I... I'm not ready to apologise to him – Shit, this is awkward. Pulling off his gloves he sauntered over to where Harry was sitting. And he's sitting at my table. He sighed inwardly. No matter how much he tried to avoid this, it wasn't going to be easy. No doubt Potter would laugh in his face and make him feel even smaller than he did right now, but it was a risk he would have to take.

Even Flash told him it was unhealthy to hate Potter so much, but changing his behaviour wasn't going to happen overnight. Is it really worth it to continue hating Potter so much? Is it worth it to let a thing like that ruin everything that I have left? Is he worth all that effort? Flash wants me to try. I promised him I would try. He apologised for the war. The least I can do is forgive him. Draco knew something like that wasn't going to be easy. Potter would be suspicious, of course.

"Dobby!" Draco yelled sternly. Harry saw no flicker of fear on the house elf's face, but he frowned at Malfoy for talking so harshly. Draco suddenly noticed Harry's presence and the scowl had immediately replaced the smile on his face. Draco turned and gave Dobby some quiet instructions, the elf nodding in understanding as he went with Emmaline.

Potter seemed quite comfortable in Draco's favourite seat, something that irked him no end. It was not as easy as he thought it would be. He doesn't make it any easier by coming in here and making himself at home. The one place I have around here that I thoroughly love, and he seems to be invading my space. How can I have the home advantage if he's here? Draco surprised Harry by casually sitting down at the table with him. I can't let him get the upper hand. Merlin, it's always a competition with him. Perhaps I should just start off by keeping civil and actually being nice. He'll be suspicious about that as it is. I spent years telling half-truths and putting up with what the Dark Lord wanted from me. Surely this can't be any worse?

Harry was surprised that Malfoy joined him willingly, although in his usual arrogance he just sat down uninvited. "Should I be concerned that you are dragging your old house elf around town, Draco?"

"Not that it's any of your concern, Harry, but we are in town on school business for Severus. It's purely coincidental that he was the elf that was assigned to come with me. I'm actually surprised that Dobby isn't bowing and scraping at your heels like everyone else. He never fails to mention how grateful he is for what you did for him." He couldn't help but let the barb escape his lips, despite his good intentions. The sight of the half eaten pastry on Harry's plate distracted him. "Ooh, the Pain au Chocolat is good, isn't it? You really should try the almond brioche – you won't regret it."

Draco seemed on the verge of asking for some, or taking it for himself. Harry responded by quickly eating the rest. It was good, and even though it was his second croissant, Harry had no intention of sharing. "Oh yeah, very good."

Draco seemed to be waiting patiently for something, but made no further move to converse with Harry. As he waited, his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the top of his cane. Harry had seen that nervous habit in a number of smokers when they were desperate for a cigarette. He soon saw a look of relief on Draco's face as Dobby came over carrying a tray. Draco graciously accepted the proffered cup of thick, dark liquid. Harry smelled the coffee and was surprised as the Potions apprentice took a cautious sip before nodding eagerly. He smiled briefly and nodded to the elf. "Thank you, Dobby. Do you understand what to do now?"

Dobby nodded furiously. "Oh yes, Master Draco! I do! I'll explain to the other elves back in the kitchen! I knows how to make coffee now!" Dobby grinned widely at Harry, who began to understand why Draco had brought him here.

"You brought him here to make your coffee?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I was sick of coffee flavoured tea, Harry. Dobby has been trying to make it for me every morning, but Emmaline makes a perfect brew. She also has more patience to explain the process to him than I do." He seems almost pleasant, for a change, Harry thought. Perhaps it's the coffee. He's suddenly quite different – like he has dropped his mask. Is it the presence of Emmaline, I wonder.

"What? You seem surprised, Harry. Dobby was the one who wanted to come in here today." Draco couldn't help but notice the glance Harry made between himself and the house elf, and he understood what was going through the other man's mind. "Despite what you might think, I am not Lucius. I have never treated Dobby, or any house elf the way he did." Harry looked at him sceptically. "You can ask him if you like."

Harry shook his head, but wasn't quick enough in his protests. I really don't want to cause trouble. I know that Malfoy isn't his father, but I can't help that occasional thought from coming through.

Draco called out to the elf, "Dobby! Could you please come here for a moment?"

The house elf happily wandered over, "Is there something else I can get for you? Would Harry Potter like a coffee? I can make one for him too! It would be an honour."

"Harry was just asking about your life at Malfoy Manor, Dobby. He seems to think that it was all dungeons and torture for all of the elves."

Dobby's eyes widened and he shook his head, "Oh no, Harry Potter sir. I was Master Lucius' personal valet elf," Harry watched Dobby cringe and his ears wilt in remembrance. "Master Lucius was not pleasant, but I was the one who would receive punishment for anything the other elves did to displease him. Mistress Narcissa and Master Draco were always polite and treated us house elves with respect. Don't be thinking poorly of them, Harry Potter sir. But I was a bad elf. I only ever wanted to be free."

Harry sighed heavily, "I wasn't saying you were like your father, Draco."

"But you were thinking it, Harry. I know." Harry didn't deny the statement as he became interested in licking a few stray crumbs from his plate. Harry was actually wondering if this is what the real Draco Malfoy was like. Had Harry been so wrong to reject Malfoy's hand of friendship all those years ago? He shrugged. It was a bit pointless to think of that now. They were being civil, which was certainly progress. Dumbledore would be pleased. It was hard work maintaining the rage now that he realised that the man he was angry with was only some mask that Malfoy hid behind. He was curious about the real Malfoy – the one who seemed determined to hide from Harry.

"So, you seem rather chummy with Emmaline – when did you two meet?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We've known each other for years. She is an old friend." Draco said curtly. Emmaline was his petite mère and he wasn't willing to share her with anyone, especially not Potter. The old book on the table next to Harry looked intriguing. Before Harry could protest, Draco picked up the snakeskin covered book. Turning it over in his hands, he frowned as he tried to decipher the runes on the cover. "I don't recognise these runes. Since when have you studied runes, Harry... wait a minute..." Draco faltered as his fingers traced a very familiar crest on the back cover. He knew that symbol on sight after having been surrounded by it for seven years in the dungeons. "That's Salazar Slytherin's mark. What are you doing with a book of his written in indecipherable runes?" As he spoke, he realised the significance of the abstract squiggles on the page. Harry let out a small hiss as he looked at the book.

Harry didn't want to make a big deal out of the book, but he could see the look of intense curiosity in Draco's face. "Yes, it's written in Parseltongue, and if the title is correct, then it was written by Slytherin himself. Emmaline's got a whole heap of new books from this deceased estate. This has got curses I haven't even heard of..."

"How the hell..." Draco's eyes widened. How on earth did a book written by Salazar Slytherin – an original at that – end up here, of all places? Who had been the previous owner of that book? "Whose estate? It wasn't a Death Eater sympathiser, was it?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't think so. The Aurors went through every known sympathiser's home after the war – as you well know. It would have been picked up then. Whoever owned this was most likely totally oblivious to its significance. Thank Merlin that Voldemort never got his hands on it..." he murmured the last.

"Oh?" Draco was interested now. What did the book have to say? Draco had always hated not knowing something. Seeing that book there was taunting his desire for knowledge, especially when he knew Slytherin wrote it. He would not admit the jealousy that poured from him at the thought he would have to ask Potter to translate it. Could he trust Potter to actually tell him the truth of what it contained?

Harry saw Draco's determined look, and shrugged. No doubt the Slytherin poster boy was eager to hear exactly what his old idol had written about. Harry opened the book to a random page and read quietly.

"What does it say? What does it say?" Malfoy was sitting eagerly on the edge of his chair.

"I can't read it aloud, Draco, or I'll be talking in Parseltongue." Draco looked a little disappointed. He put the book down and then looked at Draco. "The book is full of very detailed descriptions of ancient curses – quite nasty ones, really. I'm glad that Voldemort never got his hands on it. From the few snatches I've read today, this book contains dozens of curses that should really fall under the unforgivable category. That page I just read was about something called the aboleo... the aboleo ade-whatever curse, and how it can be countered. I'll have to study it more. I've never seen written Parseltongue before," he admitted.

All the blood rushed from Draco's face and a severe line replaced his mouth as he silently pondered Harry's words, "Was it the Aboleo Adesum curse, perhaps?" he asked tentatively – almost choking on the words. Harry noticed as Draco began gripping the head of his cane tighter.

Harry went back and re-read the page before nodding in assent. "Yes, that's the one. This page is talking about a potion that will purge the curse and regenerate the effects of the curse." Harry watched the play of emotions across Draco's face. "Have you heard of that curse before?" Draco didn't respond, but suddenly stood up to leave.

"I have to go," Malfoy spoke abruptly, shaking visibly as he rushed to leave. Harry stared after him as he hastily departed. He didn't even say goodbye to Emmaline. Dobby spotted Draco's retreating form and made a mad dash after him, absently remembering the parcels as they were levitated and whisked out the door behind him.

"Ah," Emmaline sighed, cleaning up the dirty crockery from the table with a quick charm. She saw the confused look on Harry's face. "That boy is too sensitive at times. You mustn't let him upset you, 'Arry."

"But I didn't say anything... for once." Harry added. "I was just telling him about this curse... oh," Harry paused as he reread the entire passage about the curse. It all started to make perfect sense. Malfoy's injury. The fact it wasn't cured. The fact he seemed to be a somewhat different person.

"What is it, 'Arry?" Emmaline asked curiously.

Harry reread the page once more – just to be sure. "I think I've just stumbled across something."

"Oh, what could that be?" Emmaline was curious.

"Emmaline, Draco said you're an old friend. Did he ever tell you how he injured his knee?"

The old witch shrugged, "He said it happened during the war. A curse struck it. He spent months trying to remove it, but it is degenerative. He is not happy about that."

"Oh." Harry sat quietly, fully realising the depth of Draco's anguish.

"'Arry, what is it? What doesn't he know?" Harry saw the distress in the old witch's face.

"I think I may have just stumbled across the fact that there is, in fact, a cure for whatever curse struck him." Harry sat there just staring at the page, still stunned at Malfoy's reaction.

"Well?" Emmaline asked eagerly.

"Well what, Emmaline?"

"Well, you had better go after him - tell him exactly what you've found!" she exclaimed eagerly.

Harry seemed a little reluctant. "Do you really think so? Draco wouldn't want my help. I'm fairly certain of that."

"'Arry, I can tell you one thing about Draco. He might be a dreadfully private person, but when it comes to that injury, he would do almost anything to find a way to remove that curse. I know for a fact he's spent a lot of time and money seeking out a cure. I doubt he would turn any offer of help away."

Harry still looked sceptical. This was Malfoy they were talking about.

"Go, 'Arry. Help him. He won't turn you away. I give you my word. Honestly, what do you have to lose?"

Harry thought for a moment longer before nodding. He was still torn between his desire to help, and the fact it was Malfoy. He was out the door and on his way back to the castle, walking briskly to catch up with Draco. Yes, really. What do I have to lose?

TBC in Chapter 15...

Thank You: Thank you to SeparatriX, C Dumbledore, Syranthil, Kifty (and everyone else for the Frenchpicking) - all for extra beta-ing above and beyond the call of duty, and for last minute French picking.

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We just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to reply here, and over at our yahoo group. It means a lot just to know you are reading and enjoying the story. We do have a lot of fun writing (and clapping our hands in glee at your thoughts).

To answer a couple of simple questions, it has been taking somewhere between a month and 6 weeks between posts, simply due to the fact that both of us live full, real lives, and we would both certainly love the leisure time to be able to devote ourselves to writing full time. Thank you for your patience between chapters.

So thank you to: all4Dyna, An3maePhreek, Awe, BlahnessMucho, Bluebellfairy, BrokenInside , Chloe , dan-rad, Dr. Colleen, dracos41, dracoz-sexc-hunni, Dragenphly, dreamerdoll, driven to insanity, duchesscarml, Dyers-Eve, eladnarra, Em , ephi , fifespice, fowler Nsow, futago akuma-tenshi02, Heather , ilovepocky , It'sJustMe , Lady Lynn, Lea , Lelimo, louise4, Ludra, Ludra, Menecarkawan, Mosrael, Nanami, Nichalia, Night Walker1, OccupiedNeptune, OxBeachFlirtxO1, saFire flamE, sakoi-kai, Shena, SilverDragon161, silver-sunn101, skimmie, Sky , Starlight Soul, Starrarose, swtjemz, tangledhair, The Chaotic Ones, theodyssey, Thranx, Trinity Vida-Malfoy, twighlightshadow, ura-hd, Web-of-Knots, WhyteRoze-, yay

And in specific response to some comments:

Theodyssey - thanks for pointing out those things. They had all been fixed on our master copy, but not yet uploaded here, although how one stray mention of the word 'Dollar' slipped through, I have no idea. We thought we were so pedantic about that.

Heather - Your words were so wonderful. Thanks for everything you said. We try our best to avoid mistakes from canon or of the grammatical type, but a few do slip through the cracks. We have fun writing the conversations, as most of them usually take place over IM chat.

Mosrael - They mentioned they were gay way back in about their second or third entries. They may not have said the word 'gay' exactly, but they knew what they meant.

Dreamerdoll - thank you for thanking us when we should be thanking you for reading! It takes time to write a review, I think it only fair to offer our thanks for what you say!

Dr Colleen - Hope you and your tea cosy are dancing around nicely at this update.

Starrarose - Your words were exactly expressing what we want to say. Life isn't always perfect and soul mates don't always meet and fall into bed straight away. Although it does help when magical artefacts can help them to realise these things before it is too late. People often forget films like When Harry met Sally and You've Got Mail where they always have someone else, but end up together. Thanks for agreeing with us.

It'sJustMe - Yes, Draco does still seem a little narky and somewhat immature, but sometimes people hold a grudge and leave it at that. They don't think beyond that grudge and it takes a lot of work to get around it (speaking from personal experience here). Draco was never one for the fine art of forgiveness, and hopefully some of the events in this chapter will help him to come to terms with the reality of Harry Potter, and not the grudge he's been nursing for quite some time.

Shena - Yes, the plot twists are all thought out well in advance... there are dozens more we just don't have time to fit into the fic, so you're only seeing the cream of the crop ones. But there are still a few more to come. As for Hooch, well, yes, the actress was a little older, but if wizards can live longer lives, why can't witches have children later? Hmmm?

LadyLynn - yes, it's definitely written by two people. We try, where possible, to stick to the plan that Wintermoon writes for Harry, and Azhure writes for Draco. It doesn't always end up that way, but essentially we try to give each character their own voice, which hopefully prevents choppy and sloppy characterisation.

Tangledhair - here you are ma'am, another chapter for your reading pleasure. We hope it lives up to your discerning tastes! It's not so much that they are purposely avoiding finding out - all I can say is that the journal is doing its job. You'll find out exactly what magic the journal has been performing in a couple of chapters. It might be totally obvious to us, but they are still blissfully oblivious. For now... er, I shouldn'ta said tha'

saFire flame - we don't update on a regular schedule, but we try to keep it on a monthly basis (this chapter was almost ready a while ago, but RL stepped in and delayed it yet again) Neither of us like schedules - we have enough of those in our real lives. However, we are hoping to have the story wrapped up by the time Half-Blood Prince is published in July!

Louise4 - Yes, yes, yes. Rest assured that Remus will be out of the romantic picture soon. Although we have plans for our yummy werewolf... mwahahaha. And Charlie/Severus? I think the red-head will have his work cut out for him trying to woo the reluctant Potions master.

Swtjemz - thank you! Yes, the chapters are quite long and intricate. They weren't originally, but Azhure has a tendency to waffle on a bit (it's the Aussie yarn telling gene) and so we now have long chapters. We try to end them on a high note, so certain things must happen to get to that point. I think this chapter is about 5,000 words shorter than the last (but most of chapter 15 was slated to be in this chapter... that's going to be a doozy of a chapter, but don't tell anyone else)

Ludra - Okay, you can stop your impatient dance now. Well, at least for a bit. It's amazing to think that other people take the time to think about our characters. I must confess that they take up a lot of our own time, but they are kinda hot guys, so that's understandable.

Driven to insanity - your name says it all... Yes, things will be hotting up soon enough. Not this chapter, unfortunately, but this was the chapter that had to happen before other events could happen...

SilverDragon161 - You want to hit Harry over the head? I have been trying to slap Draco into shape for a few chapters now... you'll like chapter 15, I promise.