Author: Etherea.

Rating: M (Sexual Situations and Foul Language)

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah. Don't own, don't sue. I am penniless. In fact, I'm at the very verge of being kicked out of my house, so yeah… you got the idea.

Author Note: So… Finally! It's been quite a long time since the last update. I'm really, really sorry, you guys. Regrettably, my life has been going through some rough waters, and writing has been very difficult. Nevertheless, here I present to thee ED, Chapter Six. Another long chapter. Lots of explanations and even more questions arise... or so I think. Unbeta-ed as of yet. I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer... I just hope it's not too terrible! Also, I wanted to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for such wonderful reviews. Your words have certainly helped me go through some of my days, and I really, really appreciate it. So, keep them coming! ºcheeky grinº

In another note, I guess I need to warn you first: There is some lemony action in this chapter! It's not really graphic or anything (I'm reserving the more 'heated stuff' for later on –when you read this you'll understand why). Anyway, I hope you won't end up hating me after reading this chapter… What can I say? The characters have a mind of their own sometimes. Oh well! I won't babble anymore. On with it!

Oh, oh… Wait! I wanted to dedicate this chapter to Elder Amelia, from Adult Fan Fiction. Your words meant a lot to me, honey. They made my whole week! Thank you so much!

And… thanks to Enchant and the Seraph for Beta-ing this chapter! LOVE YOU GIRLS!

Enjoy! ;)

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Ethereal Desire

Chapter Six

A Long Road Lies Ahead

"Severus, Draco, please, take a seat. I'm afraid this is going to be a long talk."

Draco stared at Dumbledore with angry eyes for a few moments before directing the glare at his godfather. Severus wore the same baffled –and somewhat aggravated- expression he had been sporting for the past five minutes, so Draco didn't find any reassurance from that side; not that he was looking for it. Wondering if he would be regretting his decision in the near future and trying to push aside the alarm bells going off inside of him, he followed the Potions Master's example and took the proffered seat, although not without making it clear with his deep scowl that any nonsense whatsoever from the old batty wizard and he'd be very glad indeed to call off this recent, fragile truce. Dumbledore, to his merit, didn't seem to even notice the blond man's silent threat.

"Tea, anyone?" The Headmaster had conjured a tray with tea things and a basket full of pastries and such out of thin air and was now pouring the hot, aromatic liquid into three cups. Before Draco could object, there was a steaming cup before him on the desk and an assortment of biscuits on a small plate right beside it.

"Eat, child. You must be starving," Dumbledore said kindly and Draco was somewhat taken aback with the old man's light-hearted demeanour after everything Draco had thrown at him… Not that he regretted any of it, all the same. Albus Dumbledore had yet to explain a lot of things, but to tell the truth Draco was too tired, too sick of everything to argue anymore. Begrudgingly admitting to his stomach's rumbling, he took the cup in his hands; secretly relishing the warmth spreading from his fingers to his arms, noticing just then how cold he really was. He took a drink of the hot liquid and felt its light ginger flavour soothing him from the inside out, but he still stopped the little sigh that threatened to escape his lips. He opened his weary eyes –realising only then that he had closed them- to find the Headmaster chuckling softly over his cup of tea.

"I never thought I'd see my office this topsy-turvy again, but I suppose it's been understandable in both cases. Fortunately, there are very few things in life that can't be fixed," the old man said with a hint of mystery, smiling gently at the blond opposite him.

"Albus, stop stalling and get on with it!" Severus' tone was firm, if not a little exasperated. Dumbledore looked up at him and shook his head slightly, apparently amused by the Potions Master's impatience.

"Very well," he conceded as he returned the cup to its saucer and folded his hands on top of his desk. "What I'm about to tell you, Draco, is very difficult, maybe even impossible to believe, but you have to promise me you'll listen and try to trust me... But first, I must ask you to answer a few private questions, if you'd be so kind." Dumbledore's blue gaze was fixed on the blond; there were no signs of his copyrighted playfulness now. Draco's eyes narrowed, already feeling suspicious.

"Why should I answer your questions? Why should I trust you? You haven't given me any reason whatsoever to do so, and just because you pulled one of your tricks and saved me from prison doesn't mean that I…"

"Child, your mother told me you're experiencing Animus Salutor. May I inquire when exactly the Visits started?" the old wizard asked, not waiting for Draco to finish his diatribe. The blond felt his brain suddenly halt all its processes and spool back. What the Hell…? He glared fiercely at his godfather, but Severus looked as puzzled as he was –never mind the sudden scowl at Draco's accusing eyes. The blond wasn't deterred, though.

"Why did she tell you about that! What does it have to do with anything!" he snapped at both men as he put his cup down a little too harshly.

"I know it doesn't make any sense to you right now, but I need you to answer me so I can explain what's going on." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking intently into the young wizard's eyes. Draco felt quite helpless for a second or two; this was certainly not a subject he wanted to discuss at the moment –least of all with the man sitting in front of him. He glanced warily at his godfather and noticed the almost imperceptible nod of his head. Realising that he should give in if he wanted some answers, he closed his eyes again. This isn't quite a square deal, he thought begrudgingly.

He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "The first Visit occurred two weeks after graduation. Since then, they have happened randomly. Sometimes, days would go by, even weeks without having one; sometimes he would show up every single night for a fortnight… even during the day at times."

"He?" Severus asked shrewdly, one elegant eyebrow raised. "I was under the impression that you didn't know…"

"Believe me, some things are easy to figure out," Draco spat, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. He felt like a specimen on display and was starting to regret his decision. He grabbed his cup and took a hasty sip of his tea to cover his uneasiness.

"I see... Do you have any idea why the Visits started in the first place?" The old man asked affably as he brushed pastry crumbs from his cindery beard, making it look like they were discussing something as inconsequential as the weather… which Draco found quite annoying, to say the least.

"If you know anything about Animus Salutor, then you should know there's not much information lying around about it," he said between gritted teeth; his cold eyes fixed on the Headmaster's face, searching for some clue as to where this… interrogation was leading, but was unsuccessful. "The few books I've found explain the basics, that's all; and to tell the truth, I don't see what else there could be about it. As for these questions, I still don't understand what they have to do with you forging my Mother's memory," he added curtly, not trying –and not wanting- to hide his exasperation.

"Believe it or not, my boy, there is a connection between what you're experiencing and your inability to remember your Mother's memory."

"My inability?" Draco asked with narrowed eyes, but Dumbledore ignored him and stood up from his desk, letting out a little sigh. Stormy-grey and jet-black eyes followed him as he made his way to the opposite wall of the room, things settling in his wake, until he reached a broken shelf that righted itself in a flash; books and other paraphernalia flying to accommodate themselves on top of it. In a matter of seconds, the room was once again in impeccable order, with no signs whatsoever of the earlier disruption.

"For you to understand Animus Salutor, Draco, it's important that you know what it is and how it works, of course, but even more so, that you realise what it means," the purple-robed wizard said as he flicked his wand in indiscernible patterns and a small door, just like a cupboard, appeared behind the shelf.

"I know perfectly well what it all mea…" Draco started, aggravated, but Dumbledore held a wrinkled hand up for silence and the blond didn't have any other choice but to close his mouth. His godfather's glare wasn't exactly supportive either.

"No, I don't think you do, my boy, or you wouldn't have bitten Harry's head off like you did this afternoon," the old wizard said airily as he searched for a particular book in his collection, his purple-cloaked back pointedly facing his companions.

Surprisingly, it took more than two seconds for this statement to permeate Draco's bewildered brain. He stuttered a little before he was able to form a coherent sentence.

"What? What does Harry bloody Potter have to do with this?"

Although his face was set in an indignant scowl, Draco knew that his initial hesitation gave too much away, and he hated himself for letting his guard down like that. Dumbledore noticed, of course, and he regarded the blond with a knowing smile before he locked the cupboard again and moved back to his chair holding a tattered, brown leather-bound book in his hands. He placed it on the desk near the blond wizard.

"Now, Draco, before I move on to the facts, I need you to be completely honest. With yourself," he added at Draco's annoyed face. "Can you really deny that Harry is involved in all of this?"

The blond aimlessly pondered what to say for what seemed like an eternity. To be honest with himself –and damn the old coot for it- he had to admit that he didn't believe in mere coincidences or lucky chances. Everything happened for a reason, no matter how hidden, insignificant, or devious; everything had a logical explanation. But the truth was that he didn't know how he could explain what had happened today with Potter without wandering into strictly forbidden territory; without sailing into a sea of possibilities that were simply too surreal, too… absurd for him to even consider them. So the matter still remained, unaddressed and unresolved: Was he truly prepared to be honest with himself and face the facts? Did he really want to know what was going on? Could he really accept the truth, as unlikely or unthinkable or... horrifying as it might be?

He finally decided to evade the question.

"I understand your intentions," he said coldly. "But right now, all I want is an explanation and you are the one who seems to have it; so until you decide to speak straightforwardly to me, I can't reach any conclusions."

"Fair enough," Dumbledore conceded after a short silence. He waved his wand in different patterns -plates and cups vanishing as he did so- before settling comfortably in his long-backed chair. "Animus Salutor is a very special magical event. It happens only in the rarest of cases, but its connotations are quite important indeed."

"I think that much is pretty clear…" Draco drawled, and Dumbledore gave him a pointed look, silencing him in a flash. The blond suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, settling with clenching his jaw instead.

"In the beginning, Wizards and Non-magical people lived in perfect harmony. The two groups respected each other's ideals and customs and were eager to learn from one another, to help each other to the extent of their capabilities. It was a rewarding symbiosis, and everybody was satisfied with the way things were... That is, until the seed of greed was planted, and our differences started to be seen as threats on both sides. Eventually, our big, happy family grew alienated. Each group followed the wrong leaders; empires were built, and with them, the necessity to conquer and defeat the minorities, the potential liabilities, became unavoidable. The bridges between our two cultures were burned, and the persecution of what until then had been an ally started; no one paying heed to our common origin and the ties of friendship and respect that had once bound us."

Draco was tempted to snap something along the lines of his school days thankfully being over, but the piercing blue stare held him in place.

"The segregation and the hatred reached their peak during the Middle Ages. The most important Muggle power of the time, the Church, tried to erase all bonds between us. The Inquisition was ruthless in its methods, making non-magical people even more scared and wary of our kind for fear of their lives. On our side, wizards and witches were being killed without remorse. Those that managed to stay alive went into hiding and resolved to ban any contact with the Muggles. But neither group predicted that a more powerful, unstoppable force would thwart their plans: Love."

"Does everything have to be a melodrama with you, Albus?" the Potions Master scowled, obviously unimpressed by the Headmaster's little speech. Dumbledore looked affronted for a second before shrugging off his former employee's smart comment. He directed his total attention back to Draco, who was visibly clinging to some innate sense of propriety not to snap at him. Again.

Patience, my boy. This is merely the beginning, the Headmaster thought tiredly; his calm countenance not betraying an ounce of his inner apprehension.

"This, Draco," he continued, "is how Animus Salutor was born; how exactly, nobody knows. Lovers who were forced apart because of their different backgrounds found a way of being together, no matter the distance between them. It happened mostly in mixed couples: a wizard or witch and a Muggle; but there were records of the phenomenon happening between purebloods and half-bloods or Muggleborns, in which case their families forbade their union. Was the inherent magic in one or both of the parties involved an important factor, I do not doubt it. Is magical prowess needed for it to happen, I do not believe so. Maybe we, humans as a whole, simply underestimate the power of our own emotions and feelings."

"Wait… Are you trying to say…?" Draco didn't know what to say or how to react. Each one of the old man's words felt like knives going down his throat. He turned towards his godfather, but Severus' face was a blank mask again and it was obvious that the acidic Potions Master had decided to stay out of it this time. A little late for that, Draco thought bitterly. Dumbledore merely continued his explanation as if the young wizard hadn't uttered a word.

"Sadly, before the phenomenon was thoroughly researched, it was considered 'unforgivable' by wizards and Muggles alike. In Wizarding society, every single book or document regarding Animus Salutor was destroyed; the mere concept that true love between a wizard and a Muggle could exist was simply abhorrent, and therefore, everything that proved otherwise was deemed forbidden. But it was even worse for the Muggles. Not being able to explain or understand the nature of the Visits but realising their 'magical' inherence, the ruling power condemned it as evil. Those foolish enough to admit ever experiencing the phenomenon were persecuted, tortured, and killed as heretics, and soon enough, Animus Salutor ended up recorded in Muggle books as the worst of 'demonic possessions', in which a demon, or the 'devil' himself, had carnal interactions with a man or a woman…which, of course, couldn't be further from the truth."

"Incubus and Succubus," the Potions Master muttered. "They are demons that appear to oblivious maidens and men at night, according to Muggle theologians. I always wondered if those Muggle legends had some magical origin, but I never imagined it was Animus Salutor that spawned them." There was something in his tone that hinted that that wasn't the only thing running through his mind at the moment.

"It wasn't Animus Salutor that spawned them, but people's ignorance and intolerance," Albus stated with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Fear can taint the purest of things, and it was Fear that made people, Muggles and wizards alike, deny the phenomenon so vehemently; to the point of outlawing it. Today, only few know of its actual existence, and for those who do, it's mostly from personal experience, for they have acted as Hosts; like you, Draco. But there's a remarkable difference between you and all of them, my boy…" Dumbledore trailed off; his face settling into a concerned expression as he looked intently at the blond. "They all knew who their Other Part was." Those words hung in the air, oppressive and heavy, for long moments.

"No… That's… that's impossible! That can't be…"

Draco barely noticed that it had been he who had spoken. He was shaking his head; his eyes not really focusing on anything. That didn't make any sense! It had to be a lie; another one of this bastard's schemes. This couldn't be true, goddamn it!

Soon enough, confusion and incredulity merged into anger.

"I don't believe you. I don't know what you're trying to achieve with all of this, but I won't fall for it, do you understand? I'm sure Mother didn't tell you anything; you just ripped the information from her under Veritaserum, didn't you? I don't care what you've done for me, and I hate that I was so naïve as to confide in you!"

"Draco, please," Severus interjected, "just let Albus finish whatever it is he needs to say. If you don't want to be treated like a child then stop acting like one!"

"The Hell I will! So I can hear more lies, you mean?" the blond spat; eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. "You're completely mistaken if you think I'm going to believe this!"

"I never said it would be easy, Draco, but I did think you would be more open to my explanations. Maybe it was naïve on my part; I thought I had seen enough proof today. I was wrong. But Severus is right. Everything which has been started must be concluded… for better or for worse," Dumbledore muttered, and his dejected tone placated Draco somewhat. He watched the old wizard open the brown book and start going through its yellowing pages, finally stopping somewhere in the middle. He skimmed whatever was written for a short moment before he deposited it on the table once again, still open.

"Like I said, Animus Salutor is not an isolated event; it's a consequence of something much, much greater. It's a tool, so to speak; the last resource of a bond that needs to be fulfilled. It is, Draco, what has kept you both alive. If the bond between you two weren't so strong, if the love you two shared wasn't so powerful as to overcome the spell cast upon you, I don't believe you would have survived these last three years."

Despite his conflicting emotions, Draco felt an iceberg settling in his stomach. What in Hades' name was the man talking about? He let his thoughts known, and Dumbledore pointed at the book. The blond glanced questioningly at his godfather, but Severus merely raised an eyebrow at him. Can you handle it? his onyx gaze said. Draco picked up the book, anger and dread competing as he did so, and read:

Nesci Amator

Latin. Exact Translation: "Ignore (forget) the one that loves you"

157 A.D.

One of the most accomplished spells of the time, Nesci Amator was considered to be an infallible measure against infidelity. Very dark in nature, it is meant to erase a specific lover from one person's memory.

Nesci Amator tracks the very start of the profane relationship and eradicates every single detail of its evolution without endangering the memories of parallel events in the recipient's life. The victim will still remember the targeted person, but will forget any complex feelings ever experienced towards them. Namely, the recipient will not remember ever having an affair with said person, but will maintain the knowledge of their acquaintance until the moment it started being of a more intimate nature.

This particular trait makes the spell not only a means of revenge against the unfaithful spouse, however, as it is quite probable that the targeted party, once he/she has suffered the rejection of the oblivious victim, will feel exactly as the caster felt when discovering their forbidden liaison. Of course, the whole 'infidelity context' is merely a guideline of sorts. It was used by all kinds of parties in every possible circumstance: political advantage, monetary gain, judicial matters… namely, in any situation where there was a conflict of interests; a way of 'disapparating' a person out of the portrait without recurring to more drastic measures.

As an historical anecdote, some scholars still claim that one of Henry the Eighth's closest counsellors used to hire a dark wizard to cast the spell on the King whenever he fancied himself 'in love' with a commoner, as it seemed that the King's unmatched libido was considered a threat to the Muggle Crown. Regrettably, the unfortunates were always led to their death, thus these allegations are solely speculative and not to be taken seriously.

The efficiency of the spell was confirmed in eighty nine percent of the cases; a very high rate taking into consideration the rather delicate manipulations the recipient's mind was subjected to. Only eight out of a hundred cases resulted in extreme brain damage, insanity, or total amnesia, but these unlikely occurrences were proven to be related to an error in the casting of the hex, a very complex and demanding procedure, and not the magic involved in the spell itself. However, it is important to point out a minority of cases, around a three percent, in which Nesci Amator seemed to be somewhat ineffective. Some attributed this mishap to the presence of a particularly strong bond between the recipient and the target, but these hypotheses were never corroborated...

Draco stared at the page for who knows how long, feeling bile rise to his throat. His mind was swirling with incoherent thoughts, but for some reason he couldn't find the strength to give them voice. Willing his hammering heart into control, he finally looked up at the two wizards watching his every move.

"What the hell does this mean? What does it have to do with me?" he said in none so gentle tones, nearly throwing the tattered book over his head. Gratefully, Severus took it from his hands before he could vent his frustration on it and started reading its contents himself, though not before glaring icily at his godson for such barbaric treatment towards an innocent.

"That, I believe, is the answer to some of your questions, Draco," was Dumbledore's quiet, thoughtful statement. "Of course, I would have to perform a test to confirm my theory, but I'm quite confident my reasoning is correct. It's needless to say that it's up to you to accept this as the truth, my boy. I can only hope that you see I'm not lying to you. I, just like Severus, mean only the best for you both."

"Please, drop the plurals already!" Draco resisted the urge to pull at his hair. "I'm the one caught in the middle of this! I don't see anybody here but me being lied to..."

"This certainly explains a lot," Severus' drawl interrupted him; the Potions Master was looking at Dumbledore. "I studied this spell a long time ago. Voldemort was fascinated with the psychological effects it had on the victims; not to mention the fact that it was supposed to 'annihilate' Love. He thought that was quite… interesting, to say the least."

"I don't find that hard to believe," the old wizard said with a joyless smile. "Tom always got it wrong. People's minds and memories, even their lives, can be tampered with. People's hearts, their feelings… that's a completely different story." Draco looked from one wizard to the other with his mouth open; incredulous at their apparent disregard for what he was saying, or thinking, or feeling, for that matter.

"Albus, just perform the test and get this over with." Severus gestured towards Draco. "Never mind him. He'll never let himself see the truth even when it's biting him on the arse."

"I'm here, you know?" Draco said furiously. "I can decide for myself, Gods damn it! And the answer is no! I don't want any bloody test! This is all rubbish!" Severus clenched his jaw; eyes narrowed.

"I thought you wanted to know the bloody truth. You've whined and moaned about life being so unfair to you, and yet you get to finally have the answers you've been looking for and you are so scared you won't let yourself take the chance." Draco was nearly gaping now, outraged, but no words left him in his indignation. Severus gave him one final disappointed look before he nodded at Dumbledore; putting the old, brown book carefully on the desk.

The old wizard stood up from his chair, moving to stand before the blond in a ruffle of purple robes; his wand out. Draco took in the polished tool and stood abruptly, taking a few steps away from the wizard and taking out his own wand, which had fortunately been returned to him after the hearing was over. To no small relief.

"You're not doing anything to me! Step back!"

"Have I ever given you any reason to distrust me?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring the blonde's sharp glare. "I promise you, child, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to… open your eyes," he said, holding his hands calmly in front of him with inquiring eyes shining on his face and his wand concealed between his palms; looking very much like a scorned child instead of the powerful, magnanimous wizard he surely was.

Draco knew in that moment that there was no other choice but to relent; not this far in the game. Too many doors had been opened, too many doubts raised. He knew he would not be able to live in peace now; even with his reputation and his wealth apparently 'restored' –although, he didn't want to think about the price he had had to pay for those, either. Nevertheless, he had been given a choice; a choice to understand what was truly happening to him. So far, nothing made sense, and Dumbledore's approach was only making it harder for him. Worse yet, if he wanted to be as objective and reasonable as he knew he had to be, he had to admit that this whole situation didn't revolve around him alone. Even if he refused, Draco was sure that that wouldn't stop Dumbledore; not when it also concerned his idiotic Wonder Boy. And, wanting or not wanting, Draco had to find out the truth. He couldn't keep denying the obvious anymore.

In short, he was screwed.

The blond lowered his wand, feeling miserable and overwhelmingly tired and looking very much so, and wishing he had never woken up that morning. "What do I have to do?"

Dumbledore smiled, satisfied.

"Just sit down, close your eyes, and follow my lead," he said cryptically. Draco did as directed, trying to ignore the wild pumping of his heart. He took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax, as impossible as that seemed.

At first, he didn't feel anything; just Dumbledore's calm, soothing presence beside him; which, to tell the truth, was sort of a surprise in and of itself. He could tell the old man was muttering something but he couldn't make out the words. Then, he felt a white light engulfing him completely; he could sense its brightness even with his lids closed, but it didn't hurt his eyes. He felt it permeating every part of him, sinking deeply through him, wrapping around his hesitant thoughts.

Catch the snitch, Draco. He heard Dumbledore's gentle voice inside his head, and he was about to ask the old wizard if he had finally lost his bloody mind when the image of a golden, silvery-winged little ball appeared before his mind's eye, fluttering barely out of reach. He felt himself –that is, his mental self; he wouldn't know how to describe it- stretching out his arm towards it, Seeker reflexes aflame, but just as he was about to close his fingers around it, the blasted thing started racing forward, away from him, but –most abnormally- pulling him along for the ride.

That's when everything went wild.

All of the sudden, he was racing down memory lane. Literally. All around him, there were snaps and flashes of past experiences; things he had practically forgotten. His whole childhood passed before his eyes –or rather, he ran through it. Everything was there: his mother's voice when she sang lullabies to him in his bed; his father patient frown as he taught him to fly his broom; his lonely days in the manor as an only child, with no friends to play with, killing his time reading and drawing in his bedroom. His birthday parties, filled with children he didn't really know and didn't want to do anything with; the death of Titus, his pet snake, and how much he had cried when he had found him dead in his cage; the episode with the helishopters; the time he exploded his toilet with a modified dungbomb and his mother's subsequent fit…

But that didn't seem to be what the snitch was searching for -if it was looking for something, as he presumed- because it did a twist and a turn, Draco being dragged along, and then it was flying down different paths, different times; dodging memories that popped up before them, all from different epochs in his life: Hogwarts, his time as a spy, his seclusion in Greece. It kept going up and down, turning here and there in this strange maze that was his own mind, until it found an individual tunnel –Draco didn't even know if that description made any sense-; one that felt… isolated from all the others. Or maybe not 'isolated' per se, but it was somewhat separated from the rest of his memories. They started towards the tunnel, and suddenly, the golden snitch disappeared. Finally, it seemed he had gotten to wherever he had to go. The 'guided tour' was over.

See for yourself, my boy. It was Dumbledore's voice again; resonating all around him. He took a cautious step forward, curious of what he would see; curious of what his own mind had kept so… guarded, so protected from the rest of the world, even himself.

The moment he 'stepped' through, he was assaulted by thousands of flashes of memories. If he hadn't known he couldn't faint inside his own head, he certainly would have. Of utter shock.

It was his mental 'archive' of Potter. He had a whole bloody compartment of his mind entirely devoted to Harry sodding Potter! He was perversely fascinated and horrified at the same time. What did this mean? Was he obsessed with the idiot or something? Gods! What is wrong with me?

He went through his memories, completely amazed by the amount of detail in each one of them. That day when he had first laid his eyes on the bound-to-be Gryffindor at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions; how utterly… intrigued he had been about that scrawny, small, visibly lost boy with eyes of molten jade and hideous baggy clothes that couldn't conceal his fearless spirit; how intimidated Draco had felt by him and how he had tried to overcome those alien feelings by flaunting his money and the power of his family. All those nights he had spent thinking about him were there, as well; all those sleepless hours he had spent racking his brain, wondering who that boy was and if he would have the chance to meet him again, maybe even be his friend, just to have all his petty illusions shattered with that fated meeting at the Hogwarts Express one month later: the milestone of a decade of grudges and bad blood, the most painful rejection he had ever suffered in his whole life. Just seeing that moment again, so vivid and real, brought back the bitterness, ruthless and raw, to his heart.

Every glare, every insult, every fight was carefully stored here; even little details he couldn't have ever imagined he knew about, like the way Potter's eyes seemed to turn a brighter shade of green when he smiled –how bloody pathetic was that?- and the fierce lines of concentration that decorated his brow whenever he sped towards the snitch. His knobbly fingers and their clumsiness when chopping Belladonna root; the way his hair stuck up at odd angles, making him look as if he had just been devilishly snogged; the way his cheeks and neck would flush with passion and anger every time they crossed an oath or two in the hallways...

The night in the Forbidden Forest during first year popped up… Gods! How bloody confident Potter had seemed whilst Draco had been on the verge of wetting his pants! And they both had been eleven years old! Even today, Draco still considered that night a slap to his face. It was the very first time he had had to admit to himself what an important ally he had irremediably lost and how hard he would have to work to be in the same league as Potter. The Hippogriff farce, the Dementor Prank, the Inquisitorial Squad, the Quidditch Captainship… it had all been for the same, utterly pointless and moronic reason: a desperate need to feel Potter's equal, to know he was worthy, even when Draco knew, deep down, that he wasn't; that he never would be.

As everything turns out to be when put in the right perspective, facing his own thoughts about the Gryffindor was not easy in the least. There was so much envy, so much jealousy, so much unnecessary loathing… But at the same time, there was so much restlessness, so much hopelessness, so much… wanting to be acknowledged by him; to be noticed, no matter how. Harry Potter personified everything Draco ever wanted to be –powerful, cherished, admired- at the same time as pointing out all of Draco's faults just by contrast. Draco realised he had merely followed the only role left to him where Potter was concerned: while Potter was the hero, everyone's favourite, the one destined to live with the princess of the tale happily ever after, Draco was the evil counterpart, the villain, the scoundrel; just because that was the only way Draco could ever be on the same level as Potter. Not quite by him, but still… facing him, challenging him, opposing him. It didn't matter. At least Draco was there, with him, somehow…

Gods! I've always…

I am…

Draco broke into a run down the long tunnel; trying to get away from his memories, trying to escape his own feelings. Out! I need to get out! Get me out! But there was no response. He was surrounded by memories of Potter: Potter sitting by himself under the shade of a tree by the lake, Potter grinning over his goblet of pumpkin juice at the Gryffindor table, Potter's face in Umbridge's office after they had raided the D.A., Potter's eyes when Draco had threatened to take revenge on his father's name… He couldn't block them; he couldn't stop them from popping up before his eyes. So he ran, away but at the same time into more memories of tangled raven-black hair and haunting emerald eyes. He ran and ran, thinking that there was no way out; that he was locked there forever and nothing could ever stop him from drowning in memories of Harry Potter, from sinking into the sweet misery of what he would never have…

His breath caught in his throat, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

In front of him, there was a black… wall. It was so tall he couldn't see where it ended, and as solid as diamond and steel. It reeked with so much evil and hatred Draco could almost taste it. It was calling him, taunting him to try and knock it down if he could, if he dared. Draco knew he had to get to the other side, but the wall was too tall, the darkness too thick. He held out a hand to touch it and he felt a bolt of incredible sorrow flash across his heart the instant he got close to it. But he had to try; it was imperative that he reached the other side.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling the air abandoning his lungs with every inch he covered. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Just do it. It's only a few more steps! He gathered all his courage, all his strength, and launched himself against the wall.

The moment his fingertips grazed the hard surface, he felt a sharp, overwhelming pain in his core; he was being ripped in two. His fingers dug into the hard steel, and it was as if they were being burned. He couldn't breathe; everything was spinning wildly around him. When he thought he couldn't take anymore, he saw them.

Glimpses, flashes; glimmering pieces of memories were hidden behind that wall. They all rushed before his wide, frightened eyes; lingering for the feeblest of moments before they disappeared into the dark abysm surrounding him. He tried to hold on to them, but there was nothing he could do about it; they all vanished, leaving him empty and withering in sorrow and pain. The darkness was mocking him, laughing at him. His blood ran like ice in his veins, and he was assaulted by horrible despair. He knew he had to hold on; he had to resist… But the darkness knew he couldn't, that he didn't have the strength to knock down the wall, and so it kept on laughing, guffawing loudly in his ears, Unworthy… Don't deserve him… Fool… And Draco didn't want to listen to it, but he knew it was true. Gods, it was so true…

He collapsed onto the dark floor; his memories out of his reach forever.

I can't… I don't have the strength...

And the darkness laughed even louder, spitting cold in his bones and pain in his heart. A disgrace… Worthless… Better off without you…So weak…

I can't do it… I'm too weak…

I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…

After that, the darkness took over completely and he knew nothing more.

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"Open your eyes, my boy. It's over."

Dumbledore's voice. Dumbledore's office.

"What..?" Draco tried to sit up, but his head felt as though it was about to explode, and he collapsed onto the chair once more. Did he pass out? "What happened…? How long...?" he croaked. His throat was a sandbank.

"Twenty minutes, maybe less. Take it easy, Draco," Severus said as he pressed a glass to his hand as he sat in his chair. Draco brought the glass to his lips and downed its contents in two gulps, feeling the slightest hint of valerian on his tongue. A mild sedative. So they thought he was going to snap again, did they?

"You did well, Draco. I'm proud of you," Dumbledore said as he took his seat. There was a kind smile on his face. "My suspicions are confirmed. Nesci Amator was cast upon you two."

"You mean..?" Draco asked; he hadn't even thought of the possibility. Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles over his nose. "What would be the point of going through all that trouble to make you forget if there was going to be a loose end?"

The blond remained thoughtful for a moment.

"There was… a black wall," Draco muttered, grey eyes unfocused. "In the tunnel… in… Potter's tunnel… and I couldn't… I knew it was all there, behind it… The visions I had seen were there too… they are memories, I… saw them, but I couldn't keep them …" he trailed off, trying to digest what he had seen. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide as he made sense of what he had just said. "There's a wall in my head! There's a bloody wall in my head!"

"Calm down, my boy. What you saw it's not quite… real," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Everything you experienced –the tunnels, the wall… even the snitch, was part of the spell I used to map your memories. It was merely your subconscious trying to show you what is happening inside your head in a way you could understand. Look at it as trying to discern the meaning of a dream. Your mind suggests the symbols, but it's up to you to read them."

"You were there," Draco said lowly, feeling violated in the most intrinsic way. "You saw it happening, and you didn't help me! Even when I asked you to get me out!"

"I showed you the path, yes," Dumbledore conceded, "but I didn't push the memories forward." He sat up in his chair, arms folded over the desk. "It is your mind, Draco. It showed you only what you wanted to see. The minute you reached the place you were looking for, you were on your own. I couldn't take you away from it anymore than I could tell you what to think. The only thing I could do was record your progress, which is what the spell was meant for, and let you figure things out on your own."

Draco rubbed his face tiredly. The old coot was right. He had entered the damn tunnel after all; he had followed his curiosity. But how was he supposed to know..? How could he have known

what he'd see there? He wasn't prepared for it! Hell, he wasn't prepared for anything anymore!

Dumbledore must have read his thoughts –as he always seemed to do- because he let out a long sigh before he spoke again. "As I had predicted, there's a wide gap in your memory, Draco; I'm guessing of several months… maybe more than a year. Your subconscious showed it to you as a 'wall', but it's, in fact, a rupture in your trail of reminiscence your brain can't breach. Also, you were able to feel the nature of the spell; your subconscious doesn't understand the lack of information but it knows the source –the cause, so to speak, at least indirectly. That, in itself, is very important. If it wasn't for the bond, you wouldn't be able to realise that there has been a disruption at all… even at an unconscious level."

"But… that doesn't make any sense! I remember everything I've done in the past! Well… everything except yelling at my mother!" Draco said, exasperated and confused. He vaguely wondered if the valerian essence was working at all… Maybe he was beyond help at this point; chemical or otherwise.

"There are several types of Memory Charms," Severus said as he pinched his nose. "Obliviate is, perhaps, the most simple and efficient of all. It erases every single thing stored in the short-term memory, which is what makes it such a powerful tool for the Obliviators, but it can also access information in the long-term memory storage, so it is possible to manipulate one's memory of the past. However, Obliviate can't single out information. It wipes out the complete line of reminiscence without discriminating any details. The main difference between Nesci Amator and other Memory Charms is that it uses specific feelings to locate and pinpoint which memories it must erase; conscious feelings…" He trailed off for a second or two, scratching his chin as he pondered something. "The only reason I can think of why you can't remember that conversation with your mother is because your love for Potter was the strongest thing in your mind at the moment, and the spell read it as a relevant factor and wiped out the complete event. There's the possibility that other memories such as that were erased as well."

To the older men's surprise, Draco let out a bark of laughter.

"You do realise how hilarious that sounds, don't you? Whatever I did in the past with Potter it was certainly not about love… Maybe lust or something, but even that I find bloody ridiculous." Draco couldn't believe he had managed to say those words without sounding the least unsure of himself.

"Yes, just as I find it quite ridiculous how you two were at the very verge of snogging each other senseless in a public lavatory and made it look like you wanted to slit the other's throat open," the Potions Master hissed; obsidian eyes locked with narrowed grey. "Deny it all you want, Draco, but deep down you know it all comes down to Potter. With you, it always does. You're just too stubborn to accept it," he said between gritted teeth.

"Boys, boys! Your bickering is hardly necessary at the moment!" Dumbledore shook his head slightly, amused, whilst the two former Slytherins glared at each other. "However, Severus does have a point. What bothers you more, Draco? Knowing that your memory has been modified, or admitting to yourself that you're bonded to Harry; that you two once shared something special, as unlikely as that sounds to you now?"

Draco was about to answer, but the old wizard didn't let him. "This whole ordeal only proves that our hearts always know where we belong, no matter if our foolish minds can't remember. I've sensed the nature of the bond you two share, and it's very powerful indeed. Just the fact that you're experiencing Animus Salutor says as much."

Dumbledore regarded the blond with a candid smile when he noticed that Draco couldn't seem to find anything to say to that. "Whoever did this to you, they never expected your love to be so pure, so great. That was their mistake. And that fact is, gratefully, your salvation. You can't keep denying what your heart desires, Draco; it would be against your very self to do so. I understand how terrifying this must be for you, but the only thing you can do about it is to follow your heart. I know how difficult that is for you Slytherins; always so cold and wanting to be in control of everything in your lives." Dumbledore looked at both of them over his half-moon spectacles with twinkling blue eyes.

"Let's say I am... willing to go along with this," the blond finally said, letting out a long exhalation. "Is there any way to reverse the spell?" Severus glanced briefly at the old man.

"I'm afraid that's impossible to tell at this point. When you told me about the 'visions' I had thought it could be a possibility, taking into consideration how powerful you two are. We know the answer to that now. I imagine the bond tried to preserve some memories, but how many and for how long..." The Potions Master couldn't look at his godson's face.

"Oh, that's simply marvellous!" Draco spat, standing up from his chair. He felt like a Dragon locked up in a tiny cage. He felt helpless, and he hated it. "I had a piece of my mind ripped out of me and the only lead I have to figure out what really happened is a spell created by hysterical women two thousand years ago, which can't be reversed? What the hell am I supposed to do now? Surely it's very easy for you to sit in front of me and bombard me with all these theories and facts! But what about me? All of the sudden I'm bonded to Harry sodding Potter and I can't even remember why or how! I denied my family, I turned my back on everything I knew, and I don't have a bloody reason for it! Can you even begin to imagine what that feels like?" Gods! Why didn't they try Avada Kedavra instead! the blond thought as he tried to will his breathing pattern back to normal. He was failing miserably.

"Draco, don't focus on the things you've lost; it will only get you down when you need all your strength. Think instead of everything you'll gain." Dumbledore offered with a smile. "We all lose special moments in our lives, but it's the new ones, the events that await for us tomorrow, that truly keep us going."

The blond knew that those words were meant to be a balm for his tumultuous soul, but for some reason they didn't work out very well.

"That's exactly my point! Tomorrow! What am I going to do tomorrow?" He threw his hands up in exasperation and let them fall on his thighs with a loud 'snap'. "I know what a bond of this kind means; I know my bloody life depends on finding a way to be close to him! But how in Hades' name am I going to do that? I can't just show up at Potter's house and tell him 'Oi Mate! You will never believe this, but you are, in fact, my Soul Mate. Neither you nor I can remember, but that's highly irrelevant. Oh, right… I forgot. We need to shag or we both could die!'"

"Well, the phrasing is not quite subtle, but I truly believe that Harry will be more receptive than you imagine," the old man chuckled slightly; Draco was appalled to realise how annoyingly easy it came to the old coot. "You have to remember, Draco, he's going through the same thing you are going through... except perhaps that he probably doesn't understand a knut about what's happening to him. It's your job to help him see the truth." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling wildly.

"Oh, but of course!" the blond snorted. "I guess he will just forget the fact that he's engaged to Ginny Weasley! I'm sure he won't mind throwing his perfect little life away to accommodate me," he added with a caustic sneer.

"Potter's engaged to Ginevra Weasley?" Severus actually smirked at that.

"Don't tell me you didn't know…The wedding is supposed to be the social event of the year. Their story is quite the fairy tale, it seems," Draco scowled from his spot by the large window, feeling a bolt of insane jealousy in the pit of his stomach and hating himself for it. Right in that moment, he wondered if he had read his own emotions wrong and it hadn't really been envy that he had felt when he had read that news... but he realised then that he would go completely mental if he started psychoanalysing every single emotion he had felt towards Potter during the last three years.

"Well, well... I guess it won't be such an easy task for you after all," Severus smirked. "But look on the bright side. You can take it as a test of your legendary powers of persuasion," the pale man added with a drawl; earning himself another glare from Draco, which he absolutely ignored. The Headmaster had the grace to look downcast.

"That certainly makes things more complicated, yes," he said as he twirled a silver strand of his beard between his fingers. None of the three wizards said anything for a while. It was Draco who finally spoke, giving voice to his thoughts.

"About that book… it didn't actually explain the procedure for the Nesci Amator spell. Where can we find a book that does? Maybe there's a way to reverse it that you don't know about." He didn't want to feel hopeful, but hope seemed to be the only thing he had right now.

"Nesci Amator is an ancient spell," Severus answered. "I know it was described thoroughly in a fifteenth century dark grimoire, the Chartae Nefasti, or 'Unholy Letters'. There were only five copies made of that book. The original is being guarded in the Department of Mysteries..."

"Don't tell me," Draco interrupted in a dejected, flat tone. "The original is completely inaccessible and the copies are lost." Severus didn't respond, which was enough response.

"Well, somebody found one," Draco said with narrowed eyes; hands held tightly behind his back as he looked out the tall gothic windows. "I need to take a walk," he informed in crisp tones after a short pause, turning on his heels to leave the round room without more protocol. Dumbledore's voice stopped him before he could reach the door.

"Wait a second, my boy." He walked towards the blond, rummaging for something inside his robe pockets; Draco wondered how many things the old man carried around in his clothes. Albus produced a black book, and with a smile, offered it to the blond. Draco took the book hesitantly, looking quizzically at the Headmaster.

"Let's just say it has been stray for far too long," the old man said cryptically, winking at him in the same fashion he had done in the courtroom.

Draco didn't reply. He merely nodded before opening the great oak door, stepped out, and closed it firmly behind him without a backward glance.

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"Are you sure it was the right thing to do?"

Minutes later, Albus and his former Potions Master were the only occupants in the round office. Fawkes had arrived shortly after Draco's exit –the phoenix detested Portkey travels, and always took the chances for a nice flight around. The Headmaster was now petting his familiar and offering him nice treats for his outstanding performance that morning in the courtroom, which the bird accepted gladly. Severus, for his part, was standing by the large windows in the same spot his godson had occupied moments before, looking at the sun setting behind the faraway mountains; his hands behind his back and his face settled in a slight frown.

Albus looked up at his protégé. "Time is the only one that knows the answer to that question," he responded to the black-haired man's back. "Either way, something had to be done; it has been too long already... I fear for their wellbeing," he added thoughtfully.

"I just hope this won't destroy them instead," Severus said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know Draco. He won't stop until he finds out the whole truth. What worries me is Potter. The Gods know I'm having trouble coming to terms with this, and I'm not even in the middle of it. I don't want my godson to suffer more than he already has, goddamn it!" Dumbledore appeared at his side and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"We must have faith, Severus. In the darkest of nights, the stars are always shining, even if they're hidden behind the clouds. Their love is great. It will find a way."

"Do you have any idea of who could have done it?" Severus asked flatly, his eyes set on the darkening horizon.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Severus. At this point in time, we may never know. They had many adversaries during the war; they still do," the old wizard admitted. "But right now, the most important thing is having the boys understand what is happening to them and how they cope. The rest will be sorted as it comes," he mused, watching the wandering students return to the castle for dinner.

"The thing is, and Merlin help me, Albus, but I think that what happened to them was for the best." Severus turned to look at his Mentor for the first time; lines of apprehension marring his pale face. Albus smiled at him in understanding.

"The risks they would have come across if they'd been together during the last days of the war would have been great," the older wizard conceded, "but I think that they were prepared to face them. We only have a vague idea of how long they'd been together before their memories were modified, but it surely was long enough for their relationship to grow and their bond to settle... not to mention that they managed to keep their affair a secret during the entire time. They knew the stakes, but they also knew what they were doing. I am sure they would have been alright," Dumbledore finished firmly.

"Did they, really?" Severus asked, his eyes unreadable, as he turned to look out the window again. The Headmaster knew exactly what he had meant, and regarded his protégé with a raised eyebrow before releasing a long sigh.

"I figured something was going on with Harry, but as with many other things, I just allowed him his privacy, hoping that he'd come to me whenever he felt ready. It was a part of his mind he protected at all costs, at all times. I tried to reach it during Occlumency lessons on a few occasions, but he had placed enough barriers to mark it as forbidden territory, and I couldn't just rip the information out of him. It wasn't until one night that I caught him running back to Gryffindor Tower minutes after I had seen Draco sneaking into the dungeons that things fell into place. The need for secrecy, the wariness... it all made sense," he finished in a tone hinting regret.

"Then you must have known that something had happened to them," Severus stated in a harsher tone that he intended; his jet-black eyes locked with blue. "You didn't think that they should be together, did you?" He made it sound like a question, but it was truly a statement.

"Did I fear at the time that their relationship could endanger both of them? Of course I did, but I didn't believe Draco was not worthy of Harry, if that's what you're thinking. My mistake was to think that what they had was a fleeting, juvenile crush; that they were merely experimenting as it's so natural amongst teenagers."

"They were not normal teenagers," Severus said between gritted teeth.

"Certainly not. But didn't they, didn't we want them to have a normal adolescence, even when they were growing up in a world at war, when they had been burdened with such hard responsibilities?" The Potions Master only made a noncommittal sound, but Dumbledore knew that Severus realised he was right.

"When things got back to normal –when Harry stopped guarding himself against me, that is, I thought it was because whatever they had had was over, and the most logical explanation was that my previous suppositions had been correct. It wasn't until Narcissa told me about Draco's Visits that I realised how wrong I had been and that something terrible had been done to the two of them, but I couldn't make out what exactly it was at the time."

"Hence the memory," Severus muttered out loud, realising just then that his anger wasn't directed at Albus but at the helplessness of the situation, and he sighed, exhausted. He hated feeling powerless, which was exactly how he felt right now, knowing that his godson's life had been thwarted so ruthlessly; being unable to come up with any solutions but -just like Dumbledore had said- giving time to Time and having faith it would all turn out alright. Draco was right. He couldn't begin to imagine what must be like to have a part of one's soul torn away like that.

"Narcissa was an intelligent woman, but you knew that already," Albus said with a swift glance in the Potions Master's direction. Severus' face remained a mask of stone. "However, I do wonder now what would have happened if the disclosure of that memory hadn't been necessary."

"Well, taking into consideration today's spectacle, I think it would have been only a matter of time before they…"

"Don't confuse knowledge with acceptance, Severus." At the perplexed –although unmistakably annoyed, if that was even possible- frown on the Potions Master's face, Dumbledore elaborated, "Right now, Draco knows the truth. He knows that Harry is his Soul Mate, and he knows that he must be with him because his life depends on it. But he hasn't truly accepted it. What he said was quite right. He has suddenly found himself with this profound revelation but he truly doesn't understand it. How could he, when he can't remember what made him fall in love with Harry Potter in the first place?" He gave a wry chuckle, which surprised the Potions Master somewhat. "Right now, they are puppets, Severus. They're being manipulated by a bond that needs to be fulfilled but with implications they can't really see; not until they truly open their hearts and find the motives that made their former selves give in to each other. They will have to literally fall in love all over again. And until that happens, everything that Animus Salutor stands for between them will be completely irrelevant."

"I thought you said that their love was great enough to find a way," the black-haired wizard stated dryly.

"Oh, but it is! They just haven't realised it yet," the old man said with a wink. Severus suppressed the desire to roll his eyes at the batty wizard. A walking contradiction if he ever met one. His pale face suddenly turned serious, almost troubled.

"Albus… Do you think..?" He couldn't finish his question. He felt he was betraying the memory of the only woman he had ever loved just by thinking about it, but doubts were sneaky serpents. Gratefully, Albus didn't need elaborations.

"Maybe the question is not what I think, but what you think, instead?" he asked in turn. The Potions Master's only response was to go back to his quiet contemplations, missing the slight frown that graced the Headmaster's brow.

A not so uncomfortable silence settled between the two wizards after that, broken only by the occasional trills coming from Fawkes' perch. Outside, the sky had turned a purplish blue and the torches inside the office and the ancient fireplace were now lit, bathing the round office in soft caramel hues. It wasn't until the magical clock on the wall chimed the time for supper that either of them spoke.

"Dinner is about to be served. Will you and Draco be joining us, Severus? I believe there's blueberry pie for dessert tonight."

The Potions Master was taken away from reminiscence, and clearing his throat, he shook his head hastily. "No, we must get going; it was a trying day. Thank you for the offer, though," he said casually as both wizards walked towards the door. Dumbledore didn't miss the uncharacteristic glimmer in his obsidian eyes, but just as so many other times, refrained from inquiring on his findings. Severus Snape was a very private man, and it wasn't in Albus' place to deny him his secrets.

"Very well. I think you'll want to go looking for Draco in the rose garden. Have a good evening, Severus." The old wizard placed both hands on his shoulders. "And don't worry too much, young man. That's my job."

Despite the conflicting emotions inside his chest, Severus did roll his eyes at the old batty wizard this time.

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The long, softly lit corridors appeared unchanged before his eyes. The same solid, ancient grey stone decorated floors, ceilings, and walls, and every now and then he would find an enchanted suit of armour gracing a corner or feel his progress being watched by the countless portraits hanging around him. The tall gothic windows beheld the same scenery of the school grounds. The magical staircases still played their thoughtless games, twisting and changing their course at the least expected moment, and the air still resonated with the indiscernible murmurs of hundreds of students going about. Hogwarts was exactly as he remembered it: firm and imposing but strangely welcoming at the same time.

However, as he walked through the old hallways of his youth, turned at hidden doorways, and carefully stepped over a tricky step or two, he couldn't prevent a strong feeling of alienation from overwhelming him. This had been his home for seven years; the place where he had grown, where the person he was now had been originally sketched and moulded; the place that had housed so many of his dreams, victories, and disappointments… and yet, Draco realised, it all felt so distant now; so disappointingly foreign and out of reach, as if the boy that had walked these grounds ten years ago had been somebody else. Ironically enough, every corner, every nook, every turn brought back a memory. Hogwarts was the greatest monument to his past; a reminder of all those things he had once taken for granted and that he now knew were never coming back.

His feet carried him to the main doors of their own volition. He passed several students in his wanderings, but he was too absorbed to notice the questioning glances and disguised pointing in his direction. It wasn't until he found himself deprived of the soothing warmth of the magical castle and he noticed the soft twilight stretching from the west that he realised he was outside, on the serpentine path leading to the greenhouses, and that night was rapidly approaching. How long had he been drowning in melancholy? It was certainly very un-Slytherinish of him, and he couldn't prevent a wry smile from sneaking to his lips at the thought.

He looked around and caught sight of the ivy-covered iron fence several feet from the path and the precious bushes splashed with tiny specks of red, white, and yellow beyond it, gleaming with pearly hues in the last rays of the day. Without a second thought, Draco made a beeline towards the wrought iron gate; it creaked and sheered as it opened, betraying its years. Entering the green sanctuary, he took a seat on one of the white marble benches scattered around the rose garden and sat facing the sunset amongst the delicate rose buds. Their strong essence flooded him, bringing a sense of familiarity he hadn't felt since he had left the Headmaster's office. The birds sang their goodnights to one another as they flew away looking for shelter, and the tall willows protecting the secret spot from the outside world rocked languidly with the breeze, creaking and whistling with age. It was a beautiful nightfall, and he felt, for the first time that day, at peace.

Draco took out the black book from his robe pocket. On closer inspection, he realised it wasn't a book, but a journal. It wasn't very old, but it showed signs of continuous and careful ownership. He noticed the lock was a magical one, and without hesitation, he took out his returned wand from his robe pocket and muttered "Alohamora". As expected, there was a soft 'click'; an honest invitation for him to go on and peruse its pages.

His hands shook slightly as he opened it, and he could feel his heart racing inside his chest, but he was not deterred. The first page was blank, so he turned to the next. This one was, like its precedent, all white parchment; and the next, and the next, and the one after that. Draco felt a strange sense of disappointment taking over. The whole book was blank; there were no signs of it ever knowing ink or charcoal. He held it up and shook it, feeling sceptical and pessimistic already.

From somewhere in its middle, a white envelope came fluttering down onto the floor.

The blond picked it up, frowning. It didn't have any markings either. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tore the edge and took out a folded sheet of parchment. He opened it up and nearly fell off of the bench, feeling tears rushing to the corners of his eyes without notice.

On the pristine whiteness of the parchment, written in golden ink that was practically invisible in the scarce light, was his mother's handwriting, tarnished by weakness and disease:

My Dearest, my All, my Little Dragon,

If you're reading these lines, it means Albus Dumbledore has kept his promise. I am forever grateful for that. But at the same time my heart cries, for I couldn't be the one to carry you through these trying times. How I wish I could be there for you right now, my Love...

There is so much I have to tell you I don't even know where to begin. I only hope that once this humble letter is finished, you will be able to find it in your soul to forgive me. I want you to be certain, to be absolutely sure, that for everything I did or didn't do my only reason was your protection; please, don't condemn a mother for wanting to keep her only son out of harm's way. Now I know that my decision has caused you incredible pain and that will haunt me for the rest of my days and beyond. Once again, my Child, I ask for your forgiveness.

You were so, so happy, Draco. Before him, you never smiled. I can go as far as to say that you didn't smile even in the privacy of your own thoughts... but that all changed when he came along. Your smiles told of joy and fulfilment, of companionship, of completion. You smiled like you were the bearer of the most amazing, beautiful secret in the world. Your eyes had never shone like that, and I could tell, just by one look, that he was the most important thing in your world. He was the light shining down your heart, and you were resolute to do anything to keep that light alive... even risk your own life. That was how great your love for him was; how I wish I had let myself see it back then. Today, all I have left is my guilt and regrets. Nothing I did prevented you from being taken from me in the end, and instead, you were the one who had something so special and priceless taken away.

I sinned of omission, my Son. I let my own fears and selfishness get in the way of your happiness. A mother should never have the right to decide her child's destiny like that, but I was scared and helpless. I thought I had the right reasons at the time, but now I know they were all excuses. Every time I talked to you I could see how hollow you were, how desolate, how empty. And even when I knew the truth, even when I knew I was the one that could save you so much pain, I said nothing, thinking that it was for the best; hoping you'd move on with your life, oblivious to the horrible damage that had been done to you. Of course, I couldn't have been more misled.

Still, the day you came to me asking about the Visits I held my tongue. I saw your despair, your fear, your confusion, and yet, I didn't give you the only answer you should have gotten from me: the truth. I was terrified to realise the gravity of the damage that had been inflicted upon you; even when I knew you were in love with him, I had never imagined you had found your Soul Mate. It was such a powerful revelation that I found myself at a loss as to what to do. What could I have said to you, my Love? How could I tell you that you had been wounded so deeply, when you yourself didn't know it? What was kinder: to lie to you and let you have hope for the future, or to break your heart with a truth you wouldn't understand? Praying that I was doing what was best for you, I chose to lie and keep you in the dark until the day it would be inevitable to face the facts that would come; a day I hoped I would be able to see so I could tell you to your face why, with my silence, I was an accomplice to those who hurt you... But now I know I won't be granted that chance, and that, my Son, is my penitence.

Instead, I only have these meagre words to express how sorry I am. I should have pushed aside my reservations and let you decide your fate, no matter how much pain it could have brought you. I feel so irreparably torn inside for having doubted your strength, your inner light. You've always, always made me proud, Draco, and I should have trusted without a doubt, I should have remembered, that there is nothing in this world that can keep you from what you want. It was this unwavering resolution that brought you two together, and I am certain that it will be this outstanding trait of yours that will show you your way home once again: right by his side.

I've been keeping this journal safe for nearly two and a half years, now. It has remained a candle in times of uncertainty, giving me strength whenever I ran out. It is a statute of the power of Love and the wonderful things it creates and nourishes; a reminder that, when one feels strongly enough, when one loves deeply enough, nothing is impossible. You have taught me that.

Due to the intimate thoughts recorded, its owner thought it wise to protect it with special charms; I'm sure you'll figure out a way to access its contents. I denied you the answers once, my Son; something I'll regret until my time comes. Now, I'm returning to you one of the keys to your heart, hoping it's not already too late, and that it will give you some of the answers you're looking for. The other key, the most important one, is right within you; you just have to want it found. And when you do find it, you do whatever you have to, my Son. Nothing can separate what Love has brought together. They tried to break you, but they didn't know the power within you, Dragon. Do not let them win! Fight for what's meant for you and for you alone!

It's all about Love; nothing else matters. I understand that now.

Sincerely,

Your Mother.

A warm, round tear crashed with the softest of sounds onto the white parchment, smearing the ink and leaving a golden stain where the word 'Sincerely' had once been. His heart ached so much he thought it would burst open. Surprisingly, he wasn't angry or disappointed at his mother's words. All he could feel was that unfathomable emptiness he had felt since he had learned about her death. He held the letter to his chest, pretending that by touching something she had held in her hands he could feel her; imagining that it was her gracious, delicate frame he was holding instead, smelling her sweet perfume, and resting his face in the soft curls of her hair; pretending, for one last time, that she had never left.

He didn't think he had ever needed her more.

Draco stayed like that for awhile, drowning in his thoughts and silent tears. Night had finally arrived and behind him the castle's windows were alive with light and activity. The air was chilly and somewhat humid, and he knew there would be a ghostly fog that evening, concentrating the aroma of the roses in the small garden. One by one the stars would appear on the black canvas; the full moon would shine upon the timid flowers and leaves, making them look like crystal and turning that corner of the world into something out of a fairy tale. He knew all that because he had been in that garden on a night like this, not so long ago, and it had been perfect; perfect because it had been just the two of them and the wind, the moon, and the stars witnessing the one event that had changed his life forever. The one moment he couldn't remember but for a faded notion of it ever happening; like the last traces of a dream before coming fully into wakefulness…

It was Potter.

It had always been Harry Potter.

All those nights of sweet misery, of sinful abandon; all those nights he had been killed by pleasure to be resurrected by hope... He had been the one responsible. It had been his voice inside his head, telling Draco he was all he wanted; telling him it would always be just the two of them. It had been his hands that had touched his body with so much need it burned his flesh. It had been his mouth that had searched his so desperately; plundering, conquering, claiming...

It was Harry Potter the one he had secretly loved and longed for all this time. The same man he hated with a vengeance; the very man he had always blamed for so many wrongs in his life… Only it wasn't really that black and white with them, was it? It wasn't simple like that; things had never been 'simple' between him and Harry Potter. And it wasn't only discovering -or finally acknowledging- that Harry Potter was his Soul Mate… or that he had always meant everything in Draco's life. That was only the tip of the iceberg. The truly important matter lay beneath, submerged in complete darkness. Who knew what was lying under the surface, waiting to be brought back to the light? What if it wasn't worth remembering? Even worse yet, what if it was?

Why? Why had he... had they had their memories erased? How many things couldn't he remember? How… important were they? In his life of lies and disappointments, how many special things had been taken away from him? Could it be possible that he had been forced to forget the only beautiful moments he had ever had in his entire life?

"Draco..."

The blond turned around and saw his godfather approaching, wand alight and held up before him. Severus wore a hesitant expression that was certainly unbecoming of him, and it made Draco smirk for some reason. The Potions Master stopped beside him, eyeing the blond, the open journal on his lap, and the letter in his hands, but refrained from speaking.

"She knew about it." Draco waved the letter in one hand, sniffing and wiping his tears with the other. To Hell with being demure.

"May I…?" Severus asked in a cautious tone, and Draco nearly rolled his eyes. He handed the letter to him, and Severus read it under the light of his wand. After a couple of seconds, Draco thought he heard a sob coming from his godfather, but the pale man concealed it by clearing his throat.

"I had thought..."

"That she had been the one who did it?" Draco offered. "It crossed my mind, too; what with that bloody memory... She must have figured out the spell that was used to know I wouldn't remember that particular conversation." He paused for a few seconds as he stared at the journal. "I would have preferred it if she had been the one who did it, though," he added in a flat voice. Severus was surprised by the admission, and his puzzlement showed in his deep frown.

"Draco, you don't really mean that," he said, clenching his jaw.

"Of course I do! If it had been her, at least I would have known why she did it! She wouldn't have meant to hurt me; she would have done it to protect me, however sick or twisted that could have been. But it was somebody else, and I don't have enough fingers on my hands and feet to count the possibilities! How am I supposed to fix this mess if I don't have a culprit or a motive or a bloody clue as to where to start looking for any of them?" He brushed his long hair back with his hands before settling his irises of steel on his godfather. "All I know is that whoever did this had too much at stake or thought that Potter and I being together was too much of a threat to attempt something like that."

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously in the light of his wand.

"Are you suggesting I have something to do with this?" His voice was low, and it dripped liquid nitrogen.

"I have to consider all the possibilities, don't I? Wouldn't you do the same in my position? I mean, I was a spy at the time; I was collecting important information, and it was highly audacious of me to go around sleeping with the Golden Boy whilst mingling with Death Eaters," Draco drawled. "Too much of a liability, don't you think? Besides, you seem to know a lot about Nesci Amator."

"I would never..." The Potions Master's face was the epitome of indignation, and Draco waved his hand tiredly, as if his godfather's antics bored him.

"I know you didn't do it, Severus. You are quite the Slytherin, but you forget I can read you like a book. You wouldn't be able to lie to me like that," the blond said casually, and Severus didn't know if he should feel cross or relieved by the statement. "In fact, I'm sure you didn't even know about Potter and I... Am I correct?" he added with a sly smirk.

Feeling at a loss for words, Severus settled with a curt nod of his head, and Draco smiled wickedly.

"I figured as much... You see, I, on the other hand, am way better at subterfuge." The Potions Master really tried to scowl at that, but the affection hidden behind his godson's sneer was his undoing.

"Oh, shut up, you demonic brat!" he said, suppressing a laugh, as he grabbed the aforementioned demon by the shoulder and commandeered him upwards. "It's late. We should go now or Dixie will have our heads."

"She'll want to have your head, you mean?" the blond retorted, his voice ringing with innuendo, as he grabbed the dropped journal from the ground and brushed dirt from the back of his robes. Severus, by now immune to Draco's ability to turn the tables on anyone, merely scowled half-heartedly; feeling a flicker of hope for the first time since he had arrived at the Headmaster's office. His godson was strong. He would be fine.

"I was wondering when you'd come up with one of your infamous remarks," he drawled, giving Draco his letter as he pushed the iron gate open for his godson to pass. The blond took the proffered sheet of parchment, put it inside its envelope, and tucked it in his robe pocket.

"Well, I couldn't resist. You should have seen that one coming. Don't tell me you're getting too slow for me! Or should I say, too old?" There was the most angelic –and completely false- smile on his face.

"You never give up, do you?" Severus mock-hissed as both men started down the path to the gates, their wands lighting their way. Draco frowned, and his godfather sensed a sudden changed in the atmosphere.

"I don't have that luxury, do I?" he said briskly; his mercury gaze firmly locked forward.

Neither of the two men said a word after that last comment, but a tacit agreement had been settled between them; one neither of them needed to voice out loud to make official, as it had always been the only way for them: Draco would not rest until he found all his answers, and Severus would be right there to see him through, no matter how unbearable the burden proved to be.

Soon enough, they reached the gates and stepped out of the warded grounds. After a shared nod, both wizards disappeared with two simultaneous 'cracks' into thin air.

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Harry Potter was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but today he decided he was going to skip the uncomfortable –albeit practical- use of Apparition in favour of a long and hopefully relaxing walk home. Luckily, he had decided to wear Muggle clothes underneath his Auror robes that morning.

If he had thought that the Ministry had been in mayhem after Draco's hearing, he wouldn't know how to describe the environment on its second floor; more specifically, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There had been –and probably still were- reporters everywhere, taking declarations from every single person in an official uniform about the 'Malfoy Magisterial Mistake', as they had baptized Draco's unfair trial and apprehension; Harry guessed that Luton and his lapdog of an assistant might be halfway across the globe by now. The fireplaces linked to the Department –and to the rest of the Ministry, for that matter- by the Floo Network had collapsed by mid-afternoon; they'd even got international calls from South America, for Merlin's beard! There were hordes of owls perched on the windowsills of the surrounding buildings; he hadn't seen so many birds since his first letter from Hogwarts, and even that paled in comparison. It had been an amazing sight, and he had had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing his arse off in his superiors' faces as they rushed to and fro to contain the mess they had created. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon; that should teach the bastards a lesson.

But as much as he had been up to his neck with things to do that afternoon, it hadn't done a thing to qualm his asphyxiating anxiety.

The streets of London were always busy no matter the time of day, and he found the urban activity unexpectedly soothing. People came and went about their own business; some were rushing home, some were heading for work, and some were just wandering around, enjoying a night out in the city. The traffic was hectic, as always, and the air was filled with all kinds of sounds. It was the distraction he needed, watching this semi-chaos going on around him instead of focusing on the turmoil of Big Bang-ish proportions taking place inside of him.

He crossed one street after the other, counting the buildings, the traffic signs, even the stalls on the sidewalk just to keep his mind occupied. The jacket he was wearing kept the night chill at bay but didn't do anything for the cold interred in his bones, in his soul. The sky was slightly cloudy; it would probably rain later on that night, but for the raven-haired Auror there was a hurricane already lashing at his heart, drowning him in doubt and confusion.

Harry firmly believed in instincts. In fact, he didn't think he would be alive today if it hadn't been for his 'lucky hunches', and thankfully, he had always had the sense to follow them, even when he encountered opposition on all sides. Granted, most of them always resulted in a life or death situation, but the important matter was that he had always been on the right track; the bonus action pack was just part of the job of being the Wizarding World's Designated Saviour. But right now, there was none of that unwavering confidence he had felt on those occasions. Right now, and probably for the first time in his life, he was torn between following common sense and going for what his heart was dictating to him. He was used to those two options never being one and the same, but in this case, the gap between them was so wide it bordered on irrationality.

He had returned to work that afternoon after his short –and in retrospection, rather uninspiring- 'talk' with Draco feeling as if the world had suddenly been turned upside down. He had followed his so-called instincts and gone after the blond Slytherin, not giving a damn about what he was doing or what it could possibly mean. He had just wanted to see Draco; to tell him all those things that had been swirling in his mind since the disclosure of the memories; hell, since the moment he saw him entering that courtroom. Harry hadn't really expected anything to happen. Granted, it would be completely hypocritical of him if he denied that he had wished for another opportunity to touch him, but he had known that it was out of the question. He couldn't just… reach out and grab him –unless he wanted to find himself crippled all of the sudden. Besides, it was wrong; so wrong on so many levels that even wishing for the opportunity was unforgivable. Harry was quite aware of that. But he had touched Draco. As if it were the most natural thing to do, he had reached out and grabbed his arm, overwhelmed by the need to have the blond near him for just a few more seconds.

It wasn't just the need, per se, that mattered, although, it made things more clear now. It was what he had felt with that most feeble, most innocent of touches. Was it that he had finally taken his mind out of the gutter in that moment to realise it, he didn't know; but he was sure that Draco had felt it, too. Harry had seen it in the blond's face; the same incredulity, the same astonishment. Of course, before he could even begin to rationalise what had just happened, Draco had to be Draco and pull a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on him, leaving him in that alley to rack his brains about what he could have possibly done to ensure such a reaction and to ponder until insanity everything that had just happened.

Perhaps that was it. He shouldn't have thought that much.

There had been so much, and yet so little in that touch, that he was sure it couldn't be normal. 'Normal' was a slight stirring in the groin when seeing a nicely-toned body. 'Normal' was a fluttery feeling in one's stomach, or even a soft blush on the cheeks. It wasn't normal to feel your whole body being shocked by a thousand watts, or knowing exactly what the other person was thinking, or feeling that you had to be close to said person or you were sure you would die of want. No. It was certainly not a normal attraction that was going on between him and Malfoy... After all, he couldn't be considered one of the most powerful wizards of the age if he wasn't able to notice the subtle energy fluctuations that occurred between two bonded partners.

Now, that was the eye of the storm, so to speak.

He spotted the small pub across the street from his apartment building and decided to go in for a beer… or four. He knew he shouldn't drink when he was in such a mental state, but the circumstances virtually compelled it. He entered the Irish tavern and headed towards the bar, finding an empty stool in the farthest corner. He had been there a couple of times before, and he found the cheery atmosphere of the small pub quite appealing. A box placed on the opposite side of the bar was showing a football game, and there were a few patrons gathered around it, holding their beers and shouting with and without reason. Several tables were already occupied even this early (it was only eight o'clock) and Harry guessed correctly that the place would be packed within the hour. Once, he would have scowled at the thought, but today he found that the last thing he wanted was solitude.

Harry ordered his beer, downing it in just a few swigs the second the bartender had placed it in front of him. A jukebox was playing some oldie in the background, and he wondered what was it with pubs like this one to always have both a TV set and a music system on at the same time. He pointed at his empty bottle and the bartender replaced it with a new one, which also received the same treatment as its predecessor.

As predicted, more people started to show up after Harry's third beer... or was it his fourth already? Couples, mixed groups, and the occasional lone wolf made their way towards the quickly-vanishing empty seats. The group around the telly had broken off after the game had ended and had taken their commentary to their respective tables. The music was loud and strumming and people's voices and laughter were starting to rise under the effects of their spirit of choice. All the while, Harry concentrated on numbing his brain, which was relentlessly revolving with thoughts of Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy. Just thinking about that name made his head spin.

Out of its own volition, his traitorous mind started to conjure images of the blond Slytherin: Draco lying on his back, gloriously naked; his luscious mouth swollen from kissing and nibbling and his eyes half-closed and glassy with want. Harry could see him throwing his head backwards, biting his lower lip hard in need; exposing the delicate column of his throat that just begged for Harry's attention. His silvery-blond strands cascaded around his face and shoulders in delicious disarray, compelling Harry to run his hands through those silky locks, to drown in Draco's unique scent. He could hear the blond moaning as Harry trailed his tongue down his flushed neck, the hollow spot between his sharp collarbones, the hard planes of his chest; tasting the intoxicating mead of Draco's lustful sweat. He could feel the blond arching under him, releasing the most wonderful cries as Harry teased a rosy, erect nipple with his teeth; played with the soft, golden curls below the blonde's navel; ran his nails over that sensitive spot on his side; bit hard on a pale shoulder as he thrust deeper, harder, faster inside of him...

Harry opened his eyes to the amused look on the bartender's face and the charged atmosphere of a crammed-full pub. He was painfully hard and not just a little drunk, and he couldn't bring himself to wonder what he had done or said to earn himself the glass of dry scotch the man had placed before him with a knowing smirk on his face. To tell the truth, he didn't give a damn. He downed the contents in one gulp, feeling the hard liquor burn a path down his throat as he asked for the tab. A couple of minutes later he found himself out in the cold night, feeling no better than he had when he had entered the pub.

He crossed the street and went straight for his apartment building. The concierge eyed him curiously as he stumbled towards the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. Once outside his apartment door he fumbled for keys he couldn't find, and without further ado he muttered an unlocking charm. He closed the door behind him with a bang, turning on the lights as he walked into the living room... to stop dead in his tracks.

"Hello, Harry," Ginny said from the couch; her face unreadable.

"Ginny? What...What are you doing here?" Harry croaked out as he tried to cover his surprise by taking off his jacket and dropping it over the kitchen counter. Ginny didn't seem to register the thoughtlessness of his question.

"I Floo-ed the Ministry, but they said you had already left. I was worried. Where have you been?" She stood up, walking towards her fiancé; her chocolate gaze fixed on him.

"I… I stopped for a few drinks on my way home," Harry stuttered. "It has been a trying day." He couldn't find anything else to say.

"You forgot to call. And you're drunk," she said in a tone that implied disappointment. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms over her bosom, and Harry was assaulted by a wave of guilt when he remembered his broken promise. He couldn't look her in the eye.

"Yeah," he said eventually; although, which statement he was admitting to, he didn't know. Harry braced himself for the explosion that was guaranteed to occur. He was somewhat inebriated, but he wasn't so drunk as to delude himself into thinking that Ginny was not aware of everything that had transpired that day.

However, the shouting fit he had expected never came. Instead, Ginny's mouth was suddenly searching his desperately, and her soft curves were flush against him. One of her hands found its way down his front, rubbing his aching need though the rough material of his jeans whilst the other tangled itself in his hair, pulling at the black locks. Harry couldn't stop the guttural groan that escaped his lips.

"Oh, Circe, Harry! Where were you? I was so worried!" she gasped between their frenzied kisses, and the lust dripping from her voice sent a bolt straight to his groin. "Take me, Harry. I want to feel you. I need you," she moaned against his ear; her hands now pulling at his shirt.

"Oh, Ginny..." Harry responded by grabbing her roughly by the sides and holding her up, placing her legs around his waist as he pushed her against the wall; tugging her skirt up and over her thighs. Ginny managed to remove his shirt and started attacking his neck and collarbones, sucking roughly to leave a mark as she ran her nails down his back. Harry could feel the blood rushing from his head and down his body to flood through his throbbing member. He knew he couldn't wait any longer. Ginny pushed back to look at him with wanting, demanding eyes, and all he could do was sink into that familiar pool of desire and want; the only thing he could make any sense of in his shattered world. He opened his jeans' button and zipper with shaking fingers and, without hesitation, buried himself deep inside her welcoming heat. He didn't want to think anymore; he just wanted to let go and feel.

Harry closed his emerald eyes at the well-known sensations, to the wave of simple pleasure hitting his spinal chord; relishing in the safe haven he was being provided with as Ginny's moans and cries resonated loudly in his ears with each one of his hard, desperate thrusts.

But that was a mistake...

Inside his head, delicate curves gave way to sharp angles and chiselled planes; red curls turned into silvery-blond locks, and brown eyes glowed startling grey. The hands that were trailing heated paths over his shoulders and chest were no longer small and gentle, but strong and determined. The legs around his waist urging him deeper and faster were long and slender, and every inch of flesh he reached was firm and hard beneath his fingertips. Then, he was no longer in his living room, and it was not Ginny in his arms. Draco Malfoy was looking up at him, mercury eyes locked with his as he moaned and panted; the most delicious smirk Harry had ever seen etched on his parted, swollen, bitten lips.

Fuck me, Harry… Fuck me hard… I want you all… Yes… Just like that… Oh, fuck!

"Gods!" Harry yanked his eyes open at the same time his body crossed the edge of release. He came hard, furiously. His whole body was shaking, racked by the powerful wave of his orgasm. His eyes rolled to the back of his head; his heart was hammering in his chest and he was breathing in between short, painful gasps. He was being thoroughly kissed by an agile mouth, and his ears gathered the soft, intermittent words: "Yes, baby… Gods, that was good… Oh, Harry…"

His heart froze in his chest. He looked up to see the sedated, chocolate gaze of Ginny as she leaned her head against the wall. Her dress was ripped open and her legs were practically dangling around his waist. "I love you… Oh, how much I love you," she murmured; still lost in her afterglow.

Harry brought his arms around her lithe frame and held her fiercely against him as if she were a lifeline, feeling dread and despair spreading through him. His eyes stung with unshed tears and he shivered, helpless and confused. His breath caught in his throat as she pulled back and planted her feet on the floor with a smile, offering her hand to him. He took it without a second thought, and she led them into the bedroom, muttering a spell to turn off the lights.

She softly pushed him onto the mattress, magically removing both of their clothes clothes and getting them under the covers.

"I'm staying with you tonight," she said with a sly grin.

He didn't question her decision; he didn't even ask if it was wise, or if her parents would agree, as he would have done another time.

Harry just let her do as she pleased that night, because, for the love of all that was holy, he didn't know what to do anymore.

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TBC...