Chapter 2 – Enveloped by Shadows.

My bare back slid down the wall, collecting icicles which quickly melted, melding with the sweat. I could still smell him on my own skin, taste him on my breath. Reality would not allow me to pretend I hadn't done this. This was not me.

I'm not… gay. I have a girlfriend.

Oh god, Hermione. The thought of her, smiling, laughing, twirling in the sunshine as we looked for lavender in Godric's Hollow flooded my mind. Guilt coloured my face scarlet.

What would she say?

Love was meant to be enough. But Edward…

My eyes flew open. I was not safe here. I was naked in an alley. A fucking alleyway off of Knockturn Alley. I felt like a prostitute.

My hands trembled as I tried to pull what was left of my clothes on. My shirt, now devoid of buttons, flapped around my sweat beaded chest. I stumbled out of the alley, blinking at the cheap knockoff charms and secondhand cauldrons.

This was the same world I'd been in thirty minutes ago… and yet…

"Accio firebolt." I croaked, my voice was hoarse, my throat dry and raw from crying out his name. All the same my broom, my trusty steed, hastened to my hand.

I clambered aboard, wincing. Edward had hurt me. I'd let him. I needed a drink – a strong one.

I flew to my – our – cottage and carefully slipped silently through the back door. The table had two plates set, one full and one empty. The candles, complete with our best silver holders, were burnt to the wick. The dripped and frozen wax clung to the metal like tears.

A single wilted rose drooped from the vase I'd bought her for her birthday.

As I sat down to eat, I saw the card. "Happy Anniversary!"

Fuck. The handwriting was perfect, the card decorated with just the right amount of glitter. When I lifted it to open inside, I could just smell her perfume - like roses, but sweeter.

The guilt intensified.

I let the fork fall, and trailed up the stairs, my appetite gone. Hermione was asleep, snoring ever so slightly. As I slid in behind her, she wriggled from the cold I brought.

I tramped into the office, my head still giddy. I felt a hangover in my arse. If that's even fucking possible.

Kingsley handed me a coffee, sympathy on his face.

"Rough night, Potter?"

I chuckled wryly, "I guess you could say it was very rough."

He tsked.

"Did you get that bloody vamp up in Diagon Alley?" He enquired.

I froze for just a second, a million possible answers swarming in my mind, but before I could pick one, I'd already spoken. "Yes… got the bastard." My smile felt unconvincing on my face, but Kingsley nodded conspiratorially.

"I love the moment when they crumble to dust."

It was the lack of emotion that got me. It was the way that Kingsley could see Edward's eyes close for the last time and not even blink.

How could he not even care?

Usually when I was inside her, all I could think about was her – her moans, her gasps, the way she writhed under me.

But this time…

Edward.

As I thrust myself inside her, all I could imagine was that lopsided smirk.

She moaned. She gasped.

Edward... Edward... Edward….

She screamed my name.

"Oh Edward!" I screamed back.

Time froze. Her eyes met mine. My throat went dry and I became flaccid inside her as her mouth flew open in horror. For what felt like an eternity I watched emotions fly through her eyes at light speed as realisation of what I'd done dawned on both of us.

She pushed me off, hard enough to bruise. I fell off the bed.

"What. The. Fuck." Anger clouded her face. She tugged the covers around her like a shield.

I tried to answer, tried to offer her anything that would make the world alright again. All that came out was an incomprehensible stutter.

"Who the fuck is Edward?" She screeched. There was nothing I could say, but she looked expectantly at me anyway. As the seconds became minutes, she threw first my pillow then hers at me.

I flinched under her anger more than the cushions, and when I still didn't answer she moved to the drawers and pulled on the first clothing she found, graceless in her fury.

With a last, damning glance, she was gone.

I heard the cottage door slam, with only silence to comfort me. I had nothing to drown out my own thoughts, my own feelings.

What have I done?