Author: Etherea.

Rating: T – PG-13 (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable… I hope.)

Disclaimer: I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. I humbly bow before the goddess who created it and marvel at her genius, hoping to not awake her wrath at my pitiable attempts to do her creation justice with my amateur stories. I do own the plot, though; but I hope it's pretty superfluous of me to say that I'm not making a Knut out of it. It's just a faithful fan's work anyway, born out of the mere respect and awe for the wonderful characters she has fashioned. So please, don't sue.

Author Note: (Dodges rotten tomatoes thrown by irate readers) I'M SO, SO, SO SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER! I know my excuses will be completely pitiful to you, but still, I never expected to take this long! Real life has taken some unexpected turns lately (I might be moving to Toronto, Canada soon) and also the chapter became some sort of a monster. It grew a lot from my original outline (go figure! o0) to the point that I had to make it a two-part instalment. The second part will be posted in a few days… I promise!

Again, I'm really sorry for the long wait! You all have my unconditional love for all your support and wonderful reviews! Love you all!

Anyway. On with Chapter 7, Part One, then…

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Ethereal Desire

Chapter Seven

The Other Face of the Mirror

(Part I)

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A high-pitched, unbelievably loud screech reminiscent of a campaigning Banshee crushed the stillness of the small bedroom. Harry sat up in a flash, looking wildly around for any signs of the disturbance, and thoroughly regretted the action when a sudden bolt of pain ran through his head. Wincing at the maddening sound, he finally recognized it as one of Ginny's 'Wake Up' spells. Groaning and muttering not-too-kind expletives, he flicked his right hand; half a second later the awful noise stopped abruptly, leaving thousands of tiny bells ringing in his ears. The magical clock on his bedside table smartly informed him that it was 'Time to Wake Up', which, knowing Ginny, meant that it was too early still to be up: the redheaded girl had certainly inherited some of her mother's trademark habits.

The raven-haired man swung his legs over the side of the bed, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. One would think the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World could hold his alcohol a little better, he thought bitterly as he picked up his glasses from the nightstand and moved on unsteady legs to the bathroom. After taking care of his most pressing needs and putting on a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, he walked through the small living room into the adjacent kitchen, where an Ever-Hot pot of coffee was waiting for him next to a folded piece of parchment with the words 'Read Me' written on top of it in Ginny's flowery script. Harry picked up the note and read:

I didn't want to wake you when I left. Coffee has Hangover Potion mixed in it. You should have known better! Here she had drawn one of those animated smiley faces she was so fond of using; it was sticking its tongue out at him, and Harry's lips turned into a pathetic scowl at the sight of it. Don't forget dinner today at seven; Mum wants to discuss some of the places we've been looking at. We'll talk then. Good luck today at work! P.S: Had a good time last night... A pink kiss stamped on the paper was what she used for a signature, and the raven-haired man stared at it for some time, unable to discern the maelstrom of feelings taking place in his already upset stomach.

Holding back a moan of misery, Harry grabbed the pot of coffee and poured himself a cupful. He had been considering not taking any Hangover Potion, at least not for a few more minutes, just so he could enjoy a head free of undesirable thoughts –never mind the pounding headache- for a little bit longer; but it seemed that his caffeine addiction was more compelling and the strong aroma coming from the steaming cup too much of a temptation, for he ended up giving up on his petty whims and took a sip of the hot, black liquid. Harry closed his eyes in pure bliss as he felt the nearly-instantaneous effects of both the dark brew and the healing potion.

Early morning sunlight entered freely through the windows, bathing the white walls of the adjacent living room in bluish shades. Harry moved and sat on his cosy, red leather sofa and propped his bare feet on the small coffee table, cup in hand. The only other furniture around him were two second-hand, mis-matched armchairs, an old bookcase filled with pictures and Quidditch memorabilia, and a small wall unit housing his TV set, stereo system, and DVD player. Harry stared at his scarce possessions with an air of melancholy as he sipped at his coffee, feeling his headache recede almost completely.

His flat wasn't much in terms of luxury and space; in fact, the heating broke down constantly and the traffic noise coming from the outside was unbearable at rush hours, but it was his. His place. Not a cupboard, not a spare room, not a shared dorm, but his own, self-maintained, rented apartment. There might be a few cranky floor neighbours that he tolerated out of sheer politeness and the concierge was a completely meddlesome pain in the arse, granted, but that didn't really bother him. It wasn't as if he hadn't had to endure worse before. And he really was comfortable here. Living in a Muggle district allowed him the little privacy he could have being who he was -nosy neighbours put aside- and he didn't really need a steadfast heating system when he could very well cast a Warming Charm. But apparently, his flat was too small, too cold, too bare; the building was too old, it couldn't be connected to the Floo Network as it simply didn't have any chimneys, and the location was just 'wrong', as Mrs. Weasley was always so keen to remind him: there were no parks, no schools, no sites of interest in the near vicinity except for the few bars and commodity shops on his block. In short, his little haven was, plainly put, a bachelor crib, and was in no way suited for a young married couple, not to mention a family home…

"Bloody Hell," he swore quietly, his face grim as he looked into the black depths of his mug. A few seconds passed by and it still hadn't revealed any answers, nor had it magically erased everything that had transpired yesterday. Perhaps he was simply asking for too much, as always.

People use to say that everything is brighter in the morning; that things don't seem as impossible with the arrival of a new day, when one's head is clear and open. Harry knew by experience that that was pure rubbish. When the new day comes, the initial shock has faded; therefore, one is able to realise exactly how fucked up things are. That doesn't make them any easier. That only makes them more real and inevitable. That only makes it imperative for you to move and deliver.

At least in theory.

Harry sighed in the solitude of his living room, staring at one of the magical pictures –one of him and Ginny at the Burrow- sitting on the bookcase. He honestly didn't know what to do this time. It wasn't as if he could show up in his shiny Auror robes, throw a couple of hexes here and there, and save the day again. That was what he was trained to do; that's how he knew how to handle 'tough' situations; but this was not the kind of circumstances he was used to dealing with, and Harry had to admit it to himself: he was in way over his head. He felt as if he had stepped into one of those Salvador Dali paintings Hermione loved so much.

The irony of it all was so unfathomable Harry thought it might just choke him. Marriage. Family. Children. Home. Bond. Funny how those five little words are so seemingly, so easily interconnected. They belong together; they complement each other, as if they'd been conceived from the same concept, sprung from the same source. Love, isn't it? They have worked together for generations and generations of human evolution, as if part of some universal order, some carefully-balanced equation. Then why, in Merlin's beard, did it always seem that, when it came down to him, not even the simplest, most basic rules applied? Why did everything have to turn into a big, twisted mess with Harry Potter?

To be completely honest, he wasn't even sure if he believed in Love… at least in the everlasting, unconditional type, which in itself was another irony altogether. His mother had died for him because she loved him; it was her Love which had protected him from the most evil of forces and yet, Harry had never had the chance to be truly touched by it, to experience it; he had been merely a baby when that same Love wrenched his chances away. Growing up, Love remained a mysterious subject, as well; the Dursleys might have taught him many things about life and people, but 'Love' was certainly not in the syllabus. His friends loved him dearly, and yes, he believed he loved them back. They cared for each other and were always there whenever the other needed them, but would they jump in front of the Killing Curse for him without hesitation, without a second thought, as his mother had? What is more, would he, really?

Was it unbelievably selfish of him to even be pondering that?

Ginny always said she loved him, and he supposed –no, scratch that; he knew it was true, for she had proved it in many ways. She had waited for him, she had understood him when the moment came; she had given him all her support, always. But there were times when these hideous doubts would sneak into his head and whisper to him that she would have never looked at him twice if he weren't Harry Potter. It felt awful to question her feelings like that, but sometimes he couldn't help it; he was only human –Colin Creevey's beliefs notwithstanding. Nevertheless, would she love him the same if he were an ordinary lad; if he wasn't the great promise everybody said; thought he was? Did she love Harry Potter, the man, or was she in love with Harry Potter, the myth? Of course, she had had all the time in the world to get to know who he truly was beyond all the crap The Prophet and Witch Weekly kept printing on their front pages, but Harry had learned the hard way that not even his closest friends were impervious to confuse the two...

Maybe that was the reason why he could never tell Ginny he loved her while looking her in the eye. How could he, when he wasn't even sure he knew what it really felt like to love and to be loved? Perhaps he just didn't really love her like he should. Perhaps he was just letting himself get caught up in the circumstances. Perhaps he was so desperate to know what Love is that he was willing to bargain any kind of affection so he could at least have a glimpse of the real thing.

Was he a bad person for that?

No, he wasn't. It wasn't his fault that he had become an orphan at fifteen months of age. It wasn't his fault that he had grown up with relatives who despised him and reminded him what a disgrace he was every single day. It wasn't his fault that the first real hug he had ever gotten had come from his best friend's mother, just as it wasn't his fault that he had been welcomed into their family, that he was cherished and cared for as one of their own. And it surely wasn't his fault if he was reluctant to let that go, lest he wouldn't be able to find it anywhere else...

Oh, what in Merlin's name was he thinking? Of course he loved Ginny! He was very happy with her and he did want to marry her! Why the hell did he propose, then, if he wasn't sure about their feelings for each other; if he doubted that she was the one for him? It was this… bond talking; that was it! It was confusing him and making him think about things he had never thought about –or felt, for that matter- before! He would not have any of it, especially not now, when his life was finally starting to make some sense! He deserved happiness! He deserved some stability in his life! It was about time that he got off this rollercoaster ride for once and for all!

Placing his half-emptied cup on the table a bit too harshly, Harry leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He couldn't allow the situation –however unbelievable and dreadful as it might be- to throw him off-centre. He destroyed a bloody Dark Lord when he was seventeen years old; surely he could deal with this? He just had to be rational. He just had to focus on the problem at hand and think. Nothing happens for no reason; everything has a logical explanation, no matter how unlikely. He just had to figure out what it was he was missing so he could come up with a solution.

"Ok, Harry," he breathed. "Focus now. What do you know about bonds?"

He pressed hard at his temples as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The memory came to his mind as soon as he summoned it. Charms Class, Sixth Year. It had been very cold that day, being the end of winter. Ron had been complaining about his runny nose the whole morning and Hermione had fussed about him not taking the Tylenol tabs she had offered him for his cold. The class had been somewhat boring, as it had only been theory; they hadn't been allowed to attempt the Bonding Charms on each other. Harry could almost see old Professor Flitwick in front of him, standing on a pile of dusty books, going on and on about the significance of Bonding Magic...

There are two major types of Bonding Charms, and each one has several variations, depending on the level of commitment the witch or wizard is aiming for, Flitwick had said. The first one, which happens to be the most common, is the Magical Oath –or Wizards Oath, as most people call it. It's a magical contract, which may be pledged to others or to oneself. One swears to uphold the clauses specified in the Oath, and depending on which type of oath one is agreeing to, failing to comply with its specifications may incur temporary or life-long consequences and, in some cases, immediate death. Some examples of Magical Oaths are the Unbreakable Vow and some forms of Fidelius

The second type is the Magical Mark, Flitwick had continued after a brief interruption caused by one of Hermione's questions; Harry remembered that his –and most of the class', really- curiosity had peaked considerably by that point. This Bonding Charm is one of the most elaborated and customizable of the two. The parties swear an oath, very much like a Magical Oath, but there's also the stamping of a special symbol on a place of choice on their bodies as a tangible reminder of their agreement. This mark creates a magical link –a 'bond'- between the partners that cannot be broken unless the contract is terminated, which is, more often than not, by death. In ancient times, the Magical Mark was used between spouses to seal their wedding vows. However, few wizards and witches perform this charm as part of their nuptial ceremonies nowadays, preferring the subtler, less permanent wedding band as a symbol of their union. People had laughed then -Harry hadn't been able to- as Professor Flitwick gave them one of his mildly-reproving frowns. Nevertheless, it doesn't mean it's not still being used. The Magical Mark can take many forms and adapt to many, many purposes. It's a very powerful, very delicate type of Bonding Charm, and like any Charm, must not be taken lightly. That particular comment had brought about a deep, nervous silence from the class, and Harry had been quite aware of the not-so-subtle stares he was receiving from his fellow classmates.

However, there is a different kind of Bonding Magic; one that is completely independent of control or intent, and which, unfortunately, has fallen prey to a lot of speculation and superstition, the professor had continued in his usual light-hearted way, which always helped defuse a charged atmosphere. The Natural Bond is different from the rest simply because it is, as it's name infers, created 'naturally' between the parties under very specific, very special circumstances. It's not the result of any incantation or ritual, and therefore, its properties may vary significantly with any given case, as there are not two Natural Bonds alike. As for these special circumstances in which a Natural Bond may be formed –for, as we already know, there is nothing definite with Magic- we can count, for example, the relationship between a mother and her child or between twin siblings. Also, there are records of Natural Bonds being formed due to a powerful Life Debt. For generations, wizards have tried to reproduce the benefits of these bonds but have been unsuccessful so far, as nobody really knows what makes two independent souls bind so spontaneously, so intimately together, to the point –in some cases- of relying entirely on each other for their survival…

Harry had felt somewhat unnerved by that last statement. The infamous prophecy had been a constant weight in his mind back then, and it hadn't been few the times he wondered –and feared- how much of themselves he and Voldemort truly shared. It wasn't surprising, then, that he could barely recall Hermione making another one of her comments; one that had interested him for a reason, but he couldn't remember what it was about at the moment. Flitwick had resumed the lesson shortly after, and Harry supposed he must have been caught in his own thoughts –of darkness and evil madmen, no doubt- for he couldn't tell what else was said until the end of class. Gratefully, he had been more focused during Auror Training, where they had run over the most basic aspects of Magical Bonds: some Magical Bonds create a psychic link between the two partners, enabling them to sense each other's emotions, and even their thoughts in some cases; most Magical Bonds require constant physical closeness; the most powerful Magical Bonds are nearly impossible to break.

Right now, Harry knew just one thing: whatever this bond between Malfoy and himself meant, it didn't spurt over night.

How truly perceptive of you, Potter, he thought sombrely, and his own inner voice sounded much more like Snape's than he was comfortable with.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! This is pointless! I have a life, damn it! If Voldemort and his minions couldn't ruin it, this bond certainly won't! I have to get ready for work. Because I have a job now. A real one. A normal one. And a fiancé. I don't have time for this rubbish," Harry added after a short pause, exasperated. He was very aware that he was talking to himself, but he didn't care what it might say about his current state of mind; he didn't have to be a genius to know he was not 'okay' at the moment. Who would be, under the circumstances? This was the most impossible of impossible situations! How could he even begin to plan a course of action when he didn't even know how he had gotten himself into it in the first place? Who could he turn to for help? Worse yet, how could he attempt to explain it to somebody else when he himself didn't understand it at all? If he had to choose, the only person he would turn to about this would be Albus Dumbledore, but one, it would be quite embarrassing for Harry to explain the most… significant aspects of what he'd been experiencing to his old Mentor, and two, he really didn't want to find out what Dumbledore, being the batty wizard that he was, would come up with for a solution; Merlin knew Albus sometimes overestimated his own abilities, which was not denying the powerful wizard that he was, but… Oh, shit! Did Albus know about the bond? It would be stupid of Harry to think he didn't… Fuck, fuck, fuck! Apart from himself, who else had been able to pick on the bond's vibe? What if the press found out about it? It would be nothing short of Judgement Day arriving early; that much was for certain…

Gods. This was, without a doubt, the most disheartening trail of thought to have at 7:30 in the morning, twelve hours before facing his fiancé and her exuberant family to discuss their approaching wedding.

Harry picked up his half-forgotten cup of coffee, feeling cantankerous and frustrated beyond belief, and was about to take one last sip of the cooling beverage –his head completely clear by now… most regrettably- when his eyes fell on another one of the moving pictures on his bookcase. It was a picture of Hermione and himself, standing under their favourite tree by the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. It had been taken during their Seventh Year, before Hogwarts was closed. Harry couldn't tell how many times he had looked at that photograph, so he was very familiar with the smiling faces and the enthusiastic waving being performed by their pictured selves. This time, however, there was a person in the background, half-hidden by some trees near the frame, Harry was quite sure hadn't been there before. He deposited the mug on the table once more, stood up, and moved towards the bookcase.

"You've got to be kidding me," he breathed, utterly dismayed, when he picked up the magical photograph.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against one of the trees behind him and Hermione, apparently reading, but Harry noticed that he would send furtive glances from time to time to where he and Hermione were standing. Harry was about to touch the picture Malfoy, mystified, when the little blond realised that he was being watched and moved quickly to hide behind the tree, completely out of sight.

"What is happening between us, Draco? What have you done to me?" he muttered, staring at the spot where the picture Draco had just been. Harry waited a few moments to see if the proud Slytherin would step out of his hiding place, and when it was obvious that he wasn't going to, the raven-haired man put the picture back again in his place, brow furrowed. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Evidently, Malfoy had always been in the photograph; he just hadn't let himself be seen. Another irony if Harry ever knew one. He'd had a picture of Draco Malfoy, the pivotal key in his current mess, for years now sitting on his bookcase, and he just found out about it today.

This was bordering on fatuous.

The raven-haired man shook his head, feeling a strange urge to laugh hysterically. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. The name sounded so alien and yet so strangely familiar coming out of his mouth…

Harry couldn't remember the exact moment he realised he didn't 'hate' Draco anymore, but he was sure it hadn't been yesterday. Somewhere between that last quarrel at the end of fifth year and leaving Hogwarts to face the recently-saved, real world, all that animosity he had felt towards the blond Slytherin had completely disappeared. Lost its appeal; its relevance. Once, Harry would go mad trying to figure out what the haughty boy was up to next; in fact, he had even thought at one point that there was a distinct possibility that he was obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Harry had practically lived for those heated moments in the corridors, the vicious glares during Potions Class, the airborne battles on the Quidditch Field. Draco, in all his infuriating, sardonic, condescending glory, somehow reminded him that he could still be a normal boy; that he could have inconsequential things on his mind other than facing certain death at the age of sixteen. In a way, Harry was grateful for the respite.

But all that changed and the time came for Harry when all that mattered was fulfilling his imposed duty and survive, relegating Draco and their epical parody to a point where he practically didn't even exist for the raven-haired wizard anymore. Actually, Harry didn't think he had thought about the blond at all during those last three years. Even when he had led the inquiries for Draco's case, he had carried his duty with some kind of detachment; it was just another job to get done. Hell, he had completely forgotten about the damn hearing! That's how much Draco Malfoy mattered to him. Harry truly regretted it now, though. If he had paid more attention to Draco in the past, things would have been quite different now, like Dumbledore had said in that memory. Although, how exactly so, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Still, there was a time when Draco Malfoy was all he could think about. The blond had always been at the forefront of his thoughts in one way or another since the day Harry had first laid eyes on him at Madam Malkin's: Malfoy and his hideous attitude, Malfoy and his stupid goons, Malfoy and his childish pranks, Malfoy and his evil father, Malfoy the juvenile Death Eater, Malfoy and his stupid hatred. Malfoy always grating on his nerves; Malfoy always sending him to the edge; Malfoy always, stubbornly, irritably, irremediably there!

Until he wasn't. The next thing Harry knew, Draco Malfoy was completely insignificant to him, and all that… passion or hatred or whatever that had once unwillingly drawn him to the pointy-faced boy faded away like wisps of smoke, leaving but a blurred image of a past had-been that ultimately hadn't been anything at all.

"Until yesterday…" Harry murmured, deep in thought.

Insistent tapping shook him from his mental wanderings –noticing just then that he had been staring at the photograph all this time- and Harry looked up to see a brown owl perched outside on his windowsill. The raven-haired man moved on weary legs to open his window, pushing his glasses over his nose as he did so. The owl came inside with a swirl of wings and landed gracefully on top of the back of the closest armchair.

Harry hadn't yet untied the scroll of parchment from its leg and he already knew who had sent the letter. His flat was protected with special Warding Charms; he didn't want to be in a position where he'd have to explain to hysterical Muggles why their precious building had been taken over by hundreds of feathered assailants –or dozens of masked lunatics, for that matter- thus only a handful of people knew how to contact him by Owl Post. A bright grin appeared on his face as he broke the crimson wax seal. Amongst those people were Angelina, Mrs. Weasley –who unlike the rest of her family was still reluctant to use the cell phone Harry had given Ron for his birthday; plus, she was always sending him food and whatnot-, Fred and George –who, although they loved Muggle technology, still thought that Owl Post was the best way to handle… er… special packages-, Dumbledore, Remus, and…

Monday, September the 10th, 2001

Dearest Harry,

Paris is wonderful! You have no idea how much fun I've had! The weather is simply lovely, and there are just so many things to do here… it's like visiting for the first time! The lecture on 'Magical Ecological Economy and Its Impact on Large-Scale Potion-making' was astoundingly informative; although, I hardly concur with Le Roche's theories on 'zodiacal harvesting', as he calls it. 'Each magical herb and fungi is intrinsically linked to a particular zodiacal sign; there's a 40 possibility that crops would turn out to be three times more productive, resulting in a significant saving on land and human resources, if the cultivation processes were to be attuned to their specific sign's annual cycles', he proposed. Can you believe that? I've never heard such rubbish since third year! There was a moment when I almost thought I was back in Trelawney's classroom. Ugh! I still shudder at the memory. Still, I sat through the whole thing because Zachariah Manistee's thesis on the preservation of magical ecosystems was right after it, and I simply wasn't going to miss that one…

"Of course not, Mione," Harry chuckled softly, his eyes unusually bright, as he read his best friend's missive which, as always, was several inches long – made of recycled parchment, of course. Hermione considered the Owl Postal Service one of the Wizarding World's most significant traditions, so she was very adamant on its continual use to guarantee its perpetuation. For a Muggleborn witch, she was very old-fashioned in many ways.

Harry dropped unceremoniously into a chair and adjusted his glasses once more. His friend's handwriting was crisp and fluid, with not a dot or a dash missing. Harry felt an awful pang of guilt as he remembered his earlier thoughts, and not only because right then he realised how much he had missed the bushy-haired witch; he seriously could do with some of her advice at the moment. Smiling sheepishly, he returned his attention to the letter.

How's everything back home? How's work? Is Ron still mad I didn't allow him to home-sit my flat whilst I was gone? You know how he gets around the computer! (Last time he formatted the hard drive –he still denies it to this very day- and I had to reinstall everything! Not to mention all the data I lost! Thank goodness I had most of it backed up in my laptop and the zip unit was hidden in my panty drawer.)

Ginny mentioned in her letter that Malfoy's hearing was today. I haven't had the chance to check the evening newspapers yet –we've been locked in the auditorium all day- so I can only imagine how it went. I have the slight suspicion that Malfoy got out of it somehow, didn't he? I mean, if your team didn't find anything to incriminate him, I doubt there was anything there at all. And don't you dare tell Ginny I said that!

I'm coming back home on Wednesday around 4 p.m. Maybe I can come over so we can have dinner or something? I'll tell you everything about my trip, and you can tell me about the hearing; you know I always prefer a firsthand account of events! How does 8 o'clock sound? That way I have time to rest a bit and spend some time with Crooks –hopefully he won't hate me so much for abandoning him this time. Honestly, that cat's getting moodier every day! Do you think he needs a girlfriend? Not that he doesn't spend every single night gallivanting around the neighbourhood…Oh, well. I'll get him some special treats at the Patisserie; you know how much he loves éclairs. I'll get us some for dessert, as well; there is this charm I learned from Messier Mignon (the hotel's chef) to keep soufflés and such things fresh that I want to try.

Anyway, it's almost time for dinner at the salon, so I have to go. You know I've never liked scheduled meals, but here they help with the socializing, so I can't complain. Take care, Harry, and we'll see each other soon!

Much love,

Hermione.

PS: Oh, I almost forgot! I visited the Centre Pompidou yesterday. It's simply astonishing, Harry! It takes my breath away every time I step foot in there. You have to promise to visit it someday! There's this ongoing exhibition on the Dada movement… I have no words for it! There were a few paintings by the Brazilian surrealist Ivo Blasi which truly intrigued me. Fascinating pieces, really. I know you think that Surrealism doesn't have any sense whatsoever and it's like stepping into 'the twisted mind of some wacko', but Harry, that's exactly it! The only way you'll ever understand the meaning, the reason behind all of it, is allowing yourself to get caught inside the dream and look at it from the inside; to let your subconscious tell you what your conscious mind doesn't permit. You'd be surprise at the wisdom it hides…

Harry stared at the crisp parchment without really focusing on what was written on it. For some reason, his friend's words had steered his thoughts towards a completely different subject, compelling his uncooperative brain into action. Just as if some switch had been flicked inside his head, his mind started tying up apparent loose ends and unrelated events, pinpointing bits of conversation and facts and extrapolating them into his current predicament in a bash of unprecedented concentration. All of the sudden, a spark of inspiration like none he had had in a long time flashed right through him.

Until yesterday.

"The memory..." Harry stated; his green eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh, Hermione! You're brilliant!" he exclaimed, jumping from the armchair. He grabbed the forgotten cup of coffee from the table and sprinted to pour its cold remnants into the drain, leaving it unwashed in the kitchen sink before rushing towards his bedroom, ignoring the owl's indignant hooting and fluttering.

"Ok, Harry. You need a plan," he told himself; determination filling his every cell. First things first, though: a cold shower to clear his head. Then, he'd have to make a few calls. The owl could wait a few minutes after such a long trip, couldn't it?

Whatever. He was a man on a mission, and he had very important things to do today. He'd worry about duty later.

For once.

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"Don't tell me you've been here all night."

Severus Snape walked into the dim-lit library of Snape Manor with his unique, detached grace and that seemingly-perpetual scowling expression on his face that somehow played an interesting contrast with his more relaxed morning attire, which consisted of black tailored trousers and a pale grey, collarless shirt. His footsteps were muffled on the plush carpet, but he knew that his presence had not gone unnoticed, despite the lack of response.

The Snape library was quite impressive: a regal room decorated with dark wood furnishings and dark green fabrics that took up most of the west wing on the second floor of the mansion. Countless stands and racks sat against almost every wall housing thousands of volumes, Muggle and Magical alike, catalogued by subject, author, and timeline; an excellent collection -considered one of the best in the whole of Wizarding Britain- which in itself spoke of the inquiring nature of the exceptional minds bred by the Snape bloodline for generations. There were several workstations placed in strategic spots around the room, elaborately carved and surprisingly comfortable, specially designed for long hours of study. The illumination was provided by beautiful bronze candelabra hanging from the ceiling when the rich velvet curtains were drawn, which was the case today. A grand marble fireplace on the left wall was always lighted no matter the season, giving the room an almost unexpected cosiness, that combined with the smell of polished ebony and ageless parchment lingering in the air complemented and in some ways even enhanced the whole scholarly atmosphere. If Draco had indeed spent the whole night here as Severus presumed, it wouldn't be such a surprise. Time didn't exist in the house of Athena.

"You should have gotten some rest, Draco. You had quite a stressful day yesterday," Severus commented when his godson still hadn't acknowledged him. The blond wizard, currently surrounded by piles and piles of books and parchments, finally looked up from his spot at one of the desk tables in the middle of the room and regarded him with a sneer of his own.

"I didn't know you cared," he said lightly, returning to his perusing of old, yellowing pages and note-taking. The Potions Master gave him a devious look before moving towards the large windows on the adjacent wall and drawing the heavy curtains open with a resounding 'whoosh'. Morning sunshine poured into the spacious room like liquid gold, making the blond man squint at the sudden brightness.

"I had those closed for a reason, you know?" Draco whined petulantly as he closed the book he had been reading and proceeded to rub his eyes. He hadn't quite finished his sentence when dozens of owls appeared out of nowhere and started tapping incessantly on the immaculate glass of the windows. Severus gave the birds a disgusted look before directing his narrowed eyes to his godson.

"If you don't do something about those damn pests, believe me, I will. I know there must be some use for owl entrails," he said lowly, now glaring poisoned daggers at one particularly relentless tawny, which was pushing its claws and beak through a small gap between the window panels, working to push it open. Draco resisted the urge to laugh at his godfather's antics and settled for sitting back in his chair.

"It's not my fault that I'm adored by the public," he commented with a cheeky grin as he stretched like a Siamese cat. The blond then clapped his hands lazily and, two seconds later, Dixie the house-elf was standing right next to him.

"Good morning, Master Draco, Sir. What is Master wanting, Sir?" she said in her unmistakably screechy voice as she bowed deeply before him. Draco regaled her with one of his most infamous, sugar-coated smiles.

"Good morning to you, too, Dixie. I would like some coffee, please. I don't know if my godfather wants anything," he said sweetly, pointedly looking at the black-haired man now flapping and 'shoo'-ing angrily at the invaders, who had joined efforts with the tawny owl in its clever endeavour. The house-elf jumped at the sight of her favourite master and stared at him with the brightest smile to ever adorn a house-elf's face.

"Master Snape! Dixie didn't know Master was already awake! Is Master wanting his breakfast, Master, Sir? Dixie will have it ready as quick as lightning, Sir!"

"Master is not hungry this morning, Dixie. Master has suddenly lost his appetite," Severus scowled as he settled in one of the armchairs scattered near the desk Draco occupied, begrudgingly admitting defeat against the horde of owls. "Although, Master would like some dark tea, now that he thinks about it," he muttered as an afterthought, ignoring Draco's amused look. The house-elf bowed low and happily before she disappeared with a loud 'pop'.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked at last with an innocent smile. Severus stopped brushing invisible lint from his shirt to give him a flat look.

"No thanks to you. Those damn owls have been tapping on every window in this damn house all night. I'm starting to think I would have preferred your sultry moans," he added in a tone dripping sarcasm. Draco threw his head back as he let out a bark of laughter.

"I told you, you enjoyed it!" he teased as he brushed blond locks from his mercury eyes with a casual gesture. "Unfortunately for you, I spent all night doing research... for nothing." There was a dry scowl on his face as he waved dismissively towards the piles of books on the desk. Severus raised one dark eyebrow.

"And what, pray tell, are you researching?"

The blond let out a long-suffering sigh. "Wouldn't you want to know," he drawled as he sank deeper into the chair. Severus glared at him. "Oh, well. I started with Nesci Amator, but there was nothing about it... At least nothing more than what I already knew. Then I moved to Locking and Guarding Spells for personal journals..." He gestured to the black diary lying on top of some parchment, glaring at it. "And then I switched to magical bonds." He gave a very unbecoming grunt. "I wish I hadn't."

Severus stood up from his chair and moved to peer over Draco's shoulder at his notes. Picking up one of the open books, he regarded his godson with a disbelieving, almost mocking look.

"'Breaking Magical Bonds and Where to Start Digging Your Own Grave'?" he inquired, reading the title of the book.

Draco snatched the rather-thick tome from his godfather's grasp and dropped it on the desk. "I told you, I have to take all the possibilities into consideration."

"And you seriously think that breaking the bond you share with Potter will solve all your problems?" There was a condescending smile on the black-haired man's face. Draco glared at him for a few moments before he gave up, shaking his head.

"It's even worse than I had originally thought." He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the desk to rest his face in his hands. "Attempting to break a Magical Bond can shut down a person's Magic permanently, but just the consequences of long-term separation for bonded partners are incredibly harmful, as well. Magical drain, physical exhaustion, mental degeneration…" Draco sighed, tilting his head to one side to look at his godfather from under his blond locks. "I suppose that in my case Animus Salutor mitigated the effects somehow, but who knows for how long? Until the Parts are reunited, all of their individual power is spent on trying to maintain the bond, as it no longer has access to the energy created by their joint magical fields. One becomes the bond's battery, so to speak, and if a reunion never happens, eventually, that's what kills you. The bond sucks you dry. Like a blood-thirsty leech." He paused for a moment before adding slowly, dryly, "I won't let that happen to me. Even if I end up a damn Squib."

"I appreciate your flair for the dramatic, Draco, but surely you see that you're taking this a little too far. Since when did you become such an extremist?" Severus sneered at his godson's indignant scowl as he moved a nearby chair in front of Draco's desk and sat down.

"You just don't understand anything, do you?" Draco spat. "Extreme, you say? Well, extreme circumstances call for extreme measures, and I certainly can't think of anything more outrageous than this whole mess! I remember all the times I wished Potter was dead; of every single time I actually thought of doing it myself… And now, everything I am is linked to him!" he said between gritted teeth. "Did you know that this bond enables him to sense my emotions, that he can even have access to my mind? For Merlin's beard, if something happens to him, I will feel it, as if it were happening to me!"

The Potions Master regarded him silently for a few moments. "Yes," he admitted. "But the connection is mutual. It's a defence mechanism, and it only works under special circumstances." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "It could prove beneficial sometime, when…" he trailed off, giving his godson a meaningful look.

"When what? When we get together? Or when this whole mess is out in the open and he realises he can't handle the pressure? Surely he'll use his end of the bond to get back at me for ruining his perfect life," the blond muttered, grey eyes narrowed.

"Draco, you must give Potter the benefit of the doubt. For your own sake," Severus said seriously. Draco laughed, albeit humourlessly.

"I can't believe you just said that," he snorted. "You of all people should know he'll play this bond to his advantage!"

"Oh, and you won't?" Severus asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Only if necessary. 'The end justifies the means'," Draco reminded absentmindedly as he examined his fingernails. He could feel his godfather's fixed stare, but he was reluctant to concede.

"Which in this case is?"

The tone Severus used made it quite clear that he was starting to lose his patience, but Draco knew his godfather enough not to consider it a threat... just a bit of a nuisance. He knew perfectly well that what was fuelling his godfather's sudden antagonism was worry. Honestly, the man worried too much! Draco was an adult now; he could take care of himself. In fact, he had been doing so for quite a while. He didn't need to discuss his decisions with anybody... even less so this particular decision.

The blond regarded his godfather with a mischievous sneer. "You don't actually believe I'm going to tell you all my evil plans?" he retorted cheekily, raising one thin, pale eyebrow. "First rule in the Spy's Handbook, Severus: 'Do not take anything for granted'."

"Oh, just like 'Consider all variables', I presume?" Severus said sardonically. "You say you want to take all possibilities into consideration, but you're ruling out the fact that Potter may actually want to be involved. You're letting this so-called vendetta of yours cloud your judgement!"

"And you've spent too much time in the old coot's company. Next thing you'll know, you'll start carrying around Chocolate Frogs in your robe pockets," Draco drawled, glancing irritably at the windows. The owls hadn't stopped their attack and the continuous rattle was starting to grate on his nerves. He idly wondered if it was against any wizarding law to cast Petrificus Totalis against Ministry property. In any case, he could plea 'not guilty', alleging temporary insanity, but he didn't think he was up to facing another tribunal from the defendant dock any time soon.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," Severus started, pointedly ignoring his godson's last remark, "Albus is right... as always," he grumbled. "Destiny is like Magic, Draco. It makes us believe we are in control, but the truth is that we aren't; not really. Those who dare reign over Magic are ruthlessly punished. I'm afraid it's the same with Fate. You and Potter are meant to be together. You can't change that, no matter how much you want to."

Draco stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments before he spoke in a firm voice, "I wish I could have yours and the Headmaster's optimism, Severus, but if there's something I've learned in my short life it is that nothing ever goes as one hopes. Even if Potter and I somehow managed to overcome the past –I mean, the part we still remember," he added dryly, "what do you think will be waiting for us? Why do you think we kept our affair a secret?"

He snorted, and added after a short pause, "What we had is gone forever. Vanished. Obliterated. And believe me, some things are better left alone. Perhaps it was Fate that decided we should have our memories modified. Perhaps it realised what an awful mistake had been done and it just merely corrected it. Some things are just not worth the trouble." Or the pain, he thought; a deep scowl engraved on his handsome features. The bitterness brought forward by yesterday's spell –by his own memories, to be more accurate- still latched at his stomach; a sour reminder of his true place where Potter was concerned.

The Potions Master stared at Draco with his inquisitive onyx eyes. He knew when to draw the line with his godson. He could tell there were a lot of things swirling in the younger wizard's mind; his eyes had turned that stormy grey, the colour of autumn rain clouds, which meant he didn't want to continue this line of conversation. Severus was torn between pushing the subject and giving in. With Draco, it was always like this: a relentless battle of wills. The blond was one of the most difficult people he had ever met in his life –and taking into consideration that he had been a close acquaintance of Tom Riddle's, that was saying a lot. Both Severus and Draco had complex personalities. Both of them always went to great extents to hide their true feelings and thoughts. Both were very skilled at pushing people's buttons. Both always wanted to have the last word. This was quite the explosive combination when it came to dealing with each other. In a way, dealing with Draco was like dealing with himself, which was a minus, not a plus, like most would believe.

He sighed and sat back in his chair. Maybe he should attempt a subtle approach. Glancing at the black journal lying atop of the pile of parchment on the desk, he remembered what he had wanted to say when he saw it on Draco's lap yesterday but had refrained due to the circumstances. He picked it up and browsed through it.

"Concealment Charm?" he asked distractedly after clearing his throat, purposely keeping his jet-black eyes on the blank pages.

Draco gave him an annoyed look that went unnoticed as he caught up with his godfather's tactic. The man didn't know when to give it up, did he? Relenting begrudgingly, he shifted so he could place his legs across one of the chair's arms. "More like a bloody magical barricade," he mumbled. "There must be like a dozen layers of spells on it, but the funny thing is that they all seem to be interconnected. I spent three hours trying to break them. What a waste of time," he added with a scowl.

"I saw you with it once," Severus said after a short while, hesitating. He ventured a glance up to Draco. "It was during the summer break before your Seventh Year. You were in the Drawing Room, writing in it." The blond merely stared back at him with unreadable mercury eyes.

"You don't remember?" the Potions Master asked, but it was more a statement.

"Amongst other things, apparently," Draco said tersely; that Malfoy mask back in place. Severus let out another tired sigh.

"Draco, sooner or later, you would have had to face this." He looked intently at his godson before continuing, "I don't want you to do something you'll regret later just because you're scared. That doesn't become you."

"I'm not scared! I know what I'm doing!" Draco said fiercely. "I appreciate your concern, Severus, but unfortunately for you this is my bloody choice, my bloody life, and it's up to me to figure out how to deal with things! Neither you, nor Dumbledore, nor Harry fucking Potter for that matter have any say in this!"

"That's where you're wrong! This does concern Potter, whether you like it or not!" the Potions master said between clenched teeth, itching to do something with his clenched hands. He reckoned that knocking some sense into the blond sitting across from him would certainly be satisfying, but he settled for running them through his raven-black hair, giving himself some time to compose.

"You have no right to make this 'decision' on your own," he added in a softer tone after a short pause; his black gaze locked on his godson. "Wait untilPotter is informed of all this. Wait until you know what he wants. Then you may decide what to do. You owe it to him; it's his bloody life, too."

This was ridiculous, Severus knew. Draco would not give in easily; not today, when everything was so fresh and the blond was still adjusting. But he had to try. It wasn't in Draco's nature to rush headlong into something like this. He'd plan, and ponder, and question, and reconsider everything all over again until he was satisfied he was making the right choice. He was the embodiment of everything that was Slytherin. He was supposed to think of his own interests, of his own well being, and Severus didn't know how turning himself into a Muggle could fit into that equation. This... desperation only belied how truly shaken his godson was, how afraid. Severus couldn't blame him, but he also couldn't let him make such an irresponsible mistake. Hell, Severus himself was scared; scared of not knowing exactly what was going through Draco's mind. He had only seen his godson this off-centred after Lucius' imprisonment, and it had not been pretty. Severus reminded himself, he had to come up with something, and soon.

"Not if I have something to do about it," the blond stated coldly, shaking his godfather from his musings. "I know how Potter will react to this. He'll make a scene and yell and cry why the Gods hate him so much to have cursed him with Draco Malfoy for a Soul Mate. I simply refuse to go through it."

Severus' lips curled in a grimace. So there was fear of rejection, as well... He refrained from commenting on that. There were some serious 'Draco issues' regarding rejection and Severus was in no disposition to get near that subject. One heated discussion with his godson was enough for one day.

"Do you, now?" he drawled, closing the damned journal and placing it carefully on the desk. Draco seemed to be about to utter one of his witty comebacks, but Dixie appeared out of the blue with a loud 'pop', holding an apparently heavy tray in her small hands. The Potions Master found he was glad for the interruption.

"Here it is, Master Draco, Master, Sirs," the elf said happily as she deposited two cups and two steaming jars on the desk. Next were two saucers with cream and honey and a basket with an assortment of biscuits and muffins.

Draco had already grabbed his cup and had started pouring copious amounts of coffee and cream into it –obviously relieved by the interruption as well- when Dixie suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Dixie nearly forgot, Master, Sir!" She started rummaging in her pink apron's front pocket. "A Ministry messenger came by and addressed this for Master Draco. He said it was a special delivery from the Wizengamot, Sir," she added as she gave a puzzled Draco a tightly-rolled piece of parchment with no less than four seals on it. With a final bow and a big, proud smile at Severus for her own efficiency, she disappeared once again.

Draco forwent his usual remarks on the house-elf's behaviour in favour of his own curiosity. He broke the seals with slightly shaky hands, unrolled the scroll, and skimmed its contents.

"I have to go to the Ministry this morning to get the deeds for my inheritance," he said in an uncharacteristically small voice at Severus' expectant frown. "I have to sign the release forms before the judges for Inheritance Affairs."

Draco sat back heavily on his chair. Even when he knew it would come –eventually-, he found himself unprepared for the relief invading his every cell. He couldn't believe it was finally over... So many years waiting for this day and, surprisingly, he didn't know what else to say.

"Certainly? I must say, I wasn't sure the Ministry would settle this matter so fast, but I suppose one must never underestimate the power of ridicule," Severus stated with a satisfied smirk on his pale face. "I don't have anything scheduled for today, so I can accompany you..."

"I would prefer it if I do this alone," Draco quickly interrupted, giving his godfather a somewhat sheepish smile. "Besides, I have to run other errands. I'm sure you'd be bored to death," he said distractedly as he poured sugar into his coffee, trying to hide his uneasiness.

Severus had to admit, he hadn't expected Draco's request. He had thought that he'd be with his godson when this day arrived and the young wizard was returned everything that was rightfully his. In a way, the Potions Master felt it was his victory, too; every single one of Draco's triumphs was as important to Severus as if they were his own. But Draco had so much to deal with at the moment that the Potions Master knew he couldn't impose his wishes on the blond.

He gave his godson a measuring look before a flat sneer sneaked subtly onto his face.

Gods, he was getting too old for this.

"Very well," he finally said, picking up his cup of tea. "You're on your own today. I'll take care of those damn owls," he added dryly, gesturing to the windows and swallowing the hurt Draco's tacit words had caused. The blond gave him a mischievous smirk, and suddenly the sting wasn't as painful anymore. Severus Snape knew right then Draco must be some sort of a weak spot for him... Although, he had suspected it for a while.

The younger wizard must have known exactly what he was thinking, for then he spoke, there was a delighted grin on his face as he brought his cup to his lips, "Gods! I love coffee!"

And Severus could only smile briefly over his own cup of bitter tea, knowing that, all-in-all, he was part of Draco's precious few, happy moments.

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A loud 'crack' broke the natural tranquillity of the lonely country road, followed by the agitated flapping of wings and trills of a few startled birds fleeing at the sound. Harry opened his eyes to a fresh autumn breeze blowing on his face, carrying with it the rich scents of dewy grass and ripe apples. The cicadas' song drifted from the surrounding yellowing trees; their intermittent 'shriek-shriek' mingling with the hiss of the wind in a happy salute to the mid-morning sun. The sky up above was bright blue and cloudless, unparalleled in this time of year, and Harry gladly took the exceptional weather as a good omen.

The raven-haired Auror started up the dirt road, squinting feebly under the blazing sun. Squirrels and small lizards scurried unexpectedly across the road and up the nearest tree as they noticed his presence, sending the bushes and shrubs on the sides into a temporary fuss in their getaway. Harry's heart was beating anxiously, steering butterflies in his stomach as it raced to match the quickened pace of his footsteps; a glimmer of perspiration was starting to show on his brow and upper lip, but other than to question his choice for attire –tailored trousers and a long-sleeve shirt under a wizard's robe-, he forbid himself any thoughts of doubt or hesitation.

A man had to do what a man had to do, after all.

A few minutes later he was facing a small intersection, where another, much narrower and visibly less-travelled road joined the one he had been walking on. Harry sprinted purposely up the new path, which was flanked by ageless oaks and elm trees. The tall trunks and the broad branches made for a much-welcomed reprieve against the sun; the air here was cooler and smelled of lichen and moist soil. The path twisted and turned amongst clusters of trees as it led him through a grove, which grew thicker and darker with every step he took. Finally, when he was starting to wonder if he had messed up the directions somehow, he reached the edge of the small wood. A grassy hill rose before him, at the top of which stood a highly wrought iron fence. Letting out a deep breath of relief, he walked towards the great iron gates standing up ahead. Beyond the fence, a ridiculously big manor rose up to the sky, surrounded by colourful, exuberant gardens.

"What a show-off," Harry muttered as he walked through the gates, which had opened automatically the moment he stood before them.

The raven-haired Auror walked in awe through patches of roses, gardenias, petunias, and daffodils glimmering in the sunlight. Were he not here on 'business', he certainly would take his time to do some proper sightseeing of the grounds. Harry had to admit, the place was impressive. The meticulously-kept gardens appeared as some kind of oasis amongst the surrounding woods, with beautiful marble sculptures, fountains, and benches sitting between waltzing willows and flower beds. The manor itself seemed to have been taken out of a fairy tale; it was four stories high, and most of the facade was covered in ivy, with dozens of windows of all sizes imaginable peering out to the world. Beautifully ornate cornices and columns stood out from the green tapestry, betraying the manor's neoclassical influence. White smoke rose up from several of the countless chimneys, and Harry wondered vaguely how many house-elves were needed to maintain such a monstrosity of a 'house'.

"Alright. Here we are. No turning back now," he said to himself as he approached the front door. Taking a few deep breaths, he moved to stand before a heavy-looking, bronze door knocker. Harry hadn't yet attempted to grab it when the huge wooden door opened swiftly with a loud shriek, and it was all he could do not to jump out of his body.

"My, my. Look what we have here… Hello, Mr. Potter. What a lovely surprise," Severus Snape said in his most sardonic tone as he stood at the threshold, dry sneer in place and arms folded over his silk-clad chest.

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The Potions Master didn't like having his domestic peace so annoyingly disrupted this early in the morning, but he had to admit, watching Potter's horror-stricken face liquefy into that of a gaping fish in a matter of seconds was enough to make up for the irritation he felt at having the alleged hero at his doorstep –for the moment, at least; who knew what kind of irreparable damage could be inflicted upon one's sanity by simple overexposure to the horrid brat's presence. Besides, he had several hypotheses as to why Harry Potter was now standing within the confines of his property, and none of them had anything to do with himself, personally.

"Well, don't just stand there, Potter. I highly doubt you were mistakenly dropped by the Owl Post on my front door," he said as he made an irritated gesture for the Auror to come inside.

Potter snuck out of his state of shock just when it was starting to lose its appeal, to Severus' relief. The Auror cleared his throat before stating in a passably firm voice, "I'm here to see Malfoy, sir."

Are you, now? Severus thought with a mental roll of his eyes as he studied the black-haired youth still standing on his doorstep. "Of course," he scoffed, turning on his boot-heels and sweeping through the foyer into the sun-lit parlour without bothering to look back and check if Potter had followed. Sure enough, he heard the heavy 'thump' of the door closing a few seconds before the telltale sound of Potter's footsteps sounded from somewhere behind him.

Sitting in one of the plush armchairs in the centre of the elegant room, the Potions Master looked up to see the former Gryffindor standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Well, sit down, Potter... Unless you have a perch complex, in which case, by all means, do as you like," Severus drawled as he crossed one leg over the other in one fluid motion. Harry narrowed his emerald eyes at the pale-faced wizard, but moved to take the offered seat in front of his host nonetheless.

"Is Malfoy...?"

"Are you here on Ministry orders, boy, or is it one of your independent assignments?" the Potions Master interrupted him with a sneer, watching with relish as Potter's face grew darker with each uttered word. Honestly, the brat made it so easy for him it was almost –almost- no fun.

The younger wizard took a visible deep breath. "I'm not here as an Auror, sir. I'm here on personal matters." Severus raised one eyebrow at the admission, regarding the younger wizard with critical onyx eyes.

"Indeed? Well, Mr. Potter, I'm sorry to say that Draco isn't here at the moment. He left not ten minutes ago, actually," he commented lightly as he watched the play of emotions going through the Saviour's face. "Ah, but where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea?" He waved towards a loaded tray set on the side table placed near the two chairs.

Harry blinked a few times in obvious surprise before he stuttered, "Well, I... Er..."

"Oh, for Salazar's name, Potter," Severus muttered, annoyed. "We fought a war together; we know each other's worst memories. I can't believe you'd think I'd try to poison you now," he drawled, accentuating that last word with just a hint of sarcasm. "You've come all the way here from London. It would be quite the discourtesy if you didn't stay for at least five minutes."

Harry stared at his former professor for a few moments before finally relenting. "I guess I could stay for a short while," he said cautiously. Holding back the impulse to roll his eyes at the infuriating brat, Severus started to serve them both some tea, all the while conscious of the emerald eyes following his every move -which the Potions Master found quite amusing, to say the least. Cups in hand, the unlikely pair nursed their drinks amidst an eerie, tense silence; time Potter spent doing a reconnaissance of his surroundings.

"So tell me, Potter. What is this 'personal matter' you need to discuss with my godson? Is it somehow related to yesterday's spectacle?" Severus finally asked, watching with no small satisfaction how the Wizarding World's Biggest Brat choked on his tea.

"What? I... What do you..? I mean..."

Here we go again with the stuttering, Severus thought, and he idly wondered if it wasn't in actuality one of Gryffindor's more annoying 'traits'. He let out an obfuscated sigh for good measure.

"What I mean, Potter, is that I know why you're here," the Potions Master stated dryly. "In fact, I was wondering when you'd show up –what with our brief tête-à-tête yesterday- but to tell the truth, I didn't expect it to be so soon. Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought," he drawled before taking a sip of his tea. Harry merely resumed his owlish staring, apparently oblivious to the insult.

"You know? You know about...?"

"About the bond? Of course I do. And as a matter of fact, so does Draco."

"But... how did you..?" Harry trailed off; apparently, his brain hadn't yet processed the whole statement, and the Potions Master felt incredibly pleased with himself as he realised that this development had not crossed Potter's head as a possibility the moment he decided to show up –unannounced, at that- at his house. It's always a plus to have the upper hand in a situation; even more so when said situation revolves around Harry Potter, Severus thought with a smirk. It wasn't his fault. Old habits die hard, and he was an old fox.

"Do I really need to answer that question?" The younger man glared at him. "Fine, Potter. Let's just say that what I witnessed yesterday in that bathroom was enlightening in more ways than one," he drawled, feeling a bit ill when he saw the slight blush colouring the Auror's cheeks.

"At first, I thought… I was losing it," Potter said, green eyes locked on his tea cup. "When I saw Draco yesterday I felt... It has no comparison to anything I've ever felt before." He frowned, as if trying to arrange his thoughts, and Severus refrained from commenting on the name-slip. "But it wasn't until later, when I was able to sense the bond, that I made the connection." He looked up at the Potions Master, eyes shining with something the older man couldn't quite pinpoint. "I've given it some thought, and all I could come up with is that this has something to do with what happened in the past… with Draco, I mean. That's why I came here this morning; I was hoping that Draco would... that we could figure this out together. There's a lot at stake," he added as an afterthought.

Severus remained quiet for a while. He had to give it to the hideous boy; if anything, he appeared to have worked some things out on his own. It was… well, impressive, in an annoying sort of way. He wouldn't have thought that Harry Potter could have such prowess for deduction. With a pensive frown on his face, the Potions Master put his cup down, sat up, and looked intently into Potter's bright, emerald eyes.

"I want you to know that I don't consider it wise to meddle in this current predicament you two have landed yourselves into, but after learning of Draco's views on this matter, I don't have another choice but to tell you everything we know so far, for I don't want to imagine what the consequences would be if you were to be told too late... or not at all. Hopefully, you'll take this information with the same legendary honour you seem to take everything else," he added cynically, but felt pleased with his choice of words when he noticed a flicker of apprehension crossing the younger wizard's face.

"How bad is it?" Potter asked flatly, taking Severus a bit by surprise. He had expected more dramatics from the Gryffindor.

"Bad enough to make my godson consider the possibility of becoming a Squib," he stated wryly. The Auror's eyes widened, and again, a spark of some indefinable emotion flashed in their depths. Severus wasn't sure if what he had seen had been astonishment, anger, hurt, or a mix of them all.

"He's considering breaking the bond, then," the younger man said after a short pause, depositing his cup on the side table. "Very well, I guess I shouldn't worry, if he's planning on taking care of this 'predicament' himself. That's good to know. Thank you for your time, Mr. Snape. I'll see myself out," he added as he stood up from his chair without more protocol. The Potions Master felt the first sparks of anger in his stomach.

"As unbelievably inconvenient as this may be for your future plans, Potter, let me remind you that this is not just Draco's problem," he said contemptuously to the Gryffindor's back. "I'm sure you know your share about Magical Bonds, being an Auror and all. This is not a simple curse we're talking about, just as much as it didn't start yesterday."

Harry Potter stopped abruptly, turning to face him in a swirl of black robes.

"What the hell do you want me to do?" he asked, hands clenched at his sides, his green eyes narrowed into mere slits. "I came here expecting to figure out what is going on and you just told me everything I needed to know. If Draco's already made up his mind about it, then so be it! The Gods know that will only make my life easier."

"Well, of course," Severus hissed as he too stood up and walked towards the hero, pale face set in a snarl. "I'm sure it will solve all your petty problems to have your Other Part's life completely destroyed. I'm sorry Potter, but I won't allow that."

Harry blanched, taking a step backwards. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Tell me, Potter. Have you been having any sordid dreams lately? Dreams you haven't told the charming Miss Weasley about?" Severus asked maliciously, ignoring the younger wizard's bewildered expression.

"How... how do you know...?"

He took another step towards Potter, a wicked smile on his face, knowing he had just hit the nail on the head. "What exactly was it you felt when you first saw my godson after such a long time? Did you have visions, too, or were you too distracted by wanting to take him right then on the bathroom floor to care?" Another step and they were both face to face now. Potter was cornered against the peach-coloured wall, and Severus leaned to tower imposingly over him. "Oh, no... Better answer me this: Were you able to take your lovely fiancé to bed last night without picturing Draco's face inside your head?"

Too caught up in Avenging Mode, Severus noticed just a little too late that Potter had taken his wand out and had it pointing at his temple in a flash. Before he could react, he heard Potter's hissed words, "Oh, I think you already know more than you should...

"Legilimens!" Harry yelled, and the next thing Severus knew, he was being pushed backwards with the force of the spell. Potter launched into his mind with the power of an avalanche, sweeping away all his barriers as if they were a handful of wizard cards. He just had time to wonder vaguely how in Hades' name Potter had managed to do that before memories of the day before started flashing in front of his eyes and he felt the Auror's demanding presence right behind him, pushing him for more, and more, and more. He couldn't control it; he couldn't stop the ruthless invasion. Severus' mind had turned into a block of the thinnest ice, and Potter was holding the chisel in his hands.

An eternity later –or what at any rate felt like it- the Potions Master opened his jet-black eyes to find himself panting in a heap of limbs on the floor; his head pounding with the worst headache he had felt since the last time he experienced the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of His Infernal Majesty himself. Next to him, Potter was kneeling on the white marble next to his wand; face flushed and eyes as big as saucers, and apparently not just a little out of breath as well.

"Oh, Gods..." Severus heard him say in a whisper. 'Oh, Gods', indeed. Imbecile, he thought furiously, but to tell the truth, he didn't really know who it was he was insulting.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" he spat, although it didn't have the intended effect as he was still reeling from the experience.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't know what else..." Potter trailed off as he stood up on unsteady legs, picked up his wand, and moved to help his former professor, who pushed him away angrily.

"Never, and I mean, never do that again or I won't be held responsible for my actions. Is that clear?" Severus snarled furiously as he brushed wet locks of black hair from his brow and stood up as well. Harry Potter was standing against the wall a few feet away from him, panting heavily and shivering. It was then that the Potions Master noticed the tear tracks running from the wide, green eyes across the unnaturally-pale face. For some reason he didn't care to contemplate, the unexpected sight ruled his anger into a sudden, anticlimactic halt, completely annihilating the litany of insults that a mere second ago was about to erupt from his mouth.

Both wizards just stood there, staring at each other and unable to utter a single word for what seemed to be quite a long time, until the young Auror let out an odd sound that was something between a whine and a moan and collapsed onto the floor, shaking visibly. The Potions Master watched with disbelieving eyes how the proclaimed hero grabbed his head with both hands and started banging it against the wall, all the while muttering nonsense. It didn't take Severus long to decide that that was something he did not want to witness, let alone in his own home.

"Oh, what the..." he scoffed, inwardly unnerved by Potter's reaction. "Stand up, Potter! I would have thought that if you were able to cast such a powerful spell then you'd be strong enough to take the things you'd seen like a man," he scolded as he grabbed the younger wizard by the forearms and pushed him roughly to his feet. Fortunately, Potter's embarrassment and his deep-seated dislike for the former professor seemed to shake him out of his moment of weakness, for he yanked himself free from Severus' hold, wiping his face angrily as he raised himself to his full height, now shaking with fury.

"I demand an explanation," he half-said, half-hissed. The Potions Master let out an incredulous snort that resounded, mocking, against the impassive walls of the parlour.

"You just went through my memories, Potter. You saw everything there was to see. I don't think it can get any clearer than that," he stated in a deceivingly calm voice as he pulled at his shirt collar and cuffs; his pitch-black eyes fixed on the raving Auror.

"The fuck I will!" Harry said between gritted teeth, pointing his wand at the Potions Master's chest. Severus could swear he heard the younger wizard's jaw clenching. "Tell me everything! Now!"

"You moronic boy," he snarled, sensing the anger swelling inside of him as he glared fixedly at Potter, completely unmoved by the wand-tip directed at him. "What part of it all did you not understand? You and Draco were together in secret during your sixth year. A bond was formed between you. Apparently, somebody found out about your no doubt exhilarating affair; somebody who wasn't pleased about it. They cast a Dark Spell to make you forget your romantic history, but the bond resisted it and now that you've seen each other again you're experiencing its pull. That's what yesterday was all about. Is that enough or do you need me to draw a scheme for you? Or better yet, would you like to speak to Albus so he can confirm everything I've just said? There's a fireplace in the hall. I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear from you."

"Forget it," Potter hissed, shaking his head as if to substantiate what he had just said. He lowered his wand, but his posture remained guarded, antagonistic. "There has to be some sort of mistake. This can't be true. It's impossible. This isn't happening."

Severus' eyes were trained on Potter; the black orbs shining with barely-repressed ire. The Potions Master knew he had to be reasonable, that this was a lot to digest for the young wizard, but he just couldn't gather the will to do it. Potter was supposed to be a tough man. If he could face the Dark Lord, he could handle this. Besides, Severus was counting on him to solve this mess. It was Potter who had the keys for his godson's happiness; nothing Severus could do or say would give Draco the reassurance he so desperately wanted and needed. It was Potter who could dissuade Draco of his stupid plans. It was him who could ultimately save them both. Why couldn't the idiotic brat see that?

"Believe it or not, Potter, it is happening," the Potions Master said lowly, trying with all his might to reign in his anger. "You need to stop this pathetic, Muggle movie-extracted performance and focus on what matters. You said so yourself. There is a lot at stake here; yours and Draco's futures, to be precise!"

"I don't give a fuck about Malfoy! He can drop dead for all I care!" the Auror suddenly yelled, hysterical; his green eyes glowing with resentment and unshed tears. "This is not what I fucking bargained for! I refuse to believe this rubbish! You and Draco Malfoy can go to Hell!"

Those words went down Severus' throat like a swig of the vilest draught. That was all he needed to see, to hear. He had almost believed that everything could be resolved; that perhaps there would be a happy ending after all, no matter the current chaos. Yes, he had definitely turned into an overoptimistic, senile Hufflepuff. Damn Dumbledore and his words of hope. Damn Potter for what he had been, for what he was, and for what he would always be: an inconsiderate, egotistical, arrogant prick. And damn himself for being such a fool. His godson was right

What a bloody waste of time.

Seething, he moved to stand right before Potter in all his looming glory. "Is that so? Because I suppose this is exactly what my godson wanted? A Soul Mate for whom he has been waiting for so long and who in all honesty doesn't give a bloody damn about him? For whom he'll have to give up the only thing he has left to feel proud of, his magic?"

Harry Potter merely kept glaring at him defiantly. Severus' face turned into a mask of pure hatred.

"Get over yourself, Potter. You don't deserve to be bonded to Draco," he spat viciously before giving the young Auror a disgusted once-over, turning around, and moving smoothly towards the doorway. "You know the way out," he threw over his shoulder as he exited the room with firm, ominous steps.

Outside, it had started to pour.

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TBC…