CONTEST WINNER THIS CHAPTER: User A True Dreamer recommended the song, "So Deep In Love" by Joel Auge for Harry & Tracey this go around, and I thought it a perfect complement to Harry's thoughts here, and for the interlude song, EvenstarDreamer's choice of "The Look Of Love" by Dusty Springfield fit so well. So, this chapter is dedicated to A True Dreamer and EvenstarDreamer - congratulations! Lyrics for the main chapter song appear at the bottom of this chapter. Hope you'll find both of these songs somehow and give them a listen.

Remember, I'll accept song suggestions for each couple, as well as digitally manipulated images of live people and your original hand-drawn or digitally drawn fanart for this story up until the end of this fic is published. SEND ME YOUR LISTS OR ARTWORK! I'll pick my favorites, and reward you, as promised!

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CHAPTER EIGHT (#2): Harry & Tracey

Harry decided on orchids this round. They were, after all, said to tell the woman you loved that she was a 'refined beauty' – or so his Aunt Petunia had always insisted when she'd brought home another of the potted plants to add to her growing collection, in counter to Uncle Vernon's complaining about their cost. He may have harbored a lot of ill-will towards his remaining relatives, but at least he'd learned a thing or two from having to listen to their conversations through the cupboard's thin walls.

Shaking his dark, gloomy thoughts from that track, he looked across the room at his girlfriend throughout the Interrogations round, watching her with his heart in his throat. Yes, she'd look absolutely lovely surrounded by orchids.

As soon as Malfoy had given the signal that the question round was over, Harry had absently announced the time while rushing to his lady's side. She took his proffered hand, and they smiled at each other as soon as their fingers met. Pulling her into his embrace was as natural as breathing now, and he let out a relieved sigh the moment she was in his arms again. Even the few minutes apart they'd spent had seemed too long a wait to hold her once more.

"Come on," he urged, releasing her for the moment and tugging her after him to their private suite.

Tracey giggled. "Eager to get me alone, are you?"

"Understatement of the year," he grinned at her over his shoulder.

At the door, with his hand on the knob, he mentally considered how he wanted the room beyond to respond to his requirements, waited until the count of five for it to rearrange itself, and then guided her in.

Give it up for the Room of Requirement!

The decoration even went beyond his expectations. Literally, orchid varietals of every kind and nature were lumped together on practically every available surface, leaving only a clear path from the door to their pillow pile in the middle. The enclosed, mini amphitheatre was perfumed with a heady mix of floral scents, and a tropical, moist air – just a touch on the humid side, but not overwhelming – suffused the room to keep them fresh.

"Oh, goodness!" Tracey was clearly in awe, walking past him to take it all in. "It's… I've never seen… Would you look at that one!" She pointed with astonishment to a gorgeous specimen that sat alone in a water pot in the middle of the replicated teacher's desk. It was a dark purple-nearly black flower, with only four delicate petals. From its center popped straight up into the air two black stamens, and hanging down from the middle ran a series of long, thin strands that fell into the crystal-clear water beneath. It was the strangest, most alien thing he'd ever seen – almost gothic horror-like - and yet, it was so absolutely beautiful that it was mesmerizing.

Tracey turned to him, tears in her eyes. "Harry, you-" She swallowed, her hands joining in the middle of her breast. "I love you so much. Thank you. This is absolutely lovely."

His heart flipped, melted, and reformed at her feet in anticipation of her full ownership. Seriously, what had he done to deserve this perfect a girl?

Crossing to her, he ran a hand over her throat and into her hairline, gently fisting some of the golden strands, holding her still so he could claim her lips once more. The other arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her to his chest. "Godric's soul, I love you," he murmured around drugging kisses, feeling the part of him that had been alone for so very long finally trust enough to let go of fear and doubt, and connect to a woman, as he'd always wished.

She's it, he realized. She's the one.

They spent long moments indulging in each other, before the voice of reason reminded him that they were on a time limit and he pulled back, freeing the arm around her so he could show her his card. Clearing his throat, he took a hesitant step away to get his raging need to throw her down and own her body, heart and soul under wraps. "Better get on with this, before things get out of hand," he maturely took control, and read his action for the round:

DEED: Use a feather on your partner in any way you wish.

The naughty glint and smile that overtook his girlfriend's face made him swallow – hard.

She lifted her own card and read it to him:

DEED: Your partner must give you a sensual full body massage. Lips and tongue can be used anywhere you want.

Tossing the little, laminated marker over her shoulder, Tracey wrapped her arms about his neck and started slowly walking them backwards towards their pile of splendidly comfortable bedding. "Looks like you get to pleasure me this round," she all but purred, her eyes shuttering to half-mast, licking her pink lips.

All of Harry's thoughts flew out the window. He lost his card somewhere in that shuffle towards the plump cushions, barely aware of helping to guide her steps correctly as they made the edge of the soft pile and tumbled down into it together. They landed on their sides, legs entwined, staring at each other. Matching, ridiculous smiles lit up their faces.

Reaching up, he brushed a strand of blonde hair off her cheek. "You're the most amazing woman," he murmured, eyes hungrily taking in every detail of her pretty features. "What'd I do to deserve you?"

Her features softened. "I feel the same way about you." She paused, frowned. "Well, you're an amazing boy. I mean, you're obviously not female. Your parts aren't, anyways. They're nice male parts." Sighing, she rolled her eyes and grinned again. "Oh, you know what I mean!"

Chuckling, he gently traced her jaw with the back of his hand. "Silly, too. I like that."

"So, um, have you given any thought to what you'd like to do for your TWN?" she cautiously broached the subject, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

Running the pads of his fingers over the side of her throat and around the front to enticingly caress the skin as he followed the dip of her dress, he nodded. "A bit. Haven't a clue for a name, though. How different should it be from your real one?"

Tracey pursed her lips, considering that. "It should reflect your personality in some manner, but not be close enough to your actual birth name that anyone can figure it out." Her breath trembled as she let it out. "Would you like to know mine? To give you an idea of what I mean?"

His heart skipped a beat. "You trust me that much?"

She gave a long, slow blink and when their gazes met, he fell into the depths of her multi-hued irises. "I trust you with all my heart, Harry."

The strength of her faith in him was staggering, made his question whether he was truly worthy of such a gift. "You're so pure," he whispered, awed and humbled by her conviction. "I'm really not sure I've earned something this big."

Her smile was a warm blanket warding off his bitter insecurities. "I think you're the most worthy person I know." Her nod was decisive. "My True Wizarding Name is Diantha Euterpe Davis."

A whipping energy crackled through Harry's center at hearing her magical soul's name for the first time. It touched him, vibrating through the very marrow of his bones, making him acutely aware of her in a way he'd never been of another living person. It shook him inside and out.

The fact was he'd always been rather sensitive to energy currents; he felt prickly tingles along his fingertips whenever someone cast a spell near him. Over the past seven years at Hogwarts, he'd learned to competently and completely tune-out the odd sensation, however (a necessity, as the castle teemed with background enchantment 'noise' and it would have driven him fair mad otherwise). The speaking of Tracey's TWN, though, was in a whole other league. Just the syllables enunciated with the power behind them sent fiery bursts up and down his spine, and settled a hot flame low in his loins. Like the one time he'd witnessed the casting of the Imperius Curse in fourth year by Moody, it was impossible to shut out or defend against such a commanding force, especially with little forewarning.

To his dismay, he also instantly recognized that it was powerfully persuasive, old magic she'd just spoken – the kind that both repelled and drew you in against your will… and the darker side of his personality was tempted to try the name out and see what would happen. Immediately, he clamped down on the urge. There was no way he would ever hurt his lady. He'd sooner aim an Avada his way.

It took him two tries to speak, to distract his degenerate thoughts. "What's it mean - your name?"

Tracey blushed a pretty shade of pink. "Oh, um, it means, 'Heavenly Flower Delight'. Euterpe is one of nine Greek muses in mythology. She's a purveyor of music and joy."

Leaning forward, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "It perfectly fits."

"My brothers chose it." Her voice was slightly dazed as she stared at his mouth, heat in her gaze. The kneading against his chest intensified and her nails rasped a little harder, accidentally stroking against a nipple under his shirt.

The temptation this time was too great to pass up. Rolling her onto her back, Harry leaned over her and captured her mouth again. "Love you," he murmured between wet, lush kisses. "So much… you're all I want… only mine."

"Mmmm," she agreed with a nod, as impassioned as he. "Yes… love you… I'll always be… only yours." Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer. "Be mine, too."

Rolling his tongue across hers, he hungrily feasted, losing his ever loving mind in her scent and taste. Dragging her dress up, he caressed her rounded thighs, spreading them apart and following the smooth flesh up to her knickers. Circling over her hot center above the lacy fabric, he could feel her readiness for him in the small undulations of her pelvis and in the dampness of the cloth. It drove him wild. Honestly, if she'd already been sexually experienced, he would have had her right then and there. He'd have ripped their clothes off and thrust into her hard and deep, shagging her with passion into the floor with her legs around his shoulders and his hands holding tight to her hips… But seeing as how she was still a virgin, such a fantasy would have to remain firmly within the realm of mental wishing – at least for the time being.

The reminder of her untouched state helped to cool his ardor. Intentionally pulling his hand away from its delightful pursuits, he pushed up on his elbow and broke their lip lock. "You are entirely too distracting for my sanity." Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he pushed off and sat up, kneeling between her legs. "We really should get to the cards. We'll talk about my TWN while I'm giving you the massage, okay?"

Her pout was adorable. "Aww, it was just getting good, too!"

He chuckled at her petulant tone and expression. "Go on. Turn over for me, honey."

There was some shifting involved, and then she was on her belly for him and he was taking the zip of her dress down. A quick unclasping of her bra and a slide of fabric here and there, and her outfit was bunched at her waist, her torso nude for him again. Turning her head, she watched him from her peripheral vision with a smile. "You're really very good at getting my clothes off of me, I noticed."

He cracked his knuckles and rolled his wrists. "Pure talent, I assure you," he teased and rubbed his hands together to assure they were warm. Conjuring some massage oil with a thought – a scent that matched her perfume - he poured a dollop into the palm of his hand and rubbed them together until they were nice and heated.

Absently, he thought up a song that he could command to play in the background that might be suggestive, while at the same time appropriate to the mood he wanted to establish. Settling on Dusty Springfield's breathy, seductive style, her voice piped in through magical speakers all around them, filling the room with talk of "The Look of Love" in a soft jazzy melody. It was the ideal accompaniment.

The first glide of his hands over the muscles of her back had Tracey groaning in pleasure. Sensually massaging as his card required, he worked to relax her, concentrating on easing her tension. "Let me know if you want it harder, honey." The moment the offer left his mouth, he realized how lewd it sounded and stumbled over the double entendre. "I-I-I mean, if you want the pressure of the… massage to be… softer or…" He trailed off, feeling slightly ridiculous.

Giggling, Tracey opened her eyes and grinned over her shoulder at him. "You're starting to adopt my unintentional penchant for double meaning. Guess I'm rubbing off on you."

Tickling her sides, he laughed right along with her. "Oh, you're definitely doing that – and in all the right ways. I like it." Her long, graceful neck beckoned, so he hunched over and lowered his mouth, pressing small, tender kisses up its length, continuing to caress the dip under her shoulder blades with his thumbs. "I like it a lot," he sighed as he reached her ear and swept downward over her sensitive pulse point with his tongue, taking advantage of his card's allowance.

Tracey gasped. "Mmmm, do that again."

Harry did as requested, biting down with gentle pressure on the same spot, making his witch cry out for more. Trailing his lips over the back of her neck and down her spine, he sensuously massaged her arms, her waist, and caressed over the sway of her hind. Tracey's bones liquefied under his touch.

"Ooh, that feels so wonderful," she contentedly murmured.

Conjuring the softest pompom tickler he could think of – made from the feathers of a fledgling Roc – he brought the gathered black plumage to the spot he'd just stroked with his fingertips and lightly ran circles over it. Tracey's hiss of pleasure was very loud and she arched her spine a bit.

"So, what sort of name do you think suits me?" he teasingly asked, running the fluffy fringe over her honeyed skin.

Giggling as he tickled behind the shell of her ear, she squirmed under him. "Fresh! Ahem. Well, you're half-blood, so maybe something with Muggle historical roots, in homage?" she offered. "It should be something strong, though - a name that represents your nobility, your bravery and your compassionate nature. One that symbolizes your Gryffindor's lion heart."

Harry considered that while absently brushing the feather down the back of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder. "Nobility. Bravery. Compassion. A lion's heart, huh?" How she could think such a flattering things about him had him blushing as his mind turned over possibilities. "Well, how about Richard then?" It was the first name that popped into his head, honestly, given the criteria.

Tracey flipped over on him in a blink, dazzling him with a bright smile. "As in King Richard I, Coeur de Lion? Yes, that's brilliant! It so perfectly fits!"

Brain fuzzing at the sight of her tempting breasts as they came into view, he merely nodded in acquiescence. "Sure, works for me." Unable to help it, he dipped down and took one of her sweet, tight nipples between his lips and suckled.

"Oh!" Tracey panted, her fingers sliding through his hair to hold on. "Yes!"

Dropping the feather, he concentrated on tasting her instead, getting off on hearing her little mewling cries as he alternately nibbled and sucked upon her nips with increasing pressure. His hands roamed her waist and belly, sliding up to cup and massage the unattended breast while he stroked his tongue over the other. "So pretty," he mumbled, nuzzling under the flesh, lapping there, too. "Love these so much. Could do this forever."

No, the name - you have to finish it, a voice in the back of his head reminded him.

With a reluctant series of final kisses, he pulled away, forcing his desire back so he could concentrate. "Focus. Have to… Yeah, um, so what about a second name? You've got two parts to yours. Is that normal?"

It took Tracey a long minute to pull aside the curtain of her hazy need and answer. "Right, we were talking about your TWN, weren't we? Yes, two or even three names are acceptable. Uh, a middle name… how about Leander? It belonged to your paternal grandfather."

He blinked a couple of times in confusion as her suggestion sunk in. "My grandfather's name? How would you know that?"

Her eyes widened with surprise. "It's on one of the Quidditch House Cups in the Trophy Room. The trophy said Gryffindor had taken the Cup in 1935, and 'Charlus Leander Potter' was listed as Captain and Chaser of Gryffindor that year. Professor Dumbledore told me that he was your grandfather, when I asked. Haven't you seen it?"

A glowing hope flared in his chest. A family lineage he hadn't even thought to trace was available right here at Hogwarts? Maybe he could learn more about his roots once the game was over and they were back to real life. "No, I had no idea. I don't… I've only really looked at my father's trophy for Quidditch down there. Never thought there might be other Potters."

A beautiful smile crept up her cheeks. "You had to come from magical stock somewhere to be half-blood, you know."

A dark thought entered his mind. "Wait, Dumbledore told you this?"

She nodded, blushing, dropping her gaze from his with embarrassment. "Well, I sort of made it my business to know more about you whenever I could, so I asked him about you a few times." Her lips made a cute moue and she winced. "That sounds terribly stalker-ish, doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head, distracted by the thought that once more, Dumbledore had kept him from knowing something about his family. Oh, sure, it wasn't the man's responsibility to point out every relic hanging about with the Potter family name attached, but would it have really been such a chore for him to take a few minutes out to do so at some point over the last seven years? McGonagall had been the one to show him the trophy with his father's name on it during first year. If not for that, he'd have never known about his father's shared love of Quidditch – a motivating factor in every game he'd played since. To know now that the appreciation for the game had been with his grandfather, too, was exciting. Quidditch was in his blood, and it created another connection to the family he'd never known, making him feel a part of something bigger.

Tracey's fingertips came to a tentative rest upon his cheek and he drew out of his introspection to focus on her. Her thumb traced his lips. "Richard Leander Potter," she murmured, anchoring him to the here and now. "Do you like it?"

He did, very much – all the more so because the woman he loved had helped him to pick the name. "Yeah, it's a good name. So, how would we bind it to me?"

Her answering smile was bright. "Hand me my bra and help me up," she requested. "If we're going to do this, I should be dressed."

Reaching behind to grab her lingerie, he did as she asked and stood back as she adjusted her dress to hide away her nudity once more. He gave a disappointed sigh as she tucked her breasts into their cups and she threw him a charming smirk as she turned with a silent request for him to zip her back up.

"I prefer you naked," he bluntly stated, assuring the straps at her shoulders were correctly aligned.

Laughter like tinkling bells sounded from her lips and she glanced back at him with a sinful gleam in her eye. "I prefer us both naked."

Shaking his head in amazement, he wrapped his arms about her and nuzzled into her throat. "A sweet, gentle Hufflepuff in naughty Slytherin's robes. Who'd have guessed?" Pressing his erection between the cleft of her bum, he rubbed up and down. "Mmm, that gets me so bloody hard, honey."

Moaning, she arched her arse into him, gliding up and down over his covered shaft as his fingers danced their way up her torso to cup and knead her breasts. Tracey's tricky hands circled behind her to burrow under his shirt and find his naked skin, and with a squeeze, she sunk her sharp, little nails into his hips. The raking sting instantly turned his cock to solid steel.

"Wanna be inside you," he whispered in her ear, lowering his lips a fraction and biting down again over her pulse, pressing up against her backside with a roll of his pelvis. "Holy gods, I need to be inside you soon."

"Then make me yours, Harry - right now if you want."

Bloody hell, such an invitation was hard to resist! All Harry wanted in that moment was to tear the clothing from the both of them, kick her legs wide, bend her over the pile of pillows, and thrust to the hilt in her silken heat.

Too soon, reason situated itself back into his conscience. And not like that. She's a virgin, remember?

With a deep, shuddering breath, he pressed a kiss to her neck and dropped his hands back to her waist, ceasing the movements of his hips. "Slow and easy," he reminded them both, rubbing his cheek against her soft, fragrant hair. "I'm not done romancing you. I want tonight to be perfect, so you'll have a beautiful memory of your first time for always."

Turning about, Tracey wrapped her arms about his waist and snuggled in close to his heart. "I love you so much, Harry James Potter - more than the world!"

Returning her embrace, he lowered his face into her hair again. "I love you, Tracey Marie Davis." He paused to come up with a comparison to adequately represent the breadth of his growing feelings for her. When inspiration struck, he didn't care if it sounded daft, as it was how he felt. "I love you more than the stars."

She placed a kiss over the area of his heart and cuddled closer. Apparently, he'd said the right thing.

They stayed like that for a long while, just breathing in each others' air. The scent of orchids and damp earth and Tracey's perfume imprinted upon Harry's senses, bringing him true peace. It was only reluctantly that he loosened his grip when she moved to put a little space between them.

"I remember the ceremony for binding the TWN to your magic, if you're happy with the name choice you made," she confidently met his eye. "Do you want to do it now, or think about it some more?"

He considered the offer. "Can you tell me more about the specific hocus-pocus we'd have to perform?"

"Well, the ritual requires that I press the tip of my wand over various locations on your body and speak the Binding Spell," she patiently explained. "The locations are: your mind, your heart, your lower belly, and the inner wrists of both hands. These are the places magic flows from and between. Then, when I tell you to repeat after me, you must be sure to repeat the exact words I use. That's very important."

"What if I mess up?" he asked, slightly concerned. "Will I blow up or something?"

Tracey frowned. "I'm not sure, but that was the warning I received during my own binding at the age of eleven."

"Then I suppose I'd better say it all correctly," he joked, irreverently grinning at the thought of ballooning up and floating away as his Aunt Marge had that one time. Honestly, he felt rather confident that pronouncing all of the required words wouldn't be an issue (he'd gotten over flying into a bundle of nerves at trying out new spells after his first Floo mistake in second year, when he'd ended up in Knockturn Alley by mistake), but he'd just had to ask, for curiosity's sake.

"I'd recommend it," Tracey met his grin with her own. "After you repeat the words, you'll feel the magical name take hold of you. For me, it felt like a key in my soul had suddenly turned a lock, sealing away my secret self – the 'me' deep inside that is powerful with magic. Since you're of adult age, though, I have no idea what it will feel like for you once the magic takes hold, or how long it will last. It may only last seconds, or it could be the full five years. You're really not meant to have your powers sealed away after you hit seventeen."

"But that's it?" he asked, surprised at the simplicity of such an archaic and significant ceremony. "Just repeat the words and you cast, and…" He made a gesture as if to say, 'Voilà! It's done!'

From what he remembered from his Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes over the years, ancient rites tended to be incredibly complex, and usually required a blood sacrifice of some sort. That this one didn't was odd.

Tracey grimaced, cutting him off mid-thought. "Not quite. I'll need to slice the palm of your left hand and you'll need to rub the blood over your forehead, the bare skin over your heart and belly, as well as both wrists to signify your free will in accepting your magical name. The blood acts as sort of a contractual binding. Only then will it be done."

Ah, so there was blood required.

Suddenly, Harry wasn't so sure about this idea. Some intuition in his gut stalled at giving Tracey the go-ahead to perform the ritual, and yet, he really couldn't put a finger on the reason.

Yes, he trusted his girlfriend and was sure she'd perform the ritual correctly, so that wasn't the problem. It was the sacrifice of blood to make the ritual work that, he decided, made him uneasy, for such spells were always, inevitably done in desperation and tied in some manner to death. Professor Moody had drilled that fact into them in their fourth year D.A.D.A. class, and Harry had never forgotten those exact words. He'd been haunted by them, in fact, because he knew his own mother had once used an ancient spell that had ritually required her life's blood to spill to cast it…

He rubbed his fingers over his scar. It hadn't pained him since the end of second year, after he'd destroyed Tom Riddle's haunted diary, and it didn't hurt now. However, when he traced the design's jagged shape, he did suddenly feel a bit queasy in his belly.

Something about the TWN ritual felt…wrong. He'd been physically leashed by the Dursleys plenty of times, but never magically by anyone, and the thought of being so now made him a bit ill, in all honesty. He'd been a rogue wizard since birth, never restrained as Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to inform him of the custom, much less perform it upon him. Now he was wondering if the old man hadn't been right not to do so.

"Harry?"

Tracey was looking up at him with concern, following the movement of his fingers over his scar. He dropped his hand.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to hold off on the ritual until I have a bit of time to think about it," he told her, going with his gut this time. "It's nothing to do with you. I just want to talk to Ron and 'Mione about their experiences, too. Get a full picture of what to expect. Okay?"

Tracey seemed surprised by his sudden loss of enthusiasm for the idea, but rolled with it gracefully. "Oh, yes, of course! This is a big decision, Harry, and you should be completely comfortable with making it. Talking to your best friends about it would be more than appropriate." She bit her bottom lip. "And if you want one of them to perform the rite for you instead-"

He cut off that thought with a passionate kiss.

"If I go through with this, no one else but you will bind me," he promised her, pressing their foreheads together and staring her in the eye. "I trust only you with something this important, honey."

Tears filled her eyes, spilling over. Her smiling lips trembled against his.

The blasted chimes rang out.

Ignoring them for the moment, Harry snogged his witch again, taking her back into his arms and holding her tight. Whispering loving things to her around pulls of lips and tongue, he worked to reassure her of his trust in her abilities and in her confidence.

Just before the final bell, they abandoned their private suite.

At the door, however, he presented his most beloved and refined lady with an orchid wrist corsage in a shade of purple that matched her dress. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but it felt like the charmingly poetic thing to do. Honestly, he'd never given a girl flowers before Tracey, but he'd always wanted to. Ginny and Julie just hadn't felt right, though. Now he had the perfect excuse, as his new girlfriend was positively made for being romanced.

His witch marveled over her gift all the way back to the couches, stroking the soft, dark purple petals of each flower and fingering the black ribbon that wound between them. "More than the world!" she sighed into his mouth as she kissed him one last time at the sofas.

Harry's heart sang with happiness. "More than the stars," he vowed in return, and he knew he meant it.

TO BE CONTINUED…

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Roc = An enormous legendary bird of prey in Arabic mythology; sometimes depicted as a bird of all white plumage, other times, all black.

Richard = German for "brave ruler."

Coeur de Lion = French for "Heart of Lion." It was Richard I's nickname – "The Lion Heart King."

Leander = Greek for "lion of a man."

For the sake of this fic, I gave Charlus Potter the middle name of Leander (which is not canon, although the character of Charlus is, according to the Black Family Tree that JKR created - which shows Charlus married Dorea Black and somehow related to James Potter I). Although it is unclear from the tree whether Charlus was Harry's grandfather or his great uncle, I have decided for this story that he is James Potter I's father, and therefore Harry's paternal grandfather. It just makes it easier all around.

In canon lore, James Potter I's father and mother were both pure-bloods and both "older" when they gave birth to him (although the date of their own births is known, and their deaths occurred sometime between 1976-1981 from illness). James was their only child. For the sake of this fic, I have decided that Charlus was born July, 1918, graduated Hogwarts at age 17 (almost 18) in June, 1936 when the House Cup was handed out, and so was 42 years old when James was born in 1960.

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Musical Selection for this Chapter: "So Deep In Love" by Joel Auge. Lyrics are as follows…

I've fallen fast in love with you!
Oh, I've fallen fast in love with you!

Fastened to knowing more of you.
Gripping to what I know is true.
Yeah, I'm so fast in love with you!

Yeah, I've fallen deep in love with you.
Yeah, I've fallen deep in love with you.
Deeper than any ocean blue.
Depth that no death can hold me to.

Yeah, I've fallen deep in love with you.
Yeah, I've fallen deep in love with you.
Deeper than any ocean blue.
Depth that no death can hold me to.

I'm so deep in love with you.
I'm so deep in love with you.

Deeper than any ocean blue.
Depth that no death can hold me to.
I'm so deep in love with you!
I'm so deep in love.
So deep in love…
So deep in love!
I am so deep in love.
So deep in love…
So deep in love…
So deep in love!
I am so deep in love.
So deep in love…
So deep in love…
So deep in love!

Yeah, I'm so deep… deep in love with you!