Author: valinorean

Pairings and Main Characters: Harry/Draco, original characters

Summary: Harry and Draco find a mysterious portrait in Hogwarts that tells them about different stories of people in the past. But suddenly, strange things begin to happen as each story unfolds.

Rating: NC-17 (for violence)

Word Count: 50,990

Warnings: Graphic description of violence and gore on some scenes

Genre: Romance

Canon: AU from 6th year

Notes: So much love for my beta wendypops for holding my hand and making me see everything so much better. It was such a pleasure to read your comments and theories about the fic! Also, a note on Deja's West Country accent. Her speech pattern may sound awkward to anyone encountering it for the first time, but I assure you it's deliberate and not just grave misuse of the verb be :D

Prologue


It all began with the sound of muted footfalls echoing through the empty corridor on the second floor of Hogwarts Castle. In the dead of night, the moonlight reflected upon the blond head of the only person who dared skulk around the castle after curfew as if he had every right to do so.

A few seconds later, a shadow weaved through the corridor, breaking the stream of moonlight beneath each arch of window where he passed. Only this time there was no sound. There was no one.

The blond rounded another corner, seeking rarely used passages and ducking into dark corridors. Quickening his steps, he all but ran into a coat of armour and hurried to steady it before sprinting into another deserted hall.

This time the tread of the person following him could be heard slightly, enough for the blond to judge the distance between him and his pursuer. He heard a muffled curse as his pursuer too narrowly missed the coat of armour. Only then did the blond dare to look back, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the tell-tale shimmer of an Invisibility Cloak.

Ducking into another narrow hall, he sprinted again, hoping to lose the cloak-wearing menace, only to find a dead end. He cursed inwardly. Backtracking a couple of steps, he went for the two doors nearest him, hoping to find escape.

The knobs rattled as he tried casting non-verbal Unlocking Charms on the doors, to no avail. He tried casting Revealing Spells along the walls hoping to find secret passages, but those too proved to be futile. Recognising defeat, he decided to stand his ground and affected a lofty posture worthy of his patrician name.

“Malfoy.”

The voice at the end of the corridor was neither cordial nor menacing. It was merely stating the fact that Draco Malfoy had been caught at a dead end with nowhere else to go.

There was a shimmer in the air and the person who called out his name emerged from underneath the infamous Invisibility Cloak. Draco tried to hide his surprise. So the rumours about the cloak were true. It really did exist. Draco watched enviously as his pursuer hastily folded the Invisibility Cloak and stowed it underneath his robe. He thought about how easy his task would be if he possessed such a thing.

Then he looked up to his pursuer who stood blocking the stream of moonlight from his end of the hall, causing the narrow corridor to look even more foreboding than before. Only the silhouette of the person could be seen as he stood against the light, but Draco knew all too well whom that voice belonged to.

“Potter,” Draco acknowledged his pursuer.

“It’s quite late for a Slytherin to be seen skulking around the castle,” Potter said, his voice mildly threatening.

“Hardly. But it is quite late for Gryffindors to be stalking Slytherins skulking around the castle,” Draco countered.

“No,” Potter said with a hint of amusement. “It’s never too late for Gryffindors to stalk Slytherins who seem to have hidden agendas at midnight.”

“A simple stroll can hardly constitute as a secret agenda, Potter,” Draco said replied with a sneer.

They stood looking at each other, seizing the other up and calculating the chances of walking away unscathed from the impending scuffle that Draco knew would inevitably happen. Draco bit back another curse. Somehow he knew that Potter would be the one to ruin his chances even before he could begin.

Just then a low rumbling was heard in the hall, and the ground began to vibrate in a way that was similar to a moving staircase. They both stumbled and reached out to brace one hand against the nearest wall, trying to keep themselves upright, as the floor continued to shake and tremble. Draco looked around trying to find the source. Then it became apparent that the sound was coming from the wall at the end of the corridor.

“Then what the fuck do you call that, Malfoy?” Potter said, pulling out his wand from his robe pockets and training it at the general direction of the far wall.

Spinning on his heel, Draco turned to face the empty corridor, also brandishing his wand from his sleeve.

“How the fuck should I know,” he said, slowly stepping back and away from the rumbling wall.

Then the wall at the end of the corridor slowly began to cave inward. Dust and loose dirt began to fall from the ceiling. The two boys slowly inched closer together, their unease driving them to unconsciously seek each other. Safety in numbers, Draco thought, even if the other person was Potter. What with the castle hiding more secrets and monsters than anyone could guess, it was a wonder that nobody had been killed in an accident. Yet.

He and Potter stood there for a good minute or so, watching in rapt fascination as the hole in the wall slowly began to grow larger and larger. When the wall stopped moving, it revealed a hidden corridor that that veered slightly to the right.

At the right angle, the new passageway would have been invisible to someone who was merely walking down the hall. But if one walked along the left wall of the corridor and knew exactly what to look for, the trace of a shadow appeared that would lead them to where the secret passage could be seen.

Potter inched closer to get a better view of the new corridor and Draco was appalled by the display of typical Gryffindor stupidity. Trust Potter to stick his head into the unknown and likely get himself killed. Instinctively, Draco grabbed Potter’s sleeve and tugged slightly.

“What the fuck, Potter,” came the annoyed hiss from the blond. “If a manticore emerges from there, you’ll be dead in a heartbeat.”

“No I won’t,” Potter snapped back, his attention still on the mysterious passage. He then waved Draco’s hand off before casting a dim Lumos to light the way and slowly advanced in.

Draco would have smacked Potter’s head right there if he were any closer.

Draco gritted his teeth and debated whether he should turn back or follow Potter in. If Potter got himself into an accident, or worse, killed, then he would have deserved it. But it was the thought that he would be questioned by the Ministry as to having been the last person to see Harry Potter alive that kept him from abandoning the idiot Gryffindor to his demise. Draco exhaled loudly before following Potter into the hall. However, after only about a dozen steps in, they came across a heavy oak double door that blocked their path.

“Huh,” said Potter. “It only leads to here.”

“Stating the bloody obvious as usual,” came the acidic reply.

Potter tried to push one of the doors, but it wouldn’t budge. He began casting a series of Unlocking Spells, some of which Draco had not even heard of before. His eyebrow rose to his hairline, slightly impressed by the display. But when none of those worked, Draco was once again annoyed. Impressive, yet useless, just like Potter himself.

“I’m heading back,” Draco said. He began to turn around, but his arm was suddenly grabbed from behind, forcing him to stay put.

“Come on, Malfoy,” Potter said, eyes bright with curiosity. “Let’s go see what’s inside.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco huffed, shrugging Potter’s iron grip away. “Potter, you do realise who you’re talking to, right?”

Potter’s reaction would have been hilarious because Potter did in fact look like he had just remembered that he wasn’t talking to one of his friends, or even one of his Gryffindor minions. However at that instant, a low meow echoed through the hall and the two boys nearly jumped out of their skins when the shadow of Filch’s cat loomed from the other end of the corridor.

In one quick motion, Potter extracted his Invisibility Cloak from some hidden pocket in his robe and wrapped it around himself. Draco nearly froze in shock for a second, seeing Potter disappear into nothing under the Invisibility Cloak. Everyone knew about Potter’s cloak, but it was different seeing it in action. Then the shuffling of feet brought him back to his senses and he, too, quickly retreated into the shadows before Filch’s footsteps rounded the corner.

Draco cast a spell similar to a Disillusionment Charm that would render him nearly invisible to anyone far enough as long as he walked against the backdrop of a dark shadow. Fortunately, there were plenty of those in Hogwarts.

He reached the safety of the dungeons with his heart thumping and slightly relieved that he hadn't been caught. No doubt Potter would reach the towers without any problems at all as he was safely hidden by his Invisibility Cloak, the bastard.

Draco was irritated that he hadn't been able to do what he sought out to do in the first place. However, when he lay down on his bed that night, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking about the hidden corridor and what possibly lay behind the mysterious door. He was inexplicably drawn to it, even with his initial reluctance to enter. He resolved to look up advanced Unlocking Spells in the library the next day and return to the mysterious door. Just to satisfy his curiosity, of course. There might be nothing inside it, after all.

And that was how it all began.


Chapter I


Draco found himself silently walking down the halls of Hogwarts past curfew for the second time. He passed the rows of armour and the large arched windows before finally turning to the now familiar looking corridor. He knew he didn’t have time for this. There were far more important things that he should be doing, but for some strange reason, he was inexplicably drawn to the hidden corridor and the room behind it.

After two days of researching new Unlocking Spells, Draco felt confident enough that he could open the mysterious door. If the charm on the door were stronger than the spells in his arsenal, he would know not to meddle with whatever was inside that room. But if the room opened, he would take a peek inside to satisfy his curiosity, and never return again.

And after that, he could go back to doing his task.

“I thought you were afraid to go in?”

Draco turned to his right and saw Potter standing a few feet from him, one hand at the oak double door inside the hidden corridor. His Invisibility Cloak, naturally, was draped around his shoulders, showing only his head and the front of his robes.

“I was merely curious if the wall had disappeared again,” Draco lied easily. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he felt somewhat relieved that someone was there, even if it was Potter. At the very least, if a dangerous creature came out of the room, he could push Potter and his heroic arse in front of him before running off to save his own skin.

“Right,” Potter smirked knowingly. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you go in and see for yourself what’s inside.”

Draco blanched and nearly turned and ran back to the dungeon. Right. So much for his plan to use Potter as bait.

“If you want to get killed or eaten by whatever is in there, then be my guest,” Draco said to cover up his reluctance to even come near the door. “I have no intention whatsoever of going into forbidden places that might get me expelled.”

Of course, only Potter would have the nerve to do such things. His exploits since first year had been going around the rumour mill, but no one had ever proven them. The Gryffindors of their year had kept their mouths shut pretty tight when it came to stories about Potter, but Draco had enough leverage on the other years to get the stories right. Dumbledore probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at whatever the Golden Boy did, short of killing someone.

“And I’m not your pet Weasel or Mudblood you can drag around on one of your moronic adventures,” Draco added for effect. Except the reaction it elicited wasn’t the one he was hoping for.

A flare of anger flashed across Potter’s emerald eyes before it was quickly replaced by what Draco could only describe as a calculated look of mischief that he usually saw in the Weasley twins’ faces. Then Potter baited him with the only thing neither of them could resist:

“Scared, Malfoy?”

“You wish, Potter,” was the automatic reply, even before Draco could process the dare.

Draco cursed under his breath. He hated the way Potter could always provoke him to do things against his better judgement. Irritated with himself, he covered his annoyance by brushing past the other boy who was now wearing an infuriatingly smug smile that he wanted to knock away with his fist.

He tried using the Unlocking Spells he researched the day before, but they didn’t work. Knowing the spells were useless, he knew that he shouldn’t mess with whatever was inside the room. But Potter was still looking expectantly at him and he shoved the thought to the back of his mind. In frustration, he tried to push the solid door open with force, but as soon as his hand touched it, the wood beneath his palm started glowing with a faint blue light. On the other door, the wood under Potter’s palm also started to glow and the soft click of a lock was heard.

“Nice spell, Malfoy. What did you use?” Potter said.

Draco froze, blindsided by the offhand compliment from the Gryffindor. He was about to say that he didn’t do anything to it, but Potter obviously wasn’t interested in the answer as he was already pushing the door open and heading inside the room.


* * *

The room was surprisingly large and airy. Tall arched windows allowed silver moonbeams to permeate into the room, lighting the area with an unearthly glow. White marble columns lined the walls, creating a path towards the other end of the room where an elevated platform could be seen.

Draco hesitated by the door, watching as the blue light beneath his palm began to fade. Potter didn’t even pause to glance at the magic that had warded the door. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Potter didn’t even notice that there were wards. The wards didn’t feel menacing or even slightly threatening, which was usually the case as they were used to warn trespassers from entering the protected area. In fact, Draco thought it felt somewhat friendly, as if enticing him to enter. Perhaps Potter was used to always having his way around powerful magic that he neither recognised nor felt them anymore.

When Potter began to walk further in the room, Draco drew his wand and followed close.

There was certainly powerful magic inside the room, and Draco could almost feel the air pulsating with it. They slowly advanced inside, their feet moving forward of their own accord and taking them to the other end of the room, opposite the door. When they reached the dais, they came face to face with a large off-white canvas cloth draped over something that stood on the centre of the platform.

Casting their gazes around, they soon discovered several other canvas cloths covering unknown things of varying sizes, haphazardly strewn around the room. They all had a definite rectangular figure, and while some were lined along the walls, most were propped against the pillars surrounding the dais.

“Oh!” was the quiet gasp that broke the eerie silence of the room.

Draco turned to see Potter peeking underneath one of the white canvases by the pillar nearest the platform. It was one of the bigger ones, about five feet high and seven feet wide.

“I think it’s a portrait,” said Potter, who was now tugging at the cloth and trying to unwrap the frame. Dust began to swirl around him as he tugged.

“Are you crazy?” Draco hissed at him. “What if these things are cursed?”

Draco grabbed Potter’s arm and threw back the cloth that had unravelled on one side of the portrait. As he did that, the cloth at the other side slid down, revealing a gilded frame. Biting back a curse, Draco used his wand to Levitate the cloth on the other side while holding the other and quickly draped it back to the frame.

“Well, we won’t know until we see it, will we?” Potter said, crossing his arms.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and counted slowly to ten, wishing he had never left the safety of his dorm room. He was really really tempted to just leave Potter here to whatever wretched fate he brought upon himself with his idiotic Gryffindor tendencies.

Draco knew he had the advantage growing up in a home with cursed objects in almost every room. He knew not to touch anything before he knew for certain that the object was completely safe. Potter on the other hand would rather examine everything first and ask questions later, consequences be damned.

“Did you even stop to think why these things are carefully wrapped and stored in a hidden room where they won’t likely be found?” Draco snapped. “Oh wait, silly me. Of course not. Thinking is apparently not a prerequisite for being Sorted into your House.”

“Malfoy,” Potter growled in warning.

Suddenly, a light blue glow started to emanate from the tall thing standing on the platform. The two boys backed away slowly as the light grew steadily from the base, rising from the floor and quickly moving up to the apex, before disappearing. Just as quickly as it had begun, the light faded and all but disappeared completely, save for the residual glow that was reflected on the floor around it.

“What was that?” Potter gaped. He motioned for Draco to follow him as he crept closer to the platform. “Now you can’t say that we should just leave it alone.”

Draco wanted to tell him that that was exactly why they should leave it alone, but his curiosity had been piqued.

He reluctantly followed Potter to the mysterious object, keeping his wand out for anything that might show even the tiniest hint of danger. They climbed the two steps that led to the platform, careful not to step off the faint residual blue glow on the floor. Potter warily reached up to tug at the cloth, sending not a small amount of dust that had collected there (a long long time ago from the looks of it, Draco thought) up into the air. A few more quick tugs and the cloth slowly slid to the floor. Both Draco and Potter stepped back a few paces and moved to stand directly in front of the object.

The mysterious object was revealed to be a long oval shaped portrait, propped up at the base with a swivel that would allow for the portrait to be turned at any direction. The purpose of such a thing, of course, baffled Draco. The design of the frame was made of platinum with a single gold band running along its length. It would have been extremely unremarkable except for two things. One was that there was nothing painted on the portrait’s canvas, just a solid black space. And two, the canvas appeared to be…alive, if you could call it that.

Actually, to say that the canvas seemed alive was a bit of an overestimation. Fluid was the more appropriate term. Although the canvas was completely black with charcoal, there was an unfathomable darkness in it, as if one was looking up at a starless night and seeing the depths of space itself. There were also unmistakable shadows like a swirling black mist in the canvas—now coming closer, now moving farther.

The two boys held their breath in anticipation, waiting for something—anything—to happen. It took them a good five minutes before they became bored, as nothing more happened. The empty portrait was apparently just that: mysterious, but mostly unremarkable.

“What’s it doing?” Potter asked, apparently still mesmerized by the play of shadows.

Draco only shrugged in response. He was wary of the mysterious portrait, but he couldn’t deny that the curiosity was eating him. His rational mind was telling him to leave and let responsible adults unravel this mystery. At its worst, this thing could get them killed and it warred with his sense of preservation.

Yet his inquisitive mind kept him rooted. The way the shadows moved reminded him a bit of the way portraits sometimes travelled from one frame to another, leaving minuscule traces of paint before disappearing quickly and completely. But the black mist, however, was doing the complete opposite. Instead of leaving the frame, it seemed as if it was gathering the wayward shadows to take shape at the bottom of the canvas, black against black.

For a while it started looking like a fish, but flippers began to appear making it seem like a—

“Is that a sea lion?” gasped Potter, eyes wide.

“Fur seal, I think,” replied Draco, half irritated at the fact that his tone exuded more awe than he intended. Yes, curiosity was definitely winning.

The image was now a solid portrait of a fur seal lounging on a lone rock in the middle of what seemed like a tumultuous sea, while lightning tore through the dark stormy skies. The portrait was no longer shades of black; there were hues of blues as well as white as the lightning streaked through the sky. The creature reared its head, apparently smelling the air. Then its gaze suddenly fixed on the two boys and considered them, its eyes shining in what could only be described as recognition—almost the way a loyal dog would recognize its owner.

Transfixed with the image, the two boys watched as the seal began to twist and turn in an almost grotesque manner. Hitched breath was heard as the skin started to rip and bloodied flesh was revealed. The dark charcoal portrait was now tinted bright red as a trail of blood oozed from the seal, on to the rock, and out to sea.

As the seal shed its skin, a pale hand emerged first, then another. Then an arched back, a round bottom, and two long legs surfaced. Finally, the woman—for indeed it was a woman who had emerged—stood up and stretched her naked body, allowing long ebony locks to fall to her waist, while blood fell in rivulets, stark against her pale skin.

She turned to face them both.

“Hail to you, younglings,” she greeted them.

The woman in the portrait was an odd sort, Draco thought. Her voice was that of an elderly woman, strained and cracked, and it contrasted greatly with her clear, young face. However, there was an otherworldly quality to it. It was almost as if the woman’s voice was laced with magic.

Neither of the two boys stirred, still captivated by the sight of the pale woman. When they didn’t greet back, the woman continued to speak.

“I be Deja,” the woman said smiling at them. “You be…Slytherin and Gryffindor?”

The familiar words, even spoken by the most ethereal sound in the world, snapped Draco from his stupor. Clearing his throat and looking at the creature’s golden eyes as not to ogle at the flawless body before him, Draco replied with as much poise as he could muster.

“Yes, I am a Slytherin. And he,” Draco said, motioning to Potter while keeping his insults in check, “is a Gryffindor.”

The creature tilted her head in reply, scrutinising them. Draco felt her golden gaze pierce him, as if she was looking into the depths of his soul. When their eyes locked, Draco saw numerous visions of people he didn’t recognize and of events that, judging from the clothes the people wore, had happened long ago. He broke eye contact and shuddered, before shaking his head slightly. He tried to rid his mind of the visions and refocus.

Beside him, Potter seemed unperturbed.

“You—you’re a selkie!” Potter sputtered suddenly, excitedly. He was, apparently, unable to keep himself from stating the obvious once again.

“Indeed,” replied the woman, “of a sort.” She then smiled fully and leaned closer to them, or appeared to lean closer as people in portraits do, as her face became larger, taking up a third of the entire frame. “I be…created long ago in this very place. Long before all the others.”

She gestured to the other covered frames across the room. The two boys swept their gazes and realised that the other frames were situated to form a circle around the selkie’s portrait. Draco noted that while she did this, the portrait had swivelled on its own accord.

It was as if they were talking to a real creature.

She began to point at each one, and Draco held his breath in anticipation. Were there others like her underneath the cloth covers? But then she let her arms fall gracefully at her side without revealing the contents of the other frames.

“Portraits?” Potter asked almost enthusiastically. “May we see them?”

“Someday, you might,” Deja said as she shook her head sadly. “Alas, they be sleeping for now.”

“Oh, too bad, then,” Potter said without bothering to hide his disappointment.

“Perhaps, you be interested in my story instead?” Deja offered.

“Your creation, you mean?” Draco asked, slightly mystified.

“Aye,” Deja answered. “I be created by two powerful wizards long ago…”


* * *

The Slytherin and The Gryffindor


“Aparecium.”

“Colovaria.”

“No no no,” said a man from his position on the dais.

He was standing with his wand arm raised, the sleeve of his opulent dark green robe slipping down his bone-thin arm like cascading silk. With a large sweep of his wand, the air crackled and became alive with magic for a few intense seconds before a whispered Finite ended it.

“There, you see? Much better.”

Across from him, the other man who had cast the previous spells gave a hearty laugh. He was wearing simple black robes with red and gold trimmings and his bright green eyes were glittering with amusement.

“You Slytherins and your excessive displays of magic. I was merely preparing it for the incantation.”

The two men stood facing each other inside a large room. The pillars around them were aglow with magic, protecting the room from outside influence and at the same time keeping the powerful and unstable magic contained within the room.

The Slytherin fingered the heavy gold locket on his breast and smiled as the green stone of the serpentine S glinted when it caught the light.

“At least we are using magic the way it is meant to be used,” the Slytherin said. “What will your father say when he learns how you are whiling your time away with this little project instead of doing his bidding?”

“Bah, I have no intentions of returning to Cornwall,” the other man said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “The family can be quite burdensome at times.”

“Mm.” The Slytherin nodded in agreement. “I would hide here in Scotland too if I was forced to live with that many Gryffindors all at once. One is more than enough as it is.”

“Ha, you say that now, but wait until we begin in the fall,” the Gryffindor said smiling. “Besides, I can always lay the blame on you. I’ll tell Father that this was your idea.”

“Ah, but that would not be very noble of you, would it?” the Slytherin tutted.

The Gryffindor only laughed. “Indeed, it won’t.”

“Shall we return to the task at hand?”

“Very well,” the Gryffindor said. He raised his wand once more and concentrated on the object that lay between them.

Soon, both men began to chant a long series of spells. The words they used for each of the spells were different, yet complementary. As one ended his spell, the other would begin, never breaking the harmony of sound that created the magic. A strong hum of energy could be felt as magic began to saturate the room. The object between them rose into the air and began to morph. It seemed fluid in its motion, like a giant blob of quicksilver, but in reality it was a solid block of platinum.

The thing looked almost alive, moving of its own accord and trying to break free of the magic that encapsulated it. Both the Slytherin and the Gryffindor fought hard to control it, trying to make it obey their will. But in the end, the platinum shuddered and gave up control, allowing the two men to transfigure it freely.

As their chanting began to ease, so did the object’s transformation, until it slowly descended to the ground. The outcome was an oval-shaped frame with an intricately designed base, allowing the portrait to stand on its own. The surface shimmered with magic for some time before the gleaming platinum was transfigured into a dark cloth canvas.

At the centre of the canvas was a portrait of the most beautiful woman the two men had ever seen. Naked from head to toe, with her long ebony hair flowing down her shoulders and past her waist like a waterfall, and eyes golden as the first rays of the sun at morn, the woman stood at the centre of the canvas, bathed in radiant blue light.

The expression on her face was one of pure innocence like that of a newborn child, as if she knew nothing of the world. But perhaps that was so. After all, she was created barely a few seconds ago.

“Marvellous spell work, my friend,” the Gryffindor said. “But did you really have to use a Fur Spell on her?”

“Apologies,” the Slytherin said, although it was clearly meant in jest. “Had I known you wished to create a human instead of a creature, I would have sprouted wings from her back.”

The Gryffindor laughed good-naturedly. “Shall we awaken her, then?” he asked.

“Please,” replied the Slytherin. “Allow me.”

The Slytherin touched the tip of his wand to the woman’s forehead and whispered a spell. For a while nothing happened to the woman in the portrait and both thought of recasting the spell. But the light around her suddenly began to pulse and they stared as the woman slowly blinked. When she opened her eyes again, there was now awareness behind the golden orbs. She first looked at the Slytherin and then at the Gryffindor, both of whom were astounded at what their magic had created.

The woman began to move, slowly as if feeling movement. She tilted her head and looked left and right, then raised her hands to her side, tracing the contours of her body and feeling her own face, before finally taking a single wobbly step forward.

“Amazing,” the Slytherin breathed.

“I didn’t expect it to work,” the Gryffindor replied, equally in awe.

The woman took several steps forward before she was met with an invisible barrier. There was confusion written on her face as she tried unsuccessfully to move forward, wanting to leave the frame that confined her. When she finally gave up, she looked pleadingly at the two men before her.

“We are sorry,” the Gryffindor said apologetically. “But you cannot pass through.” He raised one hand to the canvas and touched the tips of her fingers with his.

The Slytherin, however, was heedless to her distress. He moved closer to the portrait, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Very remarkable,” he whispered almost to himself. “She is a sentient being.” He tapped the Gryffindor’s shoulder lightly and the man moved away. Drawing to his full height, the Slytherin cleared his throat before addressing the portrait. “Are you able to speak?” he inquired.

The woman raised a hand to her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound was forthcoming. She tried again a few more times until she was able to produce a croaking sound from her throat.

“I…” she croaked. Her voice was dry and strained from never having been used before. “My name…Deja.”

The Gryffindor’s laughter rang through the entire room. “We did it, my friend. We did it!”


* * *

For days, the two men revelled in the wonderful creation their magic had crafted. For not only were they able to create an animate and intelligent being, but the being seemed to have inherent magic of her own as well.

But that, unfortunately, bred more problems for them. The magic in her creation was apparently flawed in that they could not remove her from the room. The energy that sustained her was embedded into the room itself and not the frame, which was her vessel. So both the Slytherin and the Gryffindor had taken to visiting her, sometimes even spending the entire day with her, teaching her how to speak, showing her magic, and sometimes even telling her about the world outside the castle.

Years passed and they had been her constant companions and friends. In turn, the friendship between the two friends grew stronger than ever, tied by their bond of magic to the portrait.

However, events outside the Portrait Room, as they now called it, had begun stirring. The wizarding world did not stop for them as they would have wished to imagine, and here and there, allegiances were being created and shattered with the tide of politics.

Inevitably, the time came when the two friends needed to leave and it caused an unavoidable predicament: Deja would be left without company.

“This is not right,” said the Gryffindor. “We created her and are therefore responsible for her wellbeing. We cannot just leave her like this all alone. I won’t allow it.”

“Most unfortunate, indeed. But she is, after all, merely a portrait,” the Slytherin said. “We did not foresee such an event. But now is not the time for this. The wheels are turning and I feel the fate of the wizarding world is about to change. We must leave post haste.”

“How can you say that?” was the baffled reply from the Gryffindor. “After all the magic we spent to create her, you claim that she is merely a trifle creature?”

The Slytherin merely regarded the portrait, unwilling to reply.

The woman stared mournfully at the Gryffindor. The Gryffindor knew, however, that his friend was right. There were pressing matters at hand and only but a few would be able to resolve these matters.

And he and the Slytherin were two of those people.

“I am sorry, truly,” said the Slytherin. “But it cannot be helped.”

“Then I shall make a vow,” the Gryffindor declared grandly, daring the Slytherin to oppose him. He turned to the portrait and said, “I vow to always return to this place, to return to you. No matter how long I have gone, I shall always return.”

The Slytherin stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder in a gesture of apology.

“I too shall make that vow with you,” the Slytherin said more serenely. “And perhaps one day, when all this is over, we’ll be able to create a companion for her.”

The Gryffindor smiled at his friend and reached up to squeeze the hand on his shoulder in gratitude.

“Thank you, my friend,” the Gryffindor said, holding his hand out for the Slytherin to take. “Shall we swear by our magic, then?”

“Of course,” the Slytherin said, clasping his friend’s arm. “And Deja shall be our witness.”

As warm green eyes met sincere grey ones, Deja raised her arms and cast the spell that would tie them with a bond unbreakable. Magic swirled around their clasped arms as the visible bond illuminated and sealed their promise.


* * *

Deja was already waiting in eager anticipation when the Gryffindor opened the door to the Portrait Room. But the Gryffindor’s face was masked in sorrow and the Slytherin was nowhere to be seen.

“Where be my Slytherin?” Deja asked, frowning.

The Gryffindor walked towards her without ever looking up. He was weary and he hadn’t eaten for days. And the absolute last thing he wanted to do was look into Deja’s eyes and see his sorrow reflected there.

“He is gone,” the Gryffindor said with a heavy sigh, his gaze still fixed on the floor. “We had a…disagreement. He left.”

“But he promised to return,” Deja disagreed. “He be keeping that promise. Yes?”

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Deja.”

The Gryffindor turned and fled, never to return again.


* * *

“Slytherin never did come back to me,” said Deja, her eyes sad. “Gryffindor be the only one who came back but once, and he be full of sorrow. I learnt that there be a great strife between them, but that be long long after they passed away.”

“That’s horrible,” Draco heard Potter whisper.

“Truly,” said Deja, “but eventually, other wizards be able to discover the room. Some endeavoured to create others from my image, yet they all failed. There be only one wizard who created something that be nearly likened to my creation. Yet it be created from his unmoving image, and his image be brought to life by his magic.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying that the first moving portrait was created here? In this very room?” he asked incredulously. “And you saw how the spell for that was invented?”

“Oh yes,” Deja nodded, smiling. “I be the one to teach him that, in fact. But the wizard have not the ability to learn what I taught him, and he be only able to mimic the magic. The wizard be a very kind man, but what he created, they be much simpler than myself. They be unable to use magic and they be horrid at conversation, even. But they kept me company for some time.”

Draco exchanged a wondrous look with Potter, forgetting the years of enmity and fierce rivalry between them. For a moment, Draco imagined that they too were bonded through this magical being they'd discovered.

“Eventually, this room be forgotten,” Deja continued. “The ones created after me, they be able to move to different places, and one by one they left until I be the only one who remained once again. When they all finally be gone, I sealed this room and rested.”

“Wait,” Potter said. “So this room hasn’t been opened in, what, centuries? A millennium?”

“No,” Deja answered. “I be alone for a long time. Until one day there be two young men who found me again.”

“And then what happened?” Potter asked.

Deja gave Potter a sidelong glance, as if piercing him with her stare. It was the same stare that she gave Draco earlier. Draco wondered if Potter felt her looking into his soul, the same way she did with him. Draco found his answer when he saw Potter swallow nervously.

“That be a tale for another time,” Deja answered eventually. She turned to Draco and he could have sworn her eyes literally twinkled in mischief. “I do not think you be ready to hear it.”

With that, Deja vanished and a swirl of black mist engulfed the canvas, taking with it the tumultuous sea and the stormy sky.

“Wait!” Potter cried.

But it was too late. The swirling mist had disappeared, leaving only a dull black canvas in its place. Potter’s shoulders visibly slumped and Draco couldn’t help but feel the same way.

Meeting the mysterious portrait of the selkie woman left him unstable and disoriented for reasons he could not understand. It was as if his magic had been drained from him. He felt a slight prickly sensation around his smallest finger and he shook his hand to get rid of it.

They waited a few moments more in a vain hope that Deja would return, but when it became apparent that she would not be reappearing, they slowly shuffled out of the Portrait Room.

They stopped by the door, looking back once last time before finally closing it. Draco swore he felt a touch of magic pass through the door before they locked into place.

“Weird, yeah?” Potter said, awkwardly trying to make conversation.

Draco meant to be rude, as was natural for them, but he could only respond with a half-hearted sneer and Potter only shrugged it off. Draco didn’t care, though. He couldn’t muster enough energy to start another fight with Potter. He turned on his heel and started marching back towards the direction of the dungeons without answering Potter’s question.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it?” Potter called out, running to catch up with him.

“Talk about what?” Draco snapped. He suddenly felt tired, making him more irritable than usual. “How the great Harry Potter discovered yet another mysterious room in Hogwarts? Be glad that there were no basilisks and petrified students involved this time.”

“You knew about that?” Harry said, taken aback. He seemed genuinely surprised that Draco knew.

“All the Slytherins knew about it, Potter,” Draco scoffed. “You think you could keep Slytherin’s secret from members of his own house?”

“You know what, forget I said anything.” Potter bristled. “My mistake for thinking we could at least have a decent conversation about it.”

“We don’t do conversations, Potter,” Draco said. “We only fight, argue and throw hexes at each other.”

“Fine,” Potter said crossly, “piss off then.”

“Git,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Draco watched as Potter tugged his Invisibility Cloak over his head. He noticed Potter flicking his wrist as if trying to shake off something from his hand before wrapping the cloak about him and finally disappearing.

Waiting until Potter’s retreating footsteps had faded, Draco walked towards the direction of his own dorm, absently rubbing at the prickly feeling in his own finger.


Chapter II


The moon was just as radiant as the first time he was here. He had had no intentions of returning after that first night, knowing that Potter would be back straight away the next day. Besides, Draco had other more important things to do. He knew these meetings with Potter might jeopardise his chance to succeed and he was not about to let Potter ruin his chances. He did not have the option to fail.

But the mystery of the portrait was eating him, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He wanted to know the rest of Deja’s story.

His resolve to never return only lasted a fortnight before he was going crazy thinking about the Portrait Room. He tried to forget it by working non-stop on his task, but he would constantly be reminded of it whenever he saw Potter in classes or in the Great Hall. Sometimes, Potter would even show up at the most unusual places—and if Draco didn't know better, he would swear Potter was following him—and he would be reminded once again of the night at the Portrait Room.

In the end, Draco had succumbed to his curiosity.

When he reached the narrow hall that led to the Portrait Room, Potter was already there waiting for him.

“I suppose I should be surprised to see you, but really I’m not,” Draco said, acknowledging the other boy’s presence.

“I came here after that first night, but it wouldn’t open,” Potter said, gesturing to the solid door.

“And you’ve been here every night since, just waiting for me to show up?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself, Malfoy,” Potter smirked. “I don’t come here during Quidditch training nights.”

Draco, however, mentally recalled that Gryffindor had only booked the pitch twice in the last two weeks instead of the usual six.

The morning after their strange meeting at the Portrait Room, Draco had gone to the Great Hall half expecting Potter to confront him about the events of the previous night. He even thought Potter would go so far as to drag him into an empty classroom or corridor where no one could see them to ask him questions. Instead, Potter acted as if nothing had happened. He was his usual awkward self, surrounded by his friends, laughing and talking without much care in the world.

Both he and Potter had ignored each other during classes and in corridors, barely acknowledging the other’s existence. So much so, in fact, that Draco had begun to wonder if the woman in the Portrait Room, or the Portrait Room itself had been a figment of his imagination.

But that soon changed on the third day when an ordinary school owl dropped a piece of parchment on his plate during breakfast. Curious, Draco picked up the parchment and read the message inside.

Meet you back there. P.

It was the only thing written on the parchment. That was when Draco realised that Potter was just as curious about the rest of the story as he was, if not more.

Draco ignored the note, of course, both to piss Potter off and because he was reluctant to return.

Until that night.

“Well? Come on,” Potter prompted him, one hand already touching the surface of one of the double doors.

“What makes you think that I’m willing to enter that place again with you?” Draco said just to be contrary.

“Well, you’re here aren’t you?” Potter replied almost in exasperation. “Besides, I think I need you for this to open. I tried with Ron and Hermione but the door wouldn’t budge.”

“What?” Draco hissed. “You told them about this place?”

For reasons he could not understand, Draco felt protective of the Portrait Room. He didn’t want anyone besides him and Potter knowing of its existence.

“I didn’t tell them what’s inside,” Potter said defensively. “They think I haven’t been in there. Actually, they even told me to stop snooping inside a warded door. Said I might end up face to face with another Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?”

“Never mind,” Potter said dismissively. “Just, help me with this, would you?”

Draco stepped forward and touched the door. Just like before, the door emitted a faint blue light where his hand touched the surface. Beside him, Potter’s palm was already bathed in the blue light. A low rumble and a click, and then the door swung open. They hurried to the dais where they could see Deja already waiting for them in her frame.

When they approached, Draco saw that there was a slight change in the portrait. The sea behind her was now calmer, but still dark.

“You’re here!” Potter exclaimed.

“I knew you be returning today,” Deja answered with a smile.

“How—” Potter began to ask, but quickly stopped when he saw what Deja was doing.

With a sweep of her hand, she gestured to her left where a large rectangular frame sat propped against a pillar. The white canvas that was covering it slid gently to the floor and it revealed a portrait of two boys waving enthusiastically at them.

Were these the two boys she mentioned the last time they were here? But what were they doing in the portrait? Draco looked at Deja, the question at the tip of his tongue. But Deja only nodded in encouragement and gestured to the portrait. Draco turned to study the image of the two boys who were now staring back at him and Potter.

One boy was taller with inky black hair and sharp grey eyes, while the shorter one had honey blond hair and green eyes that were nearly indiscernible due to the enormous smile on his face that crinkled his eyes. They wore black robes that were very old-fashioned and similar in cut and shape. Draco was almost certain they were school uniforms and he searched for any distinct markings that would confirm this.

And he was right. Because even without the ties, the emblem of Ravenclaw house on their left breast pocket marked them as Hogwarts students. They were small and hardly noticeable if one wasn’t looking for them. They were about a quarter of the size of the house emblems they had on their current uniform.

Draco tried to peer past the two boys who were crowding the front of the portrait. He wanted to know where they were. As if reading his mind, the black haired boy dragged his companion backwards and Draco was able to see where they were.

They were standing under the shade of a very young beech tree. Behind them, the surface of the Hogwarts lake shimmered with reflected sunlight. Draco looked at the scene with a bit of awe. It looked like Hogwarts…yet somehow different.

Draco approached the portrait and the two boys began mouthing words to him. However, no sound was forthcoming.

“Can’t they speak?” He turned to ask Deja.

“No, they be unlike the other portraits in Hogwarts,” Deja replied. “They be able to show only memories of their lives.”

“Wow, I didn’t know portraits could do that,” Potter said in wonder. “Is it like a Pensieve? Except they use portraits?”

“Yes, and no,” Deja answered. “This be made from…a different kind of magic.”

Draco rolled his eyes to hide his amusement when Potter walked closer to the portrait to stand beside him and unabashedly waved back at the two boys. Potter’s face lit up with a brilliant smile when they enthusiastically waved back, matching the smile of the shorter boy in the portrait.

“Who are they?” Draco asked as he looked curiously at the two boys who had an arm wrapped around each other’s shoulders.

“They be the first ones to return…”

The image in the portrait suddenly shimmered and changed until it showed the two boys lounging near the lake and reading their textbooks.


* * *


The Boys of Ravenclaw Tower

“Henry…Henryyy…”

Henry swatted at the leaf tickling his nose.

“Henryyy…”

When another leaf began to tickle his ear, Henry flung down the book he was reading and tackled his friend to the ground. They laughed and tussled on the grass for a few minutes before Henry got the upper hand and was able to pin his friend down, his knees on either side of his friend’s body.

“Corvus, you are so annoying,” Henry growled. “I was trying to study.”

Corvus laughed. “But I’m bored!”

“Eat, then.” Henry fished out a small candy bar from his pocket and handed it to Corvus before muttering under his breath, “That should shut you up for a while.”

Corvus heard him nonetheless and smacked him lightly on the head. “You and your sweets addiction,” he said, but took the proffered chocolate anyway and immediately began to unwrap it.

“Oi, no complaining. You eat half of my stash all the time,” Henry scolded. “Besides, how come you’re not reading your text?”

“You read to’ slow, ’m already done wi’ mine,” came the garbled reply while Corvus tried to slowly lick the chocolate from his fingers.

“That’s because you cheated,” Henry grumbled while getting off his friend’s stomach, allowing the other boy to sit up. “You skipped Theory of Astral Projections.”

“Well it’s dumb anyway,” Corvus replied, picking a stray leaf from Henry’s blond hair. “No one has been able to travel via the astral plane in the last hundred years. That is, if those claims were actually true. So what’s the point of studying it?”

“But it’s for extra credit!” Henry exclaimed in outrage. “You’re not doing it?”

“I already asked for another topic from Professor Garin, but he said I’ve already done too much extra credit work,” Corvus said. “Said he couldn’t give me anything higher than an O.”

Henry stuck out his tongue. “Well, some of us are still stuck with an E.”

“Some are, yes,” Corvus grinned, “but you’re not fooling me. You’re not one of them, Henry. Come on book-flobberworm, we’re supposed to head back to the dorm anyway.”

Henry gazed out longingly to the lake. There was a rumour going around that a large creature was living in the lake. No one had seen it yet, of course, but Henry had been spending most of his study time outside under a growing beech tree by the lake, hoping to catch a glimpse of that mysterious creature. It would have to wait for some other day, he supposed.

Henry suddenly stood up, grabbing his book. “Race you there!” he called over his back to his friend as he sprinted towards the castle.

“You cheater!” Corvus shouted back as he ran after his friend.


* * *

They reached the Ravenclaw Common Room panting and flushed from exertion after running up the numerous flights of stairs to reach their tower. When they entered the common room, they were greeted by a group of Ravenclaws who were gathered by the fireplace. At the centre was their prefect, Esther Loges, who was holding aloft a letter from home.

“What’s all the commotion?” Henry asked as both he and Corvus took a seat on one of the empty couches.

“News from home,” one of their housemates said. “There was trouble with the Muggles in Kent.”

At the corner of his vision, Henry saw Corvus’s eyes narrow.

“My sister sent a letter saying a small wizard village was burned down by Muggles,” Esther said. “No one knew how the Muggles found it, but everyone was able to Apparate safely away except for one witch. She was trying to free her owl when they caught her.”

“What happened to her?” Corvus asked, his voice steely.

“They burned her at the stake, what else?” Esther said and a murmur of dissent went around the room. Then she continued in a hushed voice, “But one wizard was there during her execution. He said she had a Seer’s vision right before she died.”

“What was the vision?” someone asked.

“She cursed all the Muggles,” Esther said. “The witch promised that one day she’ll return and kill them all and live forever.”

A shiver ran down Henry’s spine. “Is that even possible? To kill all the Muggles, I mean?”

“Reckon not,” one of their housemates said. “Not unless she raises an army of Dark wizards.”

“Oh shush you,” Esther told him. “We’re not allowed to speak of Dark magic here.”

“Well I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Corvus said bitterly.

There were gasps around the room as they stare at their housemate. Corvus had never been one to keep his mouth in check.

“Cor…” Henry touched Corvus’s arm

His gesture of sympathy, however, was pushed away as Corvus got up and ran to their room.

“Cor, wait!” Henry called, getting up from the couch to run after his friend.

“What’s wrong with him?” sneered one of their housemates.

Henry turned back to the group and gave the boy who said it a dirty glare.

“The witch who got burnt at the stake? The same thing happened to his sister,” he said evenly.

The boy at least had the decency to look abashed and whispered an apology. Henry then ran out of the room to go find his friend, but not before he heard the furious whispers behind his back.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Cor starts studying Dark magic just for revenge.”

“Those two are so weird. They act as if they’re lovers or something.”

“Oh Merlin, don’t even say it. That’s worse than being accused of using Dark magic!”

Henry clenched his fist and forced himself not to go back to the common room and hex them all. He began to climb up to their dorm. Corvus needed him more.


* * *

It was a beautiful day for Quidditch, but neither Corvus nor Henry was outside to watch as the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team face the Slytherins in the final Quidditch match of the season. Their faces were both grim as they walked through the long corridor that would lead them to the Headmistress’s office.

When they reached the stone gargoyle, Corvus stated the password Asphodel and the gargoyle allowed them to pass through. The Headmistress was not inside when they entered so the two boys sat side by side on the armchair facing the Headmistress’s desk.

“Don’t worry,” Henry told Corvus, squeezing his hand in assurance.

Corvus only bowed his head and frowned.

Then the Headmistress emerged from a side door, waving the boys to sit down when they began to stand in greeting. She settled behind the large desk in a no-nonsense manner and regarded them from above her glasses.

“Mr Peveril,” the Headmistress addressed Henry, “I believe I only asked for Mr Black here. What brings you to my office?”

“I’m here for Cor—I mean Mr Black, Headmistress,” Henry said.

“Henry, don’t,” Corvus whispered furiously.

Henry, however, ignored him. He was used to Corvus’s non-confrontational nature. It was why he was here in the first place. The rumours had spread far too wide and Corvus wasn’t doing anything about it. Henry knew it was time he intervened on his friend’s behalf.

“Well?” the Headmistress asked. “Do continue, Mr Peveril.”

“I know why Mr Black was called here,” Henry said, his voice very determined. “I’m here to support him and tell you that those rumours aren’t true. I know him more than anyone in this school, and I can assure you, Headmistress, that he is not capable of doing such things.”

“But—”

“It all started with Esther’s letter, see,” Henry continued, trying not to quiver from the glare he received for interrupting the Headmistress. “It was just an offhanded comment. Nothing more. You know about Cor’s sister, right? Well he was just reminded of that because of Esther’s letter, that’s why he said it.”

Henry was tempted to go on further, but Corvus grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“Are you quite done now, Mr Peveril?” the Headmistress said with a clipped voice.

Henry leaned back into his chair sheepishly. He hadn’t realised he'd nearly leapt out of his chair during his outburst.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” he said, still agitated. He knew he could have explained it better, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “It’s just that everyone’s been jumping on Cor since last week. It isn’t fair!”

“I see. I think it’s good that you’re here then, being Mr Black’s closest friend and all.” The Headmistress shifted her gaze and gave Corvus a steady look. “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

Corvus looked away and mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” the Headmistress asked.

“I said,” Corvus repeated a little louder this time. “He wasn’t supposed to know.”

Henry tensed and surprised eyes flew to his best friend. His whispered words were barely audible. “What?” Henry asked, barely registering the way Corvus drew back and away from him. As if he was afraid of what Henry’s reaction might be. “What wasn’t I supposed to know, Cor?”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Corvus said, not meeting his eyes. He fidgeted under Henry’s intense gaze and said, “Just…just don’t hate me too much, okay?” The last words were barely a whisper.

“Cor, what do you mean…?”

“Mr Black here, Mr Peveril, was not just rumoured to be studying magic of Dark and unknown origins,” the Headmistress interrupted. “He was, in fact, caught practising it. Isn’t that right Mr Black?”

“Wandless magic is not Dark magic!” Corvus suddenly cried indignantly and began to rant in a way only a true Ravenclaw could. “It’s in the same vein as magical projections. Theoretically speaking, everyone has the potential to cast wandless spells by projecting one’s magic, by establishing his intent and strengthening it with one’s force of will. One could even use his hand in lieu of a wand to make the process easier in the beginning. We study its other forms in school! Take astral projections for example and—”

“Our studies on astral projections are for the purpose of the History of Magic and merely theoretical,” the Headmistress countered, halting the cascade of words from Corvus’s lips. “We do not encourage students to experiment with magic that could possibly have Dark origins.”

“It’s not Dark magic! It’s Old magic!” Corvus was a hair’s breadth away from a shouting match with the Headmistress. It was obvious he was frustrated beyond belief.

“Cor…” Henry began quietly, trying to get his friend’s attention.

“Nevertheless, magic of unknown origins has yet to be classified,” the Headmistress said sternly. “Wandless magic, in particular, is associated with creatures of magic, not wizards. You are not allowed to experiment with such magic without a qualified instructor present. Really, Mr Black, you are one of the most gifted wizards in this school and I hate to see you waste it on such foolish experimentation. Next you’ll be telling me that you have rediscovered how to cast non-verbal spells and that we should add it to our curriculum!”

Corvus glowered darkly at the Headmistress. “These foolish experimentations, as you call them, are magic lost to us. Lost because wizards have died without teaching it to others. Lost because they were afraid Muggles would burn them if they got caught. How many more forms of magic will we lose because of it?”

“Cor!” Henry gasped. He had never seen his usually mild-mannered friend get into a conversation like this with anyone, least of all the Headmistress. At this point, Henry wouldn’t be surprised if the Headmistress suspended them both from school.

“That is exactly the kind of talk that nearly destroyed the integrity of this school,” the Headmistress slammed her hands on the desk, now angry. “I will not allow some upstart young student to spew such language as if he is the next coming of Salazar Slytherin himself.”

The two boys were shocked to silence at the heated display of their normally imperturbable Headmistress.

“Forgive me,” the Headmistress cleared her throat. “But we have been working for more than a century to put this school back to rights ever since the falling out of our Founders. Consider yourself warned and on probation, Mr Black. You are both dismissed.”

The two boys scrambled off their chairs, not wishing to be in the room for one more second than they needed to. Henry took one last look at the Headmistress, who was massaging her temples as if she was having a splitting headache, before quickly closing the door behind him. When they reached the landing outside the Headmistress’s office, however, Henry rounded on his friend.

“What the hell, Cor,” Henry said, pushing angrily at his friend’s shoulder and slamming him against a wall. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Corvus said not meeting his friend’s eyes. His shoulders were slumped. He looked defeated, as if all the fight had left him. “You weren’t meant to find out.”

He tried to sidestep his friend to head back to Ravenclaw tower but Henry blocked his path.

“But why?” The pain in Henry’s voice was unmistakable. “Don’t you trust me?”

Corvus finally lifted his head to look at Henry’s deep green eyes. “I thought…I thought you’d leave me too if you found out.” He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Look, you’re my best friend, but ever since that night I mentioned Dark magic at the dorm, everyone has been avoiding me. I was afraid you’d…” Corvus trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

“Look at me,” Henry said. When Corvus stubbornly turned his back, Henry grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at Henry’s face. “There’s nothing you can do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

Henry pulled Corvus close and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulder. How could Corvus think that something like that would destroy their friendship? Dark magic may be prohibited, but he was sure that Corvus had an explanation for using it. Besides, Corvus said it wasn’t even Dark magic, just Old magic.

Henry felt Corvus sag in relief against him and returned the embrace.

“Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be my friend forever?”

It was an absurd question and they both knew it.

“Of course,” the reply came instantly.

Corvus pushed himself away to look Henry in the eye. “I’ll hate you if you stop being my friend,” Corvus told him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not joking, Henry.”

Henry laughed, but his voice was serious when he said, “Even if we become enemies, you can still count on me. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Corvus mumbled against Henry’s shoulder.

“So,” Henry said casually after a while. “What’s all this about wandless magic you’re doing?”

Corvus visibly perked up at the question. “You’re really interested? You don’t believe what they say about it being Dark magic?”

Henry nodded.

“I’ll show you,” Corvus smiled brilliantly. “Actually, I’ll just take you to her.”

“Her?” Henry asked confusedly, but Corvus’s enthusiasm was contagious and he couldn’t help but grin back.

“Come on,” Corvus said, tugging Henry’s hand as he led him down a staircase. “I’ll introduce you to her. I bet you’ll like her.”


* * *

“He meant you, didn’t he?” Potter turned to ask Deja as the image in the portrait changed and the two boys were a little older.

“They be the first to return to me,” Deja said wistfully. “I be lonely for so long before that.”

“But weren’t there other wizards who came here before them? After you were created?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Deja answered.

“So what do you mean they were the first to return?”

But Deja didn’t answer the question and resumed with the story.

“They came and kept me company often. They be very good with magic, and I taught them many things I learned from my Slytherin and Gryffindor. They grew fond of each other, but they knew not what they be feeling. They knew not the reason why they joined their magic to one another.”

“Joined?” Potter asked.


* * *

“Are you sure this will work?” Corvus asked his friend for the fifth time that day.

“Of course,” Henry answered confidently. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Well…” Corvus answered with mock reluctance.

“Prat,” Henry said.

Both Henry and Corvus were at the Portrait Room once again. They had spent most of their time there ever since Corvus introduced him to the mysterious selkie woman in the portrait. She had seemed eerily familiar when he first saw her, but he knew that was impossible. He had never been inside the Portrait Room in his entire life.

They both learned a lot from the selkie woman. Sometimes they would also teach her something she did not know. In time, the magic of the two boys grew stronger. Strong enough that they were able to create new spells on their own.

“No, really,” Corvus said, this time growing serious, “will this spell bind our magic together? Will it really make us more powerful?”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Henry frowned. “I mean, I know it’s a big step, binding our magic together but—”

“I have no qualms about binding my magic to you,” Corvus said, silencing Henry with a finger on his lips. “My only concern is whether we could still use our magic if we ever got separated.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem then,” Henry said. He took Corvus’s hands and clasped their hands together in between them. “We’ll always be together. You’re my best friend, Corvus.”

“You’re my best friend too, Henry,” Corvus said.

Henry smiled brilliantly. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

And together, they began to cast the spell that would reinforce what Destiny had decreed for them.

* * *

“The Headmistress learned of the spell,” Deja said. “And that be the reason they be removed from school. ”

“They were expelled, you mean,” Draco clarified.

“Why?” Potter asked confusedly. “Was the spell they used considered Dark magic as well?”

“You’re quite dense at times, aren’t you Potter?” Draco said, raising one eyebrow.

“What?” Potter turned to face Draco. “I don’t see anything wrong with what they were doing, except maybe messing with Dark magic. But that’s just wandless magic and even Aurors are doing that now. The binding magic they used even looked like an Unbreakable Vow.”

“Time back then be different from now, though not so much,” Deja said. “Their joining be not looked kindly upon.”

“Bond, Potter,” Draco snapped at him. “As in marriage bond. Life bond.”

“Oh.” Potter’s eyes widen in understanding and shot a glance at the two figures in the portrait. “So they were…” Potter trailed off. “But still, why is that so bad?”

“Merlin,” Draco blew in exasperation before trying to explain. “They’re both males, Potter. While wizards today are allowed to Bond with each other, there’s still a generally unpopular view of those who choose to do so. Imagine them bonding during that time. It’s not that hard to deduce the reason they got expelled from school.”

Draco saw a frown etched on Potter’s face.

“That be true,” Deja said gently. “But that be only one of the reasons. They both be caught using Bond magic that many do not understand.”

“What kind of Bond magic?” Draco asked, now curious. He knew several kinds of Bond magic. There was that used by people who trusted and loved each other, while the Darker kind was that used to enslave other wizards. And then there was the one used by the Dark Lord to mark his servants…

Deja turned to him with that look again, as if trying to search for something inside him. “It be a kind of magic that endures…even after death.”

“Impossible,” Draco said. “No magic can endure long after the caster’s death.”

“I be what, then?” Deja challenged.

“But you’re a sentient being,” Draco argued. “You even have your own magic. Just like this castle.”

“What happened to them after, then?” Potter asked, interrupting their conversation.

“They be separated by their families…” Deja said sadly, turning to Potter. “Their families learned of the Bond and bade them never to see each other. And they be unable to return since.”

“Oh,” Potter said. “I’m so sorry.”

Potter walked up to Deja’s portrait and touched the frame lightly, as if she would be able to feel his sympathy from the contact. But it was enough and Deja nodded sadly. They all fell silent, not knowing that to do or say next. Finally, Deja gave the portrait one last look before disappearing the way she did before. The portrait had reverted back to the two boys lounging around the beech tree, each with a book in their hands.

Draco tried to catch their attention, but the two boys ignored him. As if they couldn’t see what was beyond their portrait’s frame. Was it because Deja wasn’t there anymore? He and Potter watched the portrait for some time before they eventually agreed to go back to their dorms. It was nearly dawn now.

They walked slowly as they made their way out of the Portrait Room, both seemingly lost in thought. Draco could see from the corner of his eye that Potter was deep in thought and apparently troubled by what he had seen.

But it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. That was all in the past and nothing short of using a Time Turner spinning endlessly could change that fact. But somehow, Draco felt overwhelming sympathy wash over him. He couldn’t understand why.

Potter suddenly stopped by one of the large arched windows and watched as the first light of morning penetrated the dark skies outside, still deep in thought. Draco looked back at him once, before walking back towards his own dorm.


* * *

Draco gazed out at the Hogwarts Lake, revelling in the hypnotic sound of the waves gently lapping on the shore. He looked around at the familiar setting and thought that yes, it was an ideal place for studying. He walked further along the trodden path, trying to find a specific place he had once seen.

And then he found it.

On a bank overlooking the Hogwarts lake was a small gathering of oak trees that provided shade to the occasional student looking to get away from the bustle of classes and activities inside the castle. But some distance from it stood a lone beech tree, its branches arcing majestically and its leaves lush and radiant, creating an almost tranquil atmosphere inside the canopy with only the sound from the occasional bird that nested there.

It was a far cry from the young tree that could barely shade the two boys who used to frequent it.

Draco wandered nearer, half expecting to see two Ravenclaw boys idling about. Instead, what he saw was the messy black hair of the boy he’d grown familiar with these past few nights.

Potter was casually leaning against the smooth grey trunk of the beech tree. He was looking at the lake, but somehow Draco knew that he wasn’t seeing it. Potter’s mind was far, far away, during one spring day long ago. Just like his was.

Draco had never been anywhere near Potter without having the urge to throw a hex on reflex apart from the two times they’ve been to the Portrait Room. In fact, he had been avoiding Potter ever since that first night in the mysterious room. But somehow, seeing him under the beech tree from last night’s portrait seemed so surreal, he thought it wouldn’t be right not to approach. So he did.

Potter didn’t even look at him when he came near. Draco didn’t try to lighten his footsteps as he approached, knowing that Potter had already sensed him coming. When he reached the other boy’s side, Potter only spared him a glance before he returned to gazing out into the lake.

Draco turned to look and saw that Potter was staring at the shadow of the Giant Squid just below the surface of the lake. He idly wondered if this was the same creature that the boys in the portrait were hoping to see.

“I thought you’d find this place sooner than me.”

Draco made a noncommittal sound in reply. Potter’s voice was dull and heavy and Draco couldn’t help but think that last night’s story really got to him. Why was Potter so attached to the story of the two boys, Draco wondered. Did Potter too feel the odd connection that Draco felt last night?

“Do you remember what the Headmistress in the portrait said?” Potter said, finally breaking the silence. “Corvus was a Black. And he was named after a constellation.” Then Potter glanced sidelong at him, his eyes were hard, but there was sadness lurking underneath. “My godfather was Sirius Black, did you know? He could be from Sirius’s family.”

Draco was surprised that Potter was telling him this. Yes, he’d heard of it from his mother before, but why was Potter admitting it to him? They’d never had a single decent conversation before. They’d been enemies, rivals for a long time.

But once the thought passed Draco’s mind, he was startled to realise that he didn’t think of Potter that way anymore. Somehow, those two nights spent at the Portrait Room had changed his view of Potter in a way that he couldn’t understand.

Potter, of course, was the same speccy git during the day, but it seemed as if he was a different person at night. As if he was someone Draco would be able to stand, or even be friends with. But he shook his head incredulously. Things like that didn’t happen. Not for them, anyway.

But still, Draco felt inclined to answer Potter’s confession in kind.

“I’m a Black too, Potter,” Draco said softly. “I’m probably related to him.”

And this time, Potter did turn to face him fully. His eyes, startlingly bright and intense, met his. For the first time, Draco felt as if Potter was looking at him, really looking at him. He wondered what thoughts were going through the other boy’s mind as they just stood there, looking at each other for a long time.

Then Potter sighed and looked away, leaning his head back on the trunk of the tree.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Potter trailed off.

Whatever it was that Potter didn’t mean, Draco would never know.

“It’s just that…it seemed so unfair for them.”

Draco silently agreed.

They stood there in companionable silence for some time before Potter pushed himself from the trunk of the tree. Then he began to head in the direction of the castle, raising one hand in a silent farewell as he passed Draco.

Draco watched him go, wondering why last night’s story had Potter acting moody and morose. He could hardly criticise Potter for acting that way though, since he too had felt strange since seeing that portrait.

He then looked down on his right hand and shook the irritating sensation coming from it.

When Potter was nearly out of earshot, Draco called out.

“Life is never fair, Potter,” he said. “Never was, never will be.”


Chapter III


Harry was running through the maze of corridors inside Hogwarts castle. He was late. And it was never ever a good idea to keep Malfoy waiting. He had learned that during one of their several trips to the Portrait Room.

After the first night they spent at the Portrait Room, Harry decided that he wanted to hear the tales of all the other portraits. At first, he tried going there during the day, hoping that he would not bump into Malfoy while trying to figure out what spell he had used to open the door on that first night they had entered. He eventually figured out the spell, but when he tried to use it, the door stayed stubbornly locked.

Then he thought that since the room was created by a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, he only needed someone from that house to help him open it. He thought about asking for help from some of the…well, less nasty Slytherins. He thought about Theo Nott, the quiet Slytherin who never seemed to be affected by the rivalry between the two houses.

The thought lasted mere seconds, though, before he remembered that Nott’s father was one of the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. He decided against asking any Slytherins for help after that, thinking that the fewer people (or Slytherins for that matter) that knew about the room, the better.

Eventually, he realised that if he wanted to return to the Portrait Room, he would need Malfoy’s help to open the warded door. Of course, he was wary of the fact that the last person he should associate with from that house was Malfoy, but he didn’t have a choice.

He remembered that first night when the corridor to the Portrait Room was first revealed and he wanted to go in. The pull of the magic of the room was so strong and he wanted to go in so badly that he actually asked Malfoy to come with him. It surprised him when Malfoy had pointed out that they weren’t even friends. It didn’t feel that way to him.

In fact, there was something about Malfoy that was so…familiar. That of all the Slytherins, he felt he was safest with Malfoy.

A ridiculous thought, if he ever had one, but he couldn’t shake the feeling off. Trying not to think of Malfoy was like parting a grindylow from its prey. He attributed it to the fact that he now associated Corvus with Malfoy because they were both Blacks, but he shook the irrational thought away.

Either way, he still wanted to get inside the Portrait Room again, so he owled Malfoy the following day.

Malfoy, being the git that he was, did not agree to return there with him right away, using one excuse or another to turn away Harry’s invitations. They had spent so many owls arguing back and forth that Ron and Hermione thought that he was exchanging letters with a secret admirer because of his reluctance to show them the correspondence.

“C’mon mate, we’re your friends,” Ron had said when he first asked Harry about it.

“Oh leave him be, Ron,” Hermione said indulgently. “He can keep it a secret if he wants to. And it’s not as if we won’t be able to figure it out anyway.”

“Yeah, but why keep it a secret?” Ron asked Hermione before turning to Harry. “Unless you’re keeping it from us because it’s someone we won’t approve of. Wait, it’s not Ginny, is it?”

Harry only rolled his eyes at his two friends and didn’t answer. Maybe it was better if they thought it was some girl. Ron would certainly be apoplectic if he found out it was actually Malfoy.

When he and Malfoy finally agreed on a day to meet, it was Deja who did not show up.

They spent several more nights sneaking out of their dorms at midnight and going to the Portrait Room to wait for her. By then, both had worked out a schedule that they could agree on (although to be honest, Harry thought that Malfoy was just deliberately being difficult about it—he knew Malfoy wanted to go back there just as much as he did).

This, in turn, only ‘confirmed’ Hermione’s suspicions that he was indeed seeing somebody.

For the next few days, he had to fend off his friends’ prying questions about who the ‘lucky girl’ was until finally he had to outright lie that he actually was seeing someone, but she didn’t want anyone to know about it. Well, it was half true anyway, he thought, thinking about Deja. And although she never explicitly said it, he knew that she wouldn’t want anyone else going into the room.

If Harry was being honest with himself, he would have realised that he felt guiltier about allowing them to believe that he was seeing a girl, than not telling them about the Portrait Room. Because somehow, keeping it secret felt right.

Apparently, they were satisfied with his explanation and they finally left him alone, much to Harry’s relief. However, it had also made him late for his meeting with Malfoy that night.

When he reached the door of the Portrait Room, he was disappointed to see that Malfoy was no longer there, but also slightly relieved that he wasn't going to get a lecture from Malfoy on proper etiquette, which he was sure Malfoy would have be on about. Tired from the running, he slumped his shoulder against a wall to catch his breath, only to jump back from it a few seconds later when he felt something sting his shoulder. When he peered under his shirt, his shoulder was full of boils.

It had taken a trip to the Infirmary (as Hermione would not help heal the boils until he told them who did it to him) to get the hex off.

“I hope you haven’t been fighting again, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey chastised him. “Are you and Mr Malfoy up to your old squabbles again?”

Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from saying anything.

And now, Harry was running late again. He hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t hex him this time.

He thundered down flights of stairs and through seemingly endless corridors, not minding in the least that his footsteps were creating a racket. He was counting on his Invisibility Cloak to keep him hidden if someone decided to investigate.

When he reached the corridor, Malfoy was there, patiently waiting for him. Surprised, Harry wisely didn’t say anything even when Malfoy gave an almost cordial greeting.

“I suppose I should get used to your tardiness,” Malfoy drawled. “Who knows how long it will take to uncover all the other portraits.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be late,” Harry muttered inaudibly.

Harry had actually been up all night, pretending to be asleep while waiting for the clock to strike twelve. Earlier in bed, Harry had noticed something wrapped around the smallest finger of his right hand. It was a ring of wispy light that he would never have noticed if he weren’t so bored out of his mind that he began studying the lines on his palms—something taught in third year Divination.

The light looked like a string that was made from white smoke or cloud. It would disappear with a wave of his hand, but would reform again after a few seconds. After a few minutes of awed curiosity, he decided to wake his friend up and show it to him.

Ron, unfortunately, was as dead as a log. He couldn’t wake up his snoring friend. In the end, he had tried casting revealing charms on it to see what kind of spell it was, but it didn’t work. He had been so intrigued by it that he didn’t see his Tempus Charm announce midnight.

“Shall we go inside, then?” Malfoy asked, snapping Harry back from his reverie of the mysterious string of light.

Malfoy was looking curiously at Harry and he had the oddest feeling that Malfoy was trying to read his mind. Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy wouldn’t know how to read minds, would he? He Occluded anyway, or at least tried as best as he could.

“Fine, let’s go,” Harry said, relieved when he finally broke eye contact with Malfoy.

They went inside, resigned to another night of futile waiting. But they both became extremely relieved when they finally saw Deja, swimming around in her seal form. When they approached, she transformed almost seamlessly into her human form.

“You're using your other form!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yes, the waters be warmer now,” Deja said smiling happily.

“It changes?” Harry asked, peering curiously at Deja’s portrait.

And indeed, it did look like the water was rather inviting. The surface reflected blue green, as opposed to the usual black. The sky, however, still looked as if it was threatening to rain again. The clouds were low and grey, but calm. As if Deja was sitting in the eye of a storm.

“Be you ready for the next portrait?”

Both boys nodded and settled in front of the frame that she indicated. They already knew what to do.

Deja uncovered the next portrait.


* * *

Howard and Adela

Howard Port didn’t believe in love at first sight until the day he saw Adela Malfoi hex three boys to the ground and proceeded to stomp on one of the boys’ bollocks for good measure.

The first time he met her was on a lovely Sunday afternoon and Howard had been taking a leisurely stroll in the plaza. He was new in town and was trying to familiarise himself with the place. He was about to head back home when he heard a girl’s high-pitched angry shout, followed by a round of boisterous laughter.

Recognising trouble, Howard followed where the sound was coming from and quickly rounded the corner into a deserted street. There, he saw three large men trying to block a young girl’s way.

Now, Howard had always been a pacifist and would never condone fighting, but he had always fancied himself a chivalrous man. He would always try to be a gentleman in school, helping his classmates and professors, or even at home where the only person who would praise him for his efforts was his mother. But with magic making life easier for everyone, it was rare for anyone to ask for help since a simple flick of a wand would suffice. So whenever the opportunity presented itself, Howard could never resist the urge to provide his assistance to damsels in distress.

And this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that.

Howard assessed the situation. The three thugs looked more drunk than menacing actually. Perhaps they didn’t mean to hurt the girl and only thought they’d have a spot of fun. Either way, Howard was not about to let them go any further.

He was about to step in and try to get the brutes’ attention away from the girl when the hexes began to fly. Howard never saw the girl pull out her wand, yet the next thing he knew, he was ducking as two of the thugs sailed over his head, while the remaining one lay crumpled on the ground in obvious pain.

Howard was stunned, to say the least. Even in duels, he had never seen anyone cast spells that quickly or fling them towards opponents with such precise accuracy. The three brutes never stood a chance.

And then to his horror and fascination, the girl delicately lifted her skirt and petticoats (Howard would have turned away if he knew what was about to happen) and then stomped on the groin of the man lying on the ground before her. Hard.

He stood there for a good long while, shocked. He had never seen such a display of…viciousness from a lady before (not that the girl could be considered a proper lady after that display). And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, the girl brushed down the wrinkles from her frock as if she was just dusting off after a long ride on a coach. She bent down to spell her slippers clean before arranging her skirt and hiding them again beneath the folds of her dress.

When the girl stretched back up, she was once again impeccable as if nothing had happened at all, and she marched away like a proper lady down the street.

This roused Howard from his stupor and he ran down the street after the girl, ignoring the pleas for help coming from the man lying crumpled on the ground.

“Hey, wait!” Howard shouted after her.

Even before he could finish his words, Howard saw the girl turn and cast a hex at him, quick as lightning, and a sliver of blue light shot towards his head. He dropped to the ground in reflex and barely missed getting hit, as his singed hair would prove.

“No wait!” Howard said quickly, still flat on the ground. “I’m not with them.”

Howard slowly looked up at the girl. He saw her silver eyes flashing with anger. This was not going as well as he thought and Howard mentally slapped himself for acting impulsively. Again.

Howard let out a puff of air. He slowly got to his feet, taking care not to move too quickly so as not to startle the girl. Hopefully she wouldn’t try to hex him again.

“Hullo,” Howard tried again, this time raising both his hands in a form of surrender.

The girl’s wand was still pointing at his face, but he noticed the slight tremble at the tip. He tried to grin to defuse the tension, but her glare was as icy as ever.

“Hi, um, I heard you scream earlier. I wanted to help you out, but I guess you don’t need a knight in shining armour anymore, do you?” he tried to jest, but his laughter quickly died out.

Howard gulped nervously as the girl silently scrutinised him, and he could tell she didn’t trust him one bit. Eventually, she slowly lowered her wand, but still held it at her side, tight and ready to hex him at the first sign of trouble. It was progress at least, Howard thought.

Finally, after a moment of tense silence, the girl hissed, “What do you want?”

“N-nothing, really,” Howard replied, scratching the back of his head like a fool and tried to give her a winning smile. “Just wanted to see if you’re fine. My name is Howard, but the way. Howard Port.”

Howard reached out to take her hand but she quickly pulled back and her wand snapped back up to point at his face. Howard quickly stepped back and raised his hands again.

“If you kiss my hand, I’ll hex you into next Thursday,” the girl warned, the tip of her wand lowering dangerously from his face to his groin.

Howard grinned and made a sweeping bow instead. But when she relaxed her stance, he suddenly grabbed one of her hands with both of his and gave her gloved knuckle a quick peck.

Suffice to say, it was love at first hex.

That was two years ago during the summer before Howard’s fifth year at Hogwarts. He had learned a lot about the girl since then, including her name (always Della, as she could hex faster than a Golden Snidget could fly if she caught anyone calling her by her full name), that she belonged to a very wealthy and very conservative family (although Howard would prefer the term backward, really), and that she was tutored at home and her parents never sent her to Hogwarts as they believe that women do not need education apart from the few housekeeping charms she needed to master.

He and Della became fast friends after that, and they would spend every summer together whenever Howard came home from Hogwarts. Della’s parents, although elitist snobs, allowed them to become friends as there were very few young wizards in town. They were two of the only three adolescent wizards in their village—not quite old enough to join the adults during social events, but old enough to stop playing Gobstones with the younger children. The truth was Howard thought they allowed her to be friends with him since he was only home during the summer. And they probably decided that it wouldn’t do anyone harm if their daughter befriended someone with a lower standing.

And so they became very close friends from then on. Best friends, even. Or at least that’s what Della called them.

It was Howard’s second day back from Hogwarts and he and Della decided to have a picnic at a nearby glade. They were telling each other stories of what they’ve been up to during the year, and Della was regaling him with the new hexes she learned since they saw each other last.

“I still can’t believe you know that many,” Howard said, laughing. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you do—” his face clouded over a little. He could still remember the faces of the three thugs from more than two years ago, “—but it’s not like you’ll be using them everyday.”

“Actually, I think I might need to,” she replied easily. “Mother made a breakthrough with one of our house-elves. Nasty creatures, those, but very efficient with housework. You need to be alert when they’re near, with eyes at the back of your head. Otherwise you’d be casting healing charms on yourself all day from all the biting and clawing…”

Howard grinned at the way Della would always go off at a tangent. “The breakthrough?” Howard prompted.

“Oh right!” Della exclaimed. “Anyway, she discovered that magical binding, along with a few stinging hexes would make them very cooperative. In fact, one of our elves now punishes herself whenever she does something not approved by Mother.”

Della laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world, but Howard only looked at her with horror on his face.

“Isn’t that cruel?” Howard shook his head disbelievingly.

“Oh you wouldn’t understand,” she said lightly, as if Howard was a young child that needed an explanation of how the world works. “You’re new money. Having submissive house-elves is one of the ways to measure your standing in society. Imagine if all our house-elves would voluntarily punish themselves for being disobedient, everyone would be fighting to get an invitation to our annual balls!”

“But Della, that’s horrible!” Howard said, appalled.

Della’s upbringing was one of the things they could never agree upon. What seemed sadistic and cruel to Howard was a way of life for the filthy rich like Della’s family. And although he couldn’t begrudge her her upbringing, he would always try to change her views. And he did it as often as he could.

And he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but hearing her say ‘new money’ stung. The Ports were wealthy, almost as wealthy as the Malfois. But their wealth came about because his father had become a world-famous Alchemist when he invented the first Dreamless Sleep Potion. The Malfois never considered them their equals.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Della said, grabbing his hand when she saw the look on his face. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know, it’s okay,” Howard said, smiling weakly.

For all her haughty exterior, she really did have a kind heart. He just had to teach her more about humility and kindness. And how social standing wasn’t important. Maybe then she’d see that he’s much more than the famous Alchemist’s son. Maybe…

“Hey, Della?” Howard said nervously. “I know I just came back from school, but I thought since next year is my last year in Hogwarts…well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me. It’s my last one, and um, seventh years are allowed to bring dates from outside school and I thought it might be nice if we could, um, maybe go together…?”

Howard bit his lip to stop himself from babbling even more. She stopped and looked at him, slowly withdrawing her hand. Howard’s chest constricted with pain at the action, but he knew he couldn’t blame her for doing it. Della’s eyes were wide as saucers and Howard just knew he had screwed up badly.

“Yule Ball?” she whispered incredulously. “At Hogwarts?”

It was a bad idea. A very very bad idea. He began to think of a way to retract his invitation, but suddenly she was practically jumping onto his lap.

“Oh, Howard,” she cried. “I never thought you’d ask me to go! I’ve been hearing about Hogwarts for so long, and now you really want me to go there with you? Really, really?”

Howard nearly died as relief flooded through him. His shoulders sagged as he laughed away all the tension he'd felt earlier and at how ridiculous his previous thoughts were. He opened his arms wider and accepted her enthusiastic hug.

“Of course! You should have told me that you wanted to visit sooner. I would’ve invited you years ago!”

They sat close, smiling at each other. And before Howard could help himself, he was lowering his head and pressing his lips lightly against hers. When he pulled back, Della’s eyes were wide with shock, but the smile on her lips and the faint blush on her cheeks let him know that the kiss was not ill received.

She touched her lower lip with her fingers before tilting her head and leaning in once again. Howard grinned even wider as he obliged her with another kiss.


* * *

Howard sat by the arched window near the Entrance Hall, watching the snow gently fall to the ground in a white blanket. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, waiting for Della to arrive. He had initially planned on returning home and bringing her to Hogwarts himself, but she refused saying that she had already made plans to get there.

But the Ball had already begun and Della still hadn’t arrived. Howard was getting worried. He had been imagining horrible scenarios in his head for the past hour. What if a troll waylaid her on her way to the castle? What if her parents recanted their consent and made her stay home instead? Or what if she never wanted to come in the first place?

Just then a light from afar hailed the arrival of a carriage and Howard’s heart began to pound. Finally! Howard thought, and the unpleasant images in his head instantly disappeared.

He scrambled from his perch on the window and ran to the front door. When he got there, Della was already alighting from the coach, one hand on the railing by the door, the other gathering the ends of her dress so as not to step on them. Howard hurriedly ran forward to help her down.

“You look beautiful,” Howard couldn’t help saying, and Della smiled radiantly in return.

She was wearing a long silver dress that was almost the same colour as her eyes. Her shoulders were bare, and though a Warming Charm on the dress was designed to keep the frigid air at bay, she still shivered when a gentle breeze swept past them. Howard immediately offered her his cloak, wrapping it around her bare shoulders. She smiled gratefully in turn.

Her hands were enclosed in long snow-white gloves that reached her elbows. Howard took the gloved hands and kissed both her knuckles before giving her a soft peck on the cheek.

“How was your trip?” he asked in hushed tones.

“It was alright,” she replied. “But Neb hated it.”

“Neb?”

As if on cue, a boy climbed out of the carriage, caught his foot on the last rung of the step and nearly crashed into them.

“Longbottom?” Howard said, righting the boy up again.

“Hullo, Howard,” Longbottom greeted back.

Neb Longbottom was a younger student from Howard’s own house. While they knew each other, they never really talked much aside from a few instances in the Common Room. So why was Neb with Della?

Howard looked confusedly at Della and she rushed to explain.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Della said. She wrung her hands nervously, as if trying to figure out the best way to tell him…what exactly? “Neb…he’s my…” She cleared her throat in an unladylike fashion. “He’s my betrothed.”

Howard blinked. He thought he'd heard her say betrothed.

“What?”

“Betrothed,” she repeated. “He’s my future husband.”

So she did say betrothed.

Howard was too stunned to say anything. He knew about arranged marriages between pure-bloods. Some of his wealthier classmates had talked about it in school. He even knew a few who were engaged to be married, and some of the professors would encourage them to interact, partnering them in Potions classes or assigning them together in group research.

What he didn’t know that Della was also promised to someone.

Since when had Della and Neb been engaged to be married, he wondered. He’d known Della for two years and Neb even longer than that. And neither of them had told him about it. The fact that it was Neb Longbottom, a fifth year Gryffindor and housemate to boot, was what probably shocked him the most. He could have at least told him about it.

He turned to glare at Longbottom, his eyes like daggers. Longbottom quailed and tried to hide behind Della. She, however, just nudged him away and made a face.

Howard felt a sudden stab of jealousy that they could act like that towards each other. As if they’ve known each other their whole lives. Which, he thought, might not be far off the mark if she and Longbottom have been promised to each other.

“But he’s younger than you,” was all Howard could say.

At that point, the other boy decided to speak for himself.

“You know what, mate? I didn’t even want to be here,” he said with a grimace. “Della here told her parents that I asked her to the school dance. And then she threatened me; saying she’ll turn me into a house plant if I don’t go with her.”

“I did not!” Della said defensively.

“You did, too! Said you’d turn me into a Flutterby bush,” Longbottom said and then turned to Howard. “Anyway, I won’t tell her parents. She’s yours for the night, go and have fun—” Della inelegantly kicked Neb in the shin when he muttered as if that’s possible with her breathing down your neck under his breath “—and just come and get me in the dorms when it’s time to go.” Then he turned back to Della. “Have I told you I’m so very glad to be your friend? Because honestly, I don't think I can survive being your enemy. I can't even imagine what you'd try and do to me.”

“I’d string you up by your balls, most like,” Della said, smiling sweetly.

Both Howard and Longbottom shuddered at the thought, knowing that she could do it too.

“I’ll see you two later,” he said, smiling awkwardly and shaking his head. He gave Della a friendly kiss on the cheek and slapped Howard on the back before heading in.

When Longbottom was gone, Howard turned to Della and asked, “Did you really threaten to turn him into a bush?”

“Maybe?” Della answered mischievously. Then she turned serious again. “Honestly, he’s a nice kid. I think I’m lucky with him, at least we get along well enough.”

Howard frowned. “But don’t you want to be with someone you lo—” he stopped and sighed.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He knew he should be more understanding, more respectful of her family and their traditions. The difference in their upbringing had never been as painfully obvious as it had been tonight. But he was afraid that if he continued to disregard what was important to her and her family, he’d lose any chance with her; he would never be able to persuade her to change her mind.

But she knew what he was about to say and answered anyway.

“Of course I do,” she said, putting one gloved finger to his lips and silencing him. “But that’s a long way off. We can’t think about that yet.”

Howard released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Next year,” Howard promised. “Next year, I’ll be graduating. We can make plans then.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, smiling.

“Do you?” Howard asked. “Do you truly?”

“Howard,” Della began. “You’ve known me for two years. You know how much I hate being born into this…this wretched role of a noble pure-blood. It’s cloying, and restricting, and…and boring!”

Howard had to laugh at that. Boring was not something he thought she would every say about her life.

“Shh, I know,” Howard said, taking her into his arms.

“It’s just sometimes, I wish I was born a man instead,” Della said against the crook of his neck. “Why is it so much easier for a man to pursue his dreams? Why do people think that all women want to do with their lives is serve their husbands and raise a family? Why can’t I go to school like you or Neb?”

“I promise, Della,” Howard said. “It won’t always be like that. Wait for me to finish here and I’ll do everything I can so you can have the life you want.”

“Do you swear, Howard?” Della asked, her eyes full of hope.

Howard brushed the single tear that threatened to roll down her cheek and kissed the top of her head. It was a promise that he vowed to keep.

“Yes,” Howard said. “In fact, I’m willing to make that vow on my magic.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Della said, smiling a little. “You can’t promise on your magic.”

“But I can! With a little help, of course.” Howard’s eyes twinkled. “Would you like to see? In fact, there is someone I would like you to meet. She’s quite lovely, and very talented.”

“She? Lovely and talented?” Della’s eyes rose. “Howard, is there something I should know?”

Howard chuckled at how their situation earlier was now reversed.

“Yes,” Howard said. “Let me show you.”

He smiled brightly at her and offered her his arm. Together they made their way inside the castle as Howard led the way to the Portrait Room.

The Yule Ball could wait. A much bigger event would be happening that night.


* * *

Howard ran down the dirt road, away from the Malfoi Mansion and headed to the town plaza.

He had just returned from Hogwarts. He had finished his exams, passed his Apparition Test, and when he got back the results of his NEWTs, he would be officially an adult in the wizarding world.

He couldn’t wait to see Della again.

Ever since that night at the Yule Ball, he could not stop thinking about her. Even with the impending NEWT exams, Howard would always catch himself thinking about her instead of studying. Neb, whom he had become closer to since the Yule Ball, didn’t help either with all his teasing.

He looked down at his hand. He swore he could still feel the tingle of magic that the lady in the Portrait Room placed on them when he had made the vow to give her anything she wanted that was within his power. And now that he was officially an adult in the wizarding world, he could start turning that vow into reality.

The first thing he did upon arriving was go straight to the Mansion, not even bothering to stop by his own home. But when one of the house-elves told him that the Young Mistress was out on the plaza with her ‘husband,’ he immediately thought that she was with Neb.

Until he saw her walking arm in arm with a strange man.

“Della!” he called out from the other side of the busy plaza. But the noise of the weekend market drowned his voice.

“Della!” he tried again, this time weaving through the stalls and jumping over crates of fruits and vegetables in his hurry to catch up to them, toppling some of the produce to the ground. He apologised profusely, and flicked his wand absently at the fallen wares, neatly putting them back in place.

He knew he probably looked ridiculous, but he was far too disconcerted by the sight of Della walking hand in hand with another man to care. His eyes were trained on the couple, never leaving them. His actions caused a general commotion, and soon everyone was looking at him. Until eventually, even Della and the young man turned to look at him.

“Della, wait,” he said.

He was panting from exertion. He was bent double at the waist, with his hands on his knees, as he momentarily stopped to catch his breath. He saw her whisper something into the man’s ear before untangling her arm from his. He watched as she cautiously walked to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Howard, are you all right?” She peered from under his bowed head.

Howard straightened up. “Who is he?” he asked, even as the man stepped forward, as if trying to determine if Della was in danger or not. Howard heard himself growl low at the implication.

“This,” Della said as she took the man’s arm, “is Reginald Rosier. My husband.”

Della’s voice cracked at the last word, but she stood tall as if waiting for Howard to object to her words. He merely looked at her in disbelief.

“Good to meet you,” Reginald said stiffly, extending his hand.

Howard narrowed his eyes, but took the other man’s hand anyway. And if his grip was a little too tight, Reginald did not comment.

“Howard Port,” he said.

“Son of the famous Alchemist, Arcturus Port,” Reginald said. “I’ve heard many things about you from Adella.”

Howard raised his eyebrow at the use of her name. “I have never heard of you, I’m afraid,” he said rudely.

“Would you mind if I speak with Howard for a bit,” Della cut in before Howard was able to add anything. “He’s an old friend, you understand.”

“Of course,” Reginald said.

Reginald gave him a quick nod and kissed Della lightly on the cheek while still looking at Howard. He gave Howard a smug grin before walking off to the side. Howard glared murderously and wondered if he could get away with ripping the arrogant git’s face from his skull.

“Howard?” Della said quietly.

He turned to her, vaguely aware that he had nearly forgotten about her in his fit of anger. Or perhaps it was jealousy. He couldn’t be certain as all he wanted to do was take her far away from Reginald. He wanted to confront her, shake her and ask her what was going on. But instead he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“You let him get away with calling you that?” Howard asked wryly when he was sufficiently composed. At least calm enough to jest.

At Della’s quiet laugh, all the tension in his body began to ease. She'd always had the power to calm him down.

“Father won’t allow me to hex him,” she replied, still smiling.

But the smiles of their faces disappeared and the talk turned serious.

“How long?” Howard whispered.

Although his question was vague, she knew what he meant. Her pain would have been hidden from anyone but Howard. He'd known her long enough to see through her defences.

“Since Easter.” Her voice equally quiet.

“What about Neb?” he asked.

“Father found out,” she said. When Howard looked confusedly at her she continued, “He found out about the Yule Ball. Someone from school told him. When they learned about it, they broke my engagement with Neb and Father found a suitable replacement right away.”

Howard cursed under his breath. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he cried in frustration.

“What was I to do?” she said, her voice strained. “I’m just a woman. Living in a world run by men.”

“You know I don’t think of you that way,” Howard said, his voice growing gentler.

“I know, but everyone else does,” she said bitterly. “I hate this. What’s the use of being a witch if all I can ever be is someone’s wife? Why can’t I go to school and learn magic too? I mean really learn things, not just spells for managing the house or keeping house-elves in line.”

Howard softly took her chin and tilted it, forcing her to look at him.

“We could run away together,” he whispered. “We could go wherever you want, and no one will treat you that way anymore. I promise.”

Della’s eyes shined and her face ignited with hope. But as quick as those emotions came, they were swept away by the sadness that replaced them.

“I can’t,” she said, turning her face away. “I am a married woman now, Howard. Would you dishonour me so by taking me away from my husband?”

“No!” he cried. “I don’t—”

“And Father is a powerful man,” she continued. “We cannot hide from him forever.”

“Della I…” Howard’s voice faded. He didn’t know what to say, and Della shook her head.

“This is my lot in this life, Howard,” she said sadly. “But if I were to live another, I swear it wouldn’t be like this again. We could be together, then, just like the way you wanted. But please, let me live this life in peace. ”

Howard wanted to tell her no. He wanted to tell her that his vow could make all her dreams come true. Unfortunately, it was his vow too that prevented him from saying those words. She asked to be left alone, and there was nothing he could do but obey.

She took his hands and gave them one last squeeze.

“My husband is waiting,” she said sadly. “I must go now and be a proper wife.”

Howard stood frozen like a statue, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces as he watched her walk away. He couldn’t bring himself to move even as rain began to pour all around him.

In his pocket, a gold ring weighed heavily. Cold, like the frost that crawled into his heart.

* * *

“That’s…”

“That’s awful!” Harry exclaimed.

“That’s…”

“That’s horrible,” Harry kept saying. “Don’t any of your stories end happily?”

“Oh Merlin…” Malfoy whispered, his eyes still focused on the portrait.

“Malfoy?” Harry said, finally noticing that the other boy’s face was as white as a sheet. As if he’d seen a ghost. “Are you okay?”

Harry waved his hand in front of Malfoy’s face but he didn’t budge. Finally he had to snap his fingers under the other boy’s nose, and the blond immediately slapped it away in irritation.

“What?” Malfoy snapped.

“You look like you’ve been Stupefied.”

“Oh,” Malfoy blinked.

“What is it?” Harry asked, a hint of concern seeping into his voice.

Malfoy looked him in the eye, as if trying to decide how to answer the question.

“I…I think I know that girl,” he finally said.

“Who?” Harry asked confusedly. “The one in the portrait?”

Malfoy nodded. “We have a portrait of her back at the Mansio—” he stopped, surprised at the word that left his mouth. “Manor. There’s a portrait of her at the Manor.”

Harry’s mouth turned into a small o. A portrait?

“You mean, these people are real?” His voice was very nearly a shriek.

“Of course they be real,” Deja snapped at him in irritation. “You think I be creating stories from my head?”

“No, I’m sorry! I mean…” Harry turned back to Malfoy. “You really have a portrait of her at your house?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. “But it’s very small and she never speaks. She’s always looking out a window or sitting quietly to one side. I think Mother put her in a rarely used room inside the house because she always looks so sad. She makes everyone else feel sad just by looking at her.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “That’s…sad, I guess.”

“Tell me what happened to her.” Malfoy looked imploringly at Deja.

Deja nodded. “I only be seeing her once, during the Yule Ball. After that summer, the man returned to me, his heart be shattered like glass. But he be a very powerful wizard, and he be very determined to keep his vow. And so, he created these.”

Deja swept her hand, indicating the previously opened portraits and the one they just viewed. She also indicated one that was yet to be uncovered.

“You mean he created all of these portraits?” Harry asked incredulously. “But how? How did he know what memories to put? How did he know about the others?”

“Have you not guessed yet?” Deja asked gently.

“They’re the same,” Malfoy whispered in awe.

“Yes,” Deja answered. “They be the same people. The Gryffindor, the Slytherin, the Ravenclaw boys. Those be them too.”

Harry’s head was reeling with the information. Could human beings really be incarnated over and over just like these people in the portrait? And how did they manage to return every single time to this place? How did Deja know that it was them? How did she recognise them? And more importantly, how did the two keep finding each other again and again, lifetime after lifetime?

“Deja,” Harry asked, “if he’s only lived three lives, how come there are eight portraits?”

“Four be created by him,” Deja said. “Three from the lives he lived. And then finally he created another for his return.”

“What do you mean ‘for his return?’”

With that, Deja held out her hand for them to see. On the palm of her hand, a gold ring rose and floated a few inches above the outstretched hand. The band was plain and slender. There were words inscribed inside, and the boys leaned in to read them.

Alia in Vita.

“In another life,” Malfoy murmured under his breath.

“The fourth one…” Harry said slowly, understanding the meaning of the inscription in the ring. “He meant to find her in another life, didn’t he?”

Deja nodded, closing her fist once again and lowering her hand. The ring disappeared.

“They be reunited,” Deja said, “but not for very long.”

“Tell us what happened,” Harry said.

“I will,” said Deja. But she pointed to one of the open windows where they could see the breaking dawn. “But that be a story for another time.” And with that, she began to disappear.

“Wait,” Malfoy cried. “How will we know when to return?”

But it was too late. She was already gone and the two boys’ shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Harry looked at Malfoy and shrugged. “Tomorrow again?”

He expected another scathing remark from the other boy, but instead he was met with a cordial nod.

“Tomorrow,” Malfoy agreed.

Harry watched Malfoy’s retreating back as the other boy trekked back to his dormitory. And for one fleeting moment, Harry thought that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy wasn’t too bad after all.


* * *

Several days later, Harry was accosted by a very determined Hermione and a wary looking Ron near the Great Hall. He was about to eat breakfast when they waylaid him at the Entrance Hall. He walked slowly when he saw the expressions on both their faces.

Hermione’s determined expression, and Ron’s deer-caught-in-headlights impression could only mean one thing. Harry heaved a sigh, having known this day would come sooner or later, but still, he couldn’t help but have hoped that it would be later rather than sooner.

“Whatever she asks, mate, you better answer fast,” Ron warned before Hermione could say a single word. “She’s in that mood again.”

Hermione gave Ron a quelling look and he backed away instantly. Harry swallowed nervously when she turned back to him, trying to rack his brain for whatever he did recently that might cause her to act that way.

Maybe he could distract her with something else he did. Like admitting that he still hadn’t started on an essay that was due that afternoon.

“Harry,” Hermione said in a voice that she would usually use on Ron whenever he was out spending his free time with Lavender Brown instead of studying.

“Yes?” Harry tried for nonchalance as he sat down on the table beside Ron instead of across from the two of them. Ron gave Harry a betrayed look for putting him in the line of fire.

“Where were you last night?” Hermione asked.

Alright, so maybe he couldn’t distract her. Maybe he could tell half-truths instead?

“Um, sleeping at the dorm?” Harry said.

When Hermione gave Ron a pointed look, Ron instantly looked wretched and held up his hands.

“I’m sorry! She got it out of me,” Ron cried. “Threatened to tell the elves not to serve bacon at breakfast!”

“Traitor!” Harry hissed at him.

“Well, where were you?” Hermione asked again, this time pinning him with her eyes, and Harry knew he couldn’t lie.

Harry stole a glance at the Slytherin table where he could see Malfoy quietly speaking with his fellow Slytherins. He and Malfoy had been meeting nearly every night since. They had been trying to figure out when Deja would return to the portrait so they wouldn’t have to meet each night and perhaps get in a good night’s sleep every once in a while. He quickly averted his eyes so he wouldn’t give anything away.

But he saw Hermione follow his gaze.

“Does this have anything to do with one of them?” Hermione pointedly asked while tilting her head towards the Slytherin table.

“Really, Harry?” Ron said. “You didn’t tell me you were dating a Slytherin.”

“I’m not!” Harry said defensively. It was true, too.

Hermione looked at him as if trying to figure him out. She looked back and forth between the Slytherin table and Harry, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy’s head look up. Oh shit, he was looking at them!

For some reason, he didn’t want his friends to find out about Malfoy.

“Alright,” Harry said finally relenting. “I’ve been to the room I told you about before. I got in.”

At his admission, Hermione’s gaze left the Slytherin table and fixed on him.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione tsked in a disapproving tone. “What have you been doing there?”

“I…well, I got in,” Harry said. “Somehow it opened and there are portraits inside. I’ve been speaking to one of them since.”

He proceeded to tell his friends of how he was able to open the Portrait Room, while leaving Malfoy out of the story, and how he met a selkie woman in an enchanted portrait. He didn’t, however, tell them about the other portraits in the room. It didn’t seem right.

“That’s very irresponsible, Harry,” Hermione admonished. “You know it’s a warded door and something sinister could be lurking inside. You could’ve been killed by another basilisk or a…or a manticore!”

Harry tried not to choke on his waffles at the words as Hermione unwittingly used the same example that Malfoy had all those weeks ago. Ron clapped him on the back while he coughed up his breakfast.

“It’s not funny,” Hermione huffed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry said contritely.

“The portrait you mentioned sounds fascinating, though,” Ron said. “I don’t suppose you’d let us in and meet her?”

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t know how to refuse his friends.

“No,” Hermione said. “It didn’t work the last time we were there with him. Maybe it only works for you, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled weakly. “Something like that.”

And then he realised, now that his friends knew part of his secret, he could use Ron and Hermione’s help with something that had been hounding him for days now.

Ever since the third portrait came to life, the string of white light that had appeared on his smallest finger had grown longer. Sometimes it would be a transparent wispy line like a ghost, while other times it would be a strong and solid line. A few times, it would disappear completely.

Nobody else could see it, apparently. He once tried waving it in front of Ron’s face in their dorm, where it usually had a more solid appearance. Ron only asked if he was practising a new wand movement for duelling.

“Actually, I have a favour to ask,” Harry said.

And Harry told them about the string of light that had appeared on his finger ever since he went into the Portrait Room. He told them how at first it only felt like an itch that wouldn’t go away. Until finally a ring of light appeared and now there was a string attached to it.

Hermione, for the most part, was able to keep from saying I-told-you-so to Harry, but the look she gave him said it well enough. Ron on the other hand, was curious about it at first. But when the words ‘research’ and ‘library’ were mentioned, his eyes began to glaze over. It was his natural and instinctive reaction to hours and hours of impending boredom.

“I’ll look into it, Harry,” Hermione promised. “It might be something important. Do you think we should tell Dumbledore about it?”

“No!” Harry cried. At the startled look from his friends, Harry gave them a sheepish look and said more calmly, “I mean, no. I don’t think we should tell anyone yet. It might be nothing.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Ron said. “When it comes to you, it’s always something.”


Chapter IV


Harry was unprepared when Deja showed up again at the Portrait Room that night.

Because of the copious amount of time they had been spending in the Portrait Room, Malfoy had begun bringing his homework with him, saying that it wasn’t an excuse to lag behind in schoolwork. Harry grudgingly did the same for lack of anything better to do.

At first, Harry was curious about the books Malfoy was reading. It didn’t seem like the standard textbooks assigned to them. When he tried to peer at the cover, Malfoy waved him off saying it was advanced reading for Arithmancy that he would know nothing about. The next day, however, Harry thought he saw a tell-tale shimmer of a Glamour over the book’s spine and cover. He mentally noted it, but didn’t mention anything.

At first, they did their homework separately, one on either side of the room. But eventually, Malfoy started looking over Harry's shoulder to read his essays. It was annoying at first, how Malfoy couldn’t seem to keep himself from correcting him when he was writing something wrong. It was pretty much the same with Hermione, except she never insulted his work the way Malfoy did.

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco would say. “You’re one ingredient away from turning your Drought of Peace into Draught of Living Death. A botched Draught of Living Death, anyway. Remind he why you’re taking NEWT level Potions again?”

But despite the scathing remarks, Malfoy still painstakingly corrected most of his homework and would sometimes bring books for Harry to read, marking pages and pointing out which paragraphs he should include in his research. Harry sometimes wondered if Malfoy had always been like this with Crabbe and Goyle, and that somehow Malfoy had redirected his Hermione-esque homework compulsion to him.

Hermione was nothing if not ecstatic about the dramatic increase in his grades, especially with Potions. She had even begun to approve of him spending so much of his free time at the Portrait Room, assuming that that was where he met up with his secret girlfriend to help with his schoolwork.

“She’s a Ravenclaw, isn’t she, Harry? She has to be,” Hermione would say, and Harry would just shake his head.

But somehow, he thought her enthusiasm had more to do with his two best friends being able to spend time alone together than in the improvement of Harry’s grades. He wondered how long before Ron dumped Lavender in favour of his other best friend.

He surmised that everyone was happy that he was spending a lot of time at the Portrait Room and stopped feeling guilty about lying about who was there with him.

The night Deja showed up, he and Malfoy had agreed to go back to their respective dorms early as they had an exam the next day. But with Deja appearing as rarely as she did, they could not let the opportunity to hear about one of the portraits pass.

They noticed too that Deja’s portrait was slowly changing. The sky was now clear and there were no clouds in the baby blue sky. The sun, however, had yet to show its face.

“Your portrait,” Malfoy said, pointing to the landscape behind Deja. “It looks different every time.”

“You be very observant, young Slytherin,” Deja replied. “I usually not be living here,” she said as she gestured to her surroundings inside the portrait. “Before, this place be very warm and the sun shined brightly. But that will be restored again soon.”

“How?”

“Ah,” she said. “That be not your concern…for now. In time, you will be able to understand.”

“Tell us what happened next,” Harry said eagerly, gesturing to the next portrait. “Did they ever find each other again?”

Deja turned and uncovered the next portrait. It revealed two wizards who looked to be several years older than them. One had light hair and warm grey eyes, while the other had dark hair and a haughty demeanour about him.

Deja smiled sadly at them.

“Yes they did,” Deja said. “But there be other problems for them.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

“Like their blood.”


* * *

Pure-blood, Mudblood

Derek Murray walked along the Ministry corridor without looking at where he was going. It was his lunch break but he needed to catch up with the paperwork left to him by his colleagues at the Portkey Office. His nose was buried in a thick roll of parchment detailing all the Portkey arrangements made for the Quidditch World Cup that had been held in Morocco two months ago. Somehow, one of the idiots in his office rerouted thirty-five wizards to Tuscany during the return trip but never provided a connecting Portkey back to London. The stranded wizards only made it back home two weeks ago.

Derek really couldn’t stand the idiots that worked in his division. Although he was assigned at the Portkey Creation Branch, being the only Mudblood in the entire department meant all the shitload of complaints fell to him. Nobody wanted to face irate wizards who had been given wrong the Portkey, as most of them were likely to hex first before accepting an official apology from the department.

It was likely Nott who had made the mistake, Derek thought disdainfully. Nott was a privileged wizard who would never rise up in ranks in the Ministry because he was too lazy and never cared about the work. And why would he? The Notts were pure-bloods. They need not lift a finger to get that they wanted.

Derek was bitter that Nott was only working in the Ministry as punishment for losing five thousand galleons in a Quidditch betting pool. Nott hated the job. Cursed every single day he had to show up for work.

The same work that Derek fought tooth and nail for and was lucky to have, considering his blood status. If not for his exceptionally high NEWT and WOMBAT scores, the Ministry would never have hired him.

Derek was still mentally cursing Nott’s stupidity when he was suddenly yanked towards an empty corridor.

“What the—”

“Shh…”

A hand covered his mouth as he was shoved against the wall with one hand pinned to his back and the other locked in a death grip above his head. His grey eyes widened when he saw brilliant green eyes staring right back at him.

“Marius?! What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered frantically as soon the hand covering his mouth was removed.

Marius grinned and replaced his hands with his lips in a chaste kiss. “I was visiting Father. Thought I might as well drop by.”

“Are you crazy?” Derek said in agitation. “Someone might see us here.”

“Mmm,” Marius said as his lips began to travel lower and latched on to Derek’s neck. “Don’t care.”

Derek groaned inwardly as Marius’s lips became more persistent. Part of his brain was telling him no, but a bigger part had already succumbed to his lover’s touch. Derek felt Marius’s grin as he tilted his head to allow more access to his neck.

Marius nudged Derek’s legs apart and pressed their pelvises together. A groan escaped Marius’s lips as Derek’s hands began to travel slowly down his back and cup his arse to pull him close.

But when Derek heard the sound of people approaching, he hastily pushed Marius away and smoothed his slightly rumpled robes. His lust-clouded mind quickly cleared and his senses returned, but so did his anger.

“What were you thinking?” Derek hissed. “You know we can’t be seen like this.”

Marius Yaxley, the only son and heir of the Wizengamot’s Chief Warlock, Brutus Yaxley of the esteemed Yaxley family, could not be seen with Derek Murray. Not because they were both men, no. It was because Derek had been born to two Muggle parents.

While it was disgraceful for a pure-blood to have any sort of relations with a half-blood, it was downright dishonourable to even be friends with a Mudblood.

And Marius having an illicit affair with Derek when he was a month away from his wedding was more than just dishonourable. It was unheard of. No pure-blood would ever sully his name in such a manner. Even disownment would not restore the Yaxley’s family name if someone were to find out about it.

But Marius had always been different. As if the ruled never applied to him.

Derek and Marius had become friends at Hogwarts when Marius had unexpectedly been hurt during Quidditch training. Marius was alone in the pitch trying to perform an extremely difficult Seeker’s move when he lost control of his broom. He fell to the ground and broke both his right arm and leg.

Marius had been writhing in pain for nearly an hour before Derek accidentally chanced upon him on his way to detention at the pumpkin patch (how he had gotten that detention because of a fight with a half-blood was another story). Derek immediately rushed over when he heard the cry for help.

Marius insisted that Derek hide him in the locker rooms instead of taking him to the Infirmary, because Marius wasn’t supposed to be out on the pitch at such a late hour. House points might be deducted from Slytherin if a professor found out, Marius had said. Derek hesitantly complied, unsure of whom he should fear more, a pure-blood or a professor. But when Marius pleaded with his eyes, Derek couldn’t help but do his bidding and healed Marius’s injury with potions from the first aid kit in the locker rooms.

After that incident, Marius never left Derek’s side, much to the shock and disbelief of the other pure-bloods in the school. But Marius had always been odd, and they took his friendship with a Mudblood as one of his eccentricities. In fact, they saw Derek more as Marius’s pet that anything else.

Derek didn’t mind, of course. He knew Marius didn’t think of him that way. And then eventually—inevitably—their friendship turned into something more.

If only their classmates had known how close they really were, Derek thought wryly.

“Relax,” Marius said as he leaned down again to nibble on Derek’s earlobe. “Would it be so bad if people found out?”

Derek pulled away and stared at him incredulously.

“Yes!” he practically screeched. “I’d be thrown out of the Ministry before you could even say Finite!”

Derek forced himself to calm down. Marius never had taken the secrecy of their relationship seriously. He was too happy go lucky, too much of a pure-blood. Marius never thought about the consequences, because things would always work out in the end for him. But not for Derek.

No, things were never that easy for Mudbloods like him.

“You can’t just ‘drop by’ and do that here Marius,” Derek said pushing angrily away from the wall. “Look, we’ll talk later. I have work to do.”

For a second, Marius looked as if he was about to argue. Derek couldn’t have that. His boss could even throw him out for even having an argument with the Chief Warlock’s son. But when Marius’s shoulders slumped in defeat, Derek breathed a sigh in relief.

“Oh, alright. Fine,” Marius sulked. “But you owe me later.”

Derek shook his head, smiling amusedly at his pouting lover, and Marius gave him one last peck on the cheek before walking away. Derek adjusted the tightness in his trousers before he too walked down the hall in the other direction


* * *

Derek drew his wand as he cautiously entered his flat. His wards had been altered and there was light and movement in his kitchen. Someone was inside.

“Oh, there you are!”

Derek whirled around and saw Marius on the doorway of his bedroom, a wide smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, mildly surprised as he lowered his wand. Marius had been in his flat numerous times, but never when he was out.

“You know, you really need to install a fireplace here,” Marius said conversationally. He walked towards Derek, dropped a kiss on his cheek, and took his bag from his hand. “Your ward was a bitch to dismantle. It would have been easier if you had a private Floo just for me.”

Derek blinked at him. Private Floos were only for high-ranking Ministry officials. And pure-bloods. Which was essentially the same thing, come to think of it. He couldn’t understand how Marius could sometimes do that—forget about things such as the large chasm that was their blood difference.

Then Marius turned to him and gave Derek his best ‘I’m sorry’ look.

“I want to apologise for this morning,” Marius said, taking Derek’s hand. “I know I shouldn’t have done that. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble for you at work.”

Derek shook his head. If there had been any sort of trouble, then he would have been out of a job by now. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“And I made you dinner so you’ll forgive me,” Marius said, giving him a winning smile.

Derek’s hand was tugged impatiently and he was led to the kitchen where an army of house-elves had turned his kitchen into something that looked as if a herd of hippogriffs had stampeded through it. There were cauldrons of bubbling concoctions or pans with something sizzling and frying away on every stove top. He could see neither his worktop nor the table’s surface as every inch of space was covered in assorted cooking ingredients, plates, pots, pans and even an elf or two.

He imagined the Hogwarts kitchen looked like this during every meal. And it seemed as if the meal they were preparing was for two hundred people and not two.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Marius said, clapping his hands to get the elves’ attention. “You can return home now. Except for you, Nipsy.” Marius pointed to one of the smaller house-elves. “You’ll stay here and serve us.”

One by one, all the elves began to Disapparate, taking some of the raw ingredients and all the mess with them. As the last of the elves blinked out of Derek’s kitchen, Nipsy began to slowly adorn the dining table with floating candles, a pristine white tablecloth that fit exactly, and an elegant rose centrepiece, before finally floating down their meal from the recently cleaned worktop.

In a space of less than a minute, the house-elf had turned his moderately dilapidated kitchen into a sophisticated dining arrangement.

“Marius,” Derek said, turning to the other man, already half-suspicious. “What’s all this for?”

Marius was never one for grand gestures, even when he'd done something wrong. One of the things Derek loved about Marius was his simplicity, that they could just be them. Marius would never pull something like this if it were merely asking for forgiveness like he'd said.

“How about you sit, and I’ll tell you after we’ve eaten,” Marius said and Derek reluctantly complied.

The food was exquisite. The wine, incomparable. But halfway through the meal, Derek couldn’t take it anymore and asked Marius once again what the elaborate wooing was for. Because obviously, something like this couldn’t have come from something as trivial as a botched groping incident in the Ministry hallways.

“So, what is it, really?”

“Derek…” Marius began. “You know my wedding ceremony will take place next month, right?”

Derek’s throat closed up.

Oh. So this was it.

The Talk.

Derek had been anticipating this discussion for a long time. When he and Marius got together at Hogwarts, Derek already knew that he was arranged to marry a pure-blood witch that his father had chosen for him. Marius never kept that a secret from him and Derek had been aware that their relationship, if one could ever call it that, would not last long.

Derek knew that and accepted that. Five years and three wedding postponements later, Marius was still with him. And though extremely grateful, he couldn’t understand why.

But this time, Derek knew it was inevitable.

The last time Marius postponed the wedding, his father threatened to disown him. The Potters, the pure-blood family that Marius’s father wanted to make an alliance with, had threatened to withdraw the engagement.

His and Marius’s affair had gone on long enough and he knew Marius’s family would not allow yet another delay in the wedding. Derek wondered what would happen to him. Would Marius want to keep seeing him after? Or was he the type of husband who would never dishonour his wife and family name?

“Derek? Are you alright?”

Marius’s concerned face hovered just above his, and Derek realised that he must have frozen in shock. He didn’t see that Marius had stood up from his seat and was now hovering over Derek, waving a hand in front of his face and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“What? Yes, I’m alright,” Derek replied dazedly.

“I was about to tell you of my plan,” Marius said. His smile was uncharacteristically shy.

Yes, of course, The Plan. The plan where Derek would be asked to make a Wizard’s Vow never to reveal their secret to anyone. The plan where Marius would ask him to move far far away, never to see each other again. If Derek was lucky, he could get another job on the continent. Maybe they were more accepting of Mudbloods there and—

“I was about to ask you how you'd feel about moving in together.”

—and wait. What? And for the second time that night, Derek was shocked speechless.

“I…what?” Derek blinked. “Did you say move in? I thought I heard you say move in. You did, didn’t you? But why? I mean next month you’re…you’ll be…” Derek trailed off. He had never been able to say that word.

“I know,” Marius said. “I’m planning on telling Father and Mother that I won’t be marrying the Potter girl next month. And that’s why I wanted to ask you if you wanted to move in together.”

“But you can’t!” Derek exclaimed. “They’ll disown you. And that’s only the least of what they’d do to you if they find out about me. About us.”

“I don’t care,” Marius said stubbornly. “I don’t want to marry her. I don’t want to lose you.”

“But you can always have me,” Derek blurted out.

He'd never meant to say it out loud. Hell, he didn’t even know if Marius would want him after he was married. But it felt right, so he'd said it.

“I know. Thank you.” Marius smiled and gently kissed his knuckles. “But I want you to have me too. I want everyone to know about us. And about how much I love you.”

Derek’s heart nearly stopped beating. It was the first time Marius had ever said those words to him. Did Marius truly love him? All this time, Derek had accepted the fact that Marius was with him for the sex (which was rather incredible). He knew that one day Marius would be gone from his life and he’d be left alone and miserable. He had accepted that.

And now Marius was telling him he had been wrong all along?

Marius’s admission made his blood run cold. It was as if he was expecting something bad to happen. A vision flashed in his mind and he saw a beautiful girl with grey eyes and hair the colour of sunflowers before it was gone in an instant.

But it also made Derek want to throw his arms around Marius and never let go. He wanted to believe that Marius’s crazy plan could work. That it would work.

“Marius, I…” but Derek wasn’t even given time to answer back as Marius swiftly straightened up and dropped a kiss on top of his head before returning to his seat.

“We can talk about our plans after dessert,” Marius’s eyes were now shining with unveiled hope. “I just wanted you to know that.”

They ate the remainder of their meal in silence.


* * *

They talked and talked and talked that night, making plans for their future in between making love. It made Derek giddy, talking about a future where they were together. It sounded like a fairy tale.

But afterwards, Derek realized that it was indeed too good to be true. Marius’s views and plans on how they could make it work were based on fantasy. Based on a pure-blood’s view of the world. That everything was easy and the world was theirs for the taking.

But Derek knew better. He knew what life was like to people like him. The outcasts, the Mudbloods. They were barely higher than a house-elf, after all.

A week later, Marius found Derek’s flat empty with only a sealed letter on the centre of the kitchen table.

Marius,

I won’t allow you to ruin your life for me. You’re a pure-blood and the only son and heir of your father. You have the entire world at your feet. You cannot just throw away something like that. Not for someone like me.

Know that I’m doing this for you. I love you too much to take from you what could be a very bright future.

You will always have my heart, but this isn’t the time for us. Maybe someday, in some other life, we’ll find each other again.

All my love, Derek

* * *

“I don’t understand,” Harry said finally after a long silence, frowning at the portrait.

The portrait had reverted back to its original form where the two lovers stood side-by-side, facing away from each other, while their hands were intertwined and partly hidden behind their backs. It was a very sad portrait.

Deja looked sadly at them as well.

“Yes, it be a consequence of their previous life,” Deja said. “They both wanted what the other did not. It be bound to end before it began.”

“The change in their status, you mean?” Malfoy said.

“But it’s obvious they love each other,” Harry continued, pointing to the man with light hair. “So why would he leave?”

“Well, it’s obvious that they couldn’t be together. At least not in a society like that,” Malfoy said. “There’s nothing much they can do about it.”

“But the other bloke was willing to sacrifice everything for him,” Harry insisted. “They could have been happy.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “His father was a very influential wizard. He was the Chief Warlock for Merlin’s sake. He could have hunted them down and would most likely have them killed.”

“That’s barbaric,” Harry said, appalled.

“That would have been the consequence during that time,” Malfoy shrugged. “I heard that during that time blood status was everything.”

“Oh? Is that the kind of pure-blood traditions that you learn at home, then?” Harry spat. “Killing people because they happened to fall in love with Muggle-borns?”

The moment the spiteful words left his mouth, Harry regretted them.

Surprisingly, Malfoy did not take offence.

“Yes. Yes it is,” Malfoy said a bit sadly. “But sometimes, I don’t agree with everything I’ve been taught. Marriage is a sacred thing to us, although I know you mock us for having a predetermined spouse. But love is something we value just as much. It’s the foundation of a strong family. I was lucky that both Mother and Father love each other.”

Harry tried not to blanch at the thought. He could not imagine Lucius Malfoy being a loving husband and father.

“And what if you fall in love with someone who isn’t your intended?” Harry asked. “What then?”

Malfoy’s reaction was a surprisingly bitter smile.

“We never fall in love,” Malfoy said simply. And then he gave Harry a wry smile. “Or at least we try to fall in love with another pure-blood.”

Harry smiled wryly back, shaking his head. Pure-bloods really were messed up.

Harry stood beside Malfoy as they continued to contemplate the portrait.

“I don’t know…” Harry said wistfully. “I think they would have been happier together.”

“I think he made the right choice,” Malfoy said, indicating the light-haired man. “If you love someone, you’d do what you think is right for them, even if it comes at a great sacrifice. Besides, what's that Muggle saying? ‘If you love someone, set them free.’”

Surprised by Malfoy’s knowledge of anything remotely Muggle, Harry couldn’t help but agree.


* * *

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione cried as Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room. It was nearly dawn and Ron and Hermione were still up waiting for him.

“You know where,” Harry answered calmly.

“We were worried,” she said. “We have an exam in a few hours, the last one before they send us home for the holidays, and you said you wouldn’t take long so I thou—what is that?”

Hermione’s speech was cut short and she pointed at Harry’s hand. Sure enough, there was a long string of light coming from his smallest finger.

“You can see it?” Harry asked, surprised.

When he first told Hermione about it, she had looked at books in the library to try and figure out what it was. But despite her research, she hadn’t been able to come up with an answer.

Harry had nearly forgotten about the string of light from his finger after that. It came and went, and most of the time a wave of his hand could easily dissipate it. He was so used to having it that he didn’t give it much thought anymore.

Until today.

“Is that what you’ve been telling us about?” Ron asked amazed.

They all crowded together as Harry lifted his hand for them to see. Hermione twisted and turned his hand to examine it. When they tried to shake Harry’s hand back and forth, the smoky light dissipated, but not as completely as before. There would still be a small trace left at Harry’s finger. When they held it still, the wispy smoke would come together to form a solid band around Harry’s finger with a long line leading up to the air.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes narrowed. “Could you turn around a bit?”

He did as instructed and faced the other way.

“Now turn again, his time facing the fireplace.”

He looked at Ron and his friend shrugged.

“That’s odd,” Hermione said at last once she had made Harry face all possible directions.

“What is?” Harry asked.

“It’s odd that the end of the string is always pointing in the direction of the portrait hole,” Hermione said.

All three of them looked at the string of light, then at the door, then finally at each other.

“It’s as if it's pointing the way out,” Hermione said.

“Do you reckon we should follow it?” Ron asked curiously.

“We could use my Invisibility Cloak—”

“No!” Hermione cried, interrupting their plan. “I’ll try to do more research. It might be a trap leading you to danger, Harry.”

At her stern look, the two boys looked properly chastised for trying to rush into things again.

“Alright,” Harry said. “But it’s the first time you two have seen it, maybe you could try and help me figure out when it appears and disappears tomorrow.”

They all agreed that it was a good start, so when the next day came around, they began trying to figure out the line’s mysterious appearance and disappearance.

The first thing they noticed was that no one else could see the line apart from the three of them. During the week they were able to observe that the line usually disappeared whenever they had meals at the Great Hall, and during some of their classes. They also took note of the places where the line never disappeared, like the Gryffindor tower. Sometimes it would disappear while they were walking down a hall, but when they tried to return to the same place, the line would not disappear.

It was all very frustrating until Hermione suggested that the line might not have a reaction to a place at all, but instead to a moving entity, like a person.

“The line disappears at the Great Hall,” Hermione said. “Maybe it disappears when a powerful wizard is near, like Dumbledore.”

“But he isn’t here much these days, remember?” Harry said.

“Maybe it’s a trap that leads to You-Know-Who’s minion or something,” Ron said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it leads you to the Slytherin dungeons. Maybe it’s Malfoy!”

Harry bit his lip to refrain from saying anything. He knew that that the line always disappeared in the Portrait Room, especially when Malfoy was there, but he couldn’t tell them that.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out.”

Harry felt slightly guilty that they were worried about him. However, he didn’t have the heart to tell his friends he wasn’t even worried about the string of light one bit.


Chapter V


It was only after the holidays that Draco was able to return to the Portrait Room.

His return to the Manor for the holidays had been strained, at best. A gloom had hung over the Christmas dinner that he and his mother had shared alone and Draco couldn’t help but fear for the escalating war.

The task he had been assigned to complete was going slowly. He knew he needed to complete it for his father’s sake, but he was reluctant to do so. Draco also feared what the Dark Lord might do if he found out that Draco was hiding a secret from him.

Draco knew how to Occlude well enough, but the Dark Lord was a known Legilimens. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to thwart him should he try to invade Draco’s mind. What would the Dark Lord do if he found out a certain friendship had developed between him and Potter?

Harry.

Although they had never called each other anything else, Draco had begun to call the other boy Harry in his head. They’d been meeting at the Portrait Room nearly every day for months and somehow, his perception of the other boy had changed from annoying git, to companionable idiot, until one day, he found himself looking forward to their nightly meetings.

Not that he would admit it out loud.

It was the only silver lining in his increasingly troubled days at Hogwarts. He had given up a lot of his free time, including Quidditch games, just for his mission. Harry gave him grief about it too, but Draco was able to give a passable lie. Draco was a good liar. He had to be or else his plan would fail.

A lot of times, though, he wondered what would happen if he did fail. He sometimes hoped he would, just so he could tell Harry. Would Harry even try to help him if he knew, he wondered.

He looked at the string of light on his finger.

What began as an itchy irritation back when they first opened the Portrait Room had become a long line that hovered in the air and coiled around his hand. It was a mystery, but he knew it was somehow connected to Harry. Just like the faint blue light that would always glow whenever they opened the door to the Portrait Room.

Draco was worried about what that could mean.

When the string of light began to fade from his hand, Draco knew that Harry was near. And then it disappeared completely. A few seconds later, Harry’s head popped up from underneath his Invisibility Cloak.

“Hey,” Harry said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Draco nodded in response.

“How was your holiday?” Harry asked politely.

“It was fine,” Draco lied. “And yours?”

“Spent it here, as usual.” Harry shrugged. “Just like any other holiday.”

Draco envied Harry for having the choice to stay at Hogwarts. If he had known what was waiting for him at home, he would have insisted on staying here as well.

They stood for a few awkward minutes before finally Harry tentatively asked, “Are you alright, Malfoy?”

Draco turned to Harry, banishing the last of his dark thoughts away. His visits to the Portrait Room had been his only reprieve from the shadow of the impending war. He’d be damned if he gave it up.

“Of course,” Draco replied and began moving towards the door. “Shall we go in now?”

Harry nodded and together, they pushed open the oak doors.

They were surprised when they saw Deja’s portrait. It was vastly different from how it first began. The sky was bright like a brand new morning and there were gulls flying round in the air. Deja was in her selkie form again, and immediately transformed into her human form when she saw them approach.

“It really is improving,” Harry said, smiling as he peered past Deja and into the portrait’s background.

“How are you, my Slytherin and Gryffindor?” Deja asked breathlessly. Her cheeks were flushed from swimming and they could see that she was very happy with the change in her portrait’s weather.

“We’re doing great,” Harry said. “We’re sorry we couldn’t come during the holidays. Draco needed to go home and I couldn’t open the door alone.”

“That be alright,” Deja replied. “Be you ready for the next portrait now?”

When both the boys nodded, Deja lifted her hand and another portrait was revealed.


* * *

Unfinished Business

“Evan?” There was no answer as Janus entered the house they shared.

Janus Macmillan had just returned from the Ministry. His boyfriend, Evan Prince, was usually home before him as his apprenticeship at the Apothecary usually ended early. They didn’t keep as long hours as the Ministry grunts.

Janus considered himself the luckiest man in the whole of the wizarding world. His life was perfect. He would come home and his partner would be waiting for him, usually with dinner already laid out on the table. Sometimes, he would catch Evan still cooking and Janus would sit on the counter trying to distract his boyfriend. The food would usually turn out burnt when Janus got his way in persuading Evan to have a heated snogging session instead of cooking. Janus always made up for it by cleaning up afterwards and taking Evan out for a fancy dinner at a restaurant of his lover’s choice.

Then they would spend the night just telling each other about their day. Sometimes Janus would help when Evan needed to work on his research for his apprenticeship. Janus usually ended up being almost as knowledgeable about potions and potion ingredients by the time Evan turned in his papers. Sometimes Evan would help Janus with his work at the Creatures Liaisons Office, trying to find ways on how to get a werewolf, a vampire, and a centaur to agree on how to divide territories without each encroaching on the others’ lands. Evan was a natural when it came to manipulating both wizards and creatures alike, and Janus would end up with a better proposal than he originally had planned.

And at night, they would make love as if the only thing that existed in their world was each other. Their lovemaking was always intense and passionate, as if they’d been waiting all their lives for that moment to be together.

Evan was mostly the reason why Janus loved his life. They’d known each other for only a year, but it felt as if they’d been together for more than a lifetime. He and Evan didn’t have much, but they were good together and they were happy. Their families loved them and never judged. But most importantly, Janus knew that Evan loved him.

Which was sometimes why Janus would feel guilty about wanting to leave. Not that he would leave Evan, of course. No, that was the one thing he could never do. But he wanted to leave the wizarding world, and if possible, take Evan along with him.

Janus couldn’t understand why, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to go and live as a Muggle. He had been brought up in the wizarding world, and in his twenty-five years of life, he could count in his hands the number of times he had ever been to the Muggle world. There was nothing special about the Muggle world, really. So why couldn’t he shake off the desire to live with them?

He never told Evan this because he knew that Evan would never agree to it. Evan’s entire life was in the wizarding world: his career, his family, and his friends. For all that Evan was one of the few wizards who was at ease in the Muggle world and could easily blend with Muggles, Evan had never stepped foot there unless it was a matter of great importance.

The only time that Janus had seen Evan in the Muggle world was when Evan had been instructed to go and get an important ingredient for one of his master’s potions. Being the apprentice, he was assigned to get the ingredient from an Herbologist who was known for travelling in the Muggle world to look for rare ingredients there. Naturally, Evan detested the idea but went to meet the Herbologist anyway.

Janus had been the typical bumbling wizard back then who didn’t know what was what in Muggle clothing. Evan had immediately recognized him as a wizard and dragged him to a corner and transfigured his clothes to look more presentable.

It was how they had first met.

“What are you doing?” came a half-horrified half-disgusted voice from behind him.

Janus turned around and came face to face with a stranger with blazing grey eyes. He stepped back because if looks could kill, he would have been dead in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry?” Janus said when the Muggle (or at least that was what he thought Evan was at first) approached him.

“Come with me,” the man said as he grabbed Janus by the arm and took him to a deserted alley.

Do all Muggles do this? Janus thought. Was it natural for Muggles to drag complete strangers into empty streets? Or should he take out his wand to defend himself? He couldn’t decide at first if the man was a threat or not, but when the man pulled out a wand from his sleeve, Janus breathed a sigh in relief.

“What are you wearing?” the man asked incredulously.

“What, this?” Janus said a little too proudly. He was able to put the Muggle clothes on by himself, after all. Especially the one they called trousers. Horribly constricting things, those.

“You’re wearing it all wrong,” the man deadpanned.

Janus deflated. “I am?”

“Yes,” the man replied and bit his lip. “You got the shirt and trousers on right, but your jumper is inside out.”

“Oh,” Janus said, looking at the jumper he was wearing. He didn’t get how it could possibly be inside out. “That gave me away, then?”

“That, and the ladies’ purse you’re wearing,” the man’s lips twitched.

Evan held out the flashy red object in his hand and frowned.

“But they say this is all the rage in the Muggle world.”

“Yes,” the man replied. “For women.”

The man transfigured the red purse into something black and small. He then took it from Janus’s hand and reached around to tuck it in the back pocket of his trousers.

Janus didn’t miss the way the man’s hand lingered on his arse for a second more than was necessary.

When the man pulled back, he gave Janus a dazzling smile.

“Evan Prince,” the man said, and put out his hand.

“Janus Macmillan,” he replied, taking Evan’s hand. “You can call me Jan.”

Evan wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I prefer Janus,” he said. “It suits you better.”

Janus grinned.

They hit it off immediately. Janus asked Evan for a drink in a Muggle pub (which would have ended disastrously if not for Evan, who had brought Muggle money with him), dinner back at Diagon Alley (Janus insisted on paying this time as an apology for his earlier blunder), and with the day going so well that they were reluctant to part for the evening, they ended up in Janus’s flat and decided to get to know each other between the sheets as well. They had never been apart since.

And truthfully, Janus would not have it any other way.

“Evan?” Janus called again, this time a bit of worry colouring his voice.

“Up here,” came the muffled reply.

Janus ran up the stairs eager to find his lover. But when he reached their bedroom, he stopped short.

“Janus, what is this?” Evan asked without looking up.

Evan was sitting on their bed with Janus’s personal trunk open in front of him on the floor. Inside were things that Janus never meant for Evan to find. There were several items of Muggle clothing, Muggle books, shrunken Muggle appliances that Janus didn’t know how to use but found them interesting anyway. He also had Muggle currencies that, if Janus only knew, were from different countries and he could never really use them at all without exchanging them first if he ever found himself going to Muggle London.

Janus’s heart dropped when he saw what Evan has holding. Those were things he had kept under lock, key and magic. The spells he used were subtle enough that Evan wouldn’t notice their presence, but powerful enough to keep curious eyes from prying. Evan had still been able to break his spell.

In Evan’s hand were paper certificates, not parchments, which stated proof of Janus’s Muggle birth, his Muggle education, and a small scrap of paper that stated his name, age, and country of citizenship. They were all fake, of course, but these were papers that wizards usually acquire when they went to live with Muggles for a long period of time. He had obtained them from one of the agents at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who had been living undercover as a Muggle for five years.

“Janus?” Evan asked again, snapping Janus from his shock.

“Evan, I…” Janus began. “I didn’t…I’m not…It’s not what it looks like, okay?” Janus finally said.

Evan kept stubbornly silent, waiting for Janus to explain further. Knowing that there was no other way to get out of this, Janus began to tell him the truth.

He told Evan of how he had always been fascinated by the Muggle world. That the first time they met, and Evan dragged him into a deserted alley to fix his Muggle clothes, was Janus’s first foray into the Muggle world alone. He wanted to know what it felt like to live among them, just like the way his friend at the DMLE was living with them.

Janus told Evan about the inexplicable desire he had for wanting to live like a Muggle.

“I’d even take you with me,” Janus said. “I’d take you, but I know you would never go there with me.”

“I can’t go there,” Evan whispered.

“I know,” Janus nodded in understanding. “I know you never go there unless completely necessary, and sometimes not even then. It’s the same kind of compulsion for me. I can’t explain it, but I feel the need to go there.”

“Janus,” Evan whispered, “You don’t have to do this. You know I would understand. If it’s me…if it’s me then I would—” Evan’s voice cracked. “I would...go. I’ll leave…”

“No!” Janus cried in alarm. He rushed to his lover’s side and pulled him into his arms in a bone crushing embrace. “No,” Janus said, more calmly this time and taking Evan’s face so he could look into his grief-stricken grey eyes. “It’s not you. I would never ever leave you. You know I love you, right?”

“But?” Evan said, biting his lower lip and looking all too sure that Janus was about to tell him to pack his things and leave.

Janus exhaled loudly and clung to Evan tighter.

“But nothing…?” Janus tried to sound resolute, yet his voice wavered and he sounded unsure even to his own ears. “But nothing,” he repeated again, this time steadier. As if he was trying to convince himself otherwise.

“Janus…”

“No, Evan,” Janus said this time. “Never. Not until you push me away. And even then I’d still fight for you. For us.”

Evan suddenly cupped his face and pulled him closer. Their lips crashed together and Janus eagerly accepted the tongue that was forcing its way into his mouth. Janus sighed into the kiss and allowed Evan to pull him onto his lap, dragging him impossibly close as they clung tightly to each other.

He needed this. He needed to remind himself that everything he could ever want was already in his arms. That he was chasing phantoms and memories. It was only here in Evan’s arms that the yearning in his heart to go to the Muggle world would ease. That Evan’s burning passion for him would anchor him to the wizarding world.

“I should burn those,” Janus said, gesturing to the trunk full of his Muggle things and documents.

“Don’t,” Evan said, sighing as Janus bit into his neck, marking him. “You might need it someday.”

Janus pulled back to look at Evan. “But I won’t need it if you’re not going with mmph—” Janus was cut off by Evan’s mouth on his.

Evan tugged at the string that tied Janus’s hair back and his hair cascaded to his shoulders. Janus sighed as Evan carded his hands through his hair. He loved the way Evan would grab fistfuls of his dark hair and use it to angle his head while Evan plundered his mouth, or how Evan would pull it aside to expose his neck and leave marks of his own there.

Evan slowly eased back into the bed, pulling Janus on top of him. A whispered spell, and their clothes slowly melted away, giving way to skin and heat. Janus loved the way they effortlessly fit perfectly together, as if they were meant to be together like this. Their cocks lay hard between them, rubbing pleasurably against each other, but they didn’t pay them any mind.

Janus’s hands were on Evan’s face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of his cheek, the arch of his brow and softness of his lips. Everywhere his hands touched, his kisses would follow. Evan was doing the same to him as well, his fingers tracing the lids of Janus’s eyes and scratching the slight stubble on his jaw. It was as if they were memorising each other’s faces with their hands and lips.

They'd never made love like this before. It had always been filled with a frenzied need to be with each other. The need to touch, the need to come, and the need to sleep with their arms wrapped tightly around each other afterwards. As if they were afraid to let each other go.

It was never slow like this. Never deliberately mapping every inch of each other’s skin. Never wanting to just feel the other’s presence, kissing slowly and leisurely, and loving the fact that they were just there, together.

And when Evan spread his legs to allow Janus to settle between his thighs, they just lay there, holding each other and counting the beat of each other’s hearts. Their hips were grinding slowly, as if they were savouring each second of pleasure building up inside them, not wanting the end to come too soon.

And only when the pleasure was so strong that they couldn’t take it anymore did Janus ask, “Now?” then Evan nodded and breathed, “Yes, now.”

They made love slowly, Janus gently easing into Evan, who readily took him. There was a desperate feel to it, and for some reason that feeling of desperation was so dreadfully familiar that Janus nearly faltered. As if he had already lived this moment a long time ago. A déjà vu.

He could almost swear that it was Evan’s way of saying goodbye.

* * *

By the time the portrait had dimmed, Draco was horribly aroused and blushing furiously. He didn’t want to look at Harry directly for fear that he would be caught. But from the corner of his eyes, he could see that Harry was squirming and probably as equally mortified as he was.

It was embarrassing, really. They had just witnessed two men having sex with each other. The fact that they were fit and incredibly good looking did not help at all. If Draco closed his eyes, he would no doubt hear their pants and moans in his head. Merlin, what he’d give for a good wank right now. He now had wank material for weeks. Months, even!

He tried to calm his breath and will his arousal down. He tried to block the images in his mind with Hagrid dancing on tabletops. Or even Filch. He shuddered.

That was much better, he thought as the thumping in his chest began to subside and his excitement eased.

He then heard Harry clear his throat. Harry’s face was still flushed from embarrassment, but his eyes were focused intently on Deja. As if he was trying not to look Draco’s way.

“What happened after that?” Harry asked Deja. “What happened to the man who wanted to live in the Muggle world?”

“He left shortly after,” Deja said. “The compulsion be too strong and in the end he be forced to go. He lived there for nearly two decades learning how to live without magic and understanding the people. He be sad, but content.”

“He went to the Muggle world even when they were finally together,” Draco said. “Was it because in the past his lover was a Mud—” Draco stopped himself as Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, a Muggle born?”

“Yes,” Deja answered. “He be compelled to follow where his lover went, even in their next lives.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry said. “They’re already together, and for once happy. Why leave?”

“Sometimes, there be things you need to do because you must,” Deja said. “What you do in one life dictates what you must do in the next.”

“I don’t…understand,” Draco said, his brows creased in a frown.

“Before this life, the man, the one on the other portrait, died looking for the other without ever finding him, not knowing he be in the land of Muggles,” Deja explained. “He be so consumed by it that he took it to this life. That is why he be not satisfied even when they be together at last. He had unfinished business.

“Many years later, he came back to the wizarding world,” Deja continued the story. “He be missing the wizarding world, but most of all he be missing his lover. He returned hoping to find the other again after so long. He be even ready to accept that his lover had moved on while he be not there, even if his lover be having his own family. He only wanted to see him.

“But when he returned, he learned that his lover be already dead. His lover died years ere his return,” Deja said. “It be the only thing he be not prepared to face. He be very devastated with the news and returned to be with Muggles until he died. There be no other reason for him to stay in the wizarding world.”


* * *

They were both quiet when they finally began to leave the Portrait Room to head back to their dorms. Draco allowed Harry to leave first, but before the door could close behind them, Draco turned back. There was something odd about the way Deja was behaving.

“Deja?” he called out.

Deja’s form immediately reappeared on the portrait. “Yes?”

“You kept calling us your Slytherin and Gryffindor,” Draco said. “Why?”

“Be you not a Slytherin and a Gryffindor?”

Draco was about to say something else but hesitated. He shook his head and quietly left the room.


* * *

Draco shook his arm again. It was irritating how the string of light coiled around his arm. He knew the annoyance was unwarranted, as he couldn’t even feel the damn thing. But the constant presence, the way it hovered above his head when he was studying, or the way it would drift away, as if trying to pull him in a certain direction, was distracting. He found himself able to concentrate less and less as his thoughts were constantly caught by that string of magical light.

It also didn’t help that no one else could see it. He tried showing it to Pansy and Blaise, but neither could see (nor really care about) the magical line. Pansy even had the gall to accuse him with playing with Dark bonding spells.

“True love, darling?” Pansy said. “No pure-blood in their right mind would ever try and find true love. Why, what if your true love was a Mudblood? Or worse, a blood traitor? Better stick to what your Father and Mother arrange for you.”

He tried to shake off the string of light one more time and sighed. The line was growing stronger everyday. It had stopped disappearing completely since the last time he was in the Portrait Room with Deja. Even when he tried to shake it, the line would only fade for a few seconds and then reform again stronger than ever.

The only time it would disappear completely was when he was in the Portrait Room.

Suddenly, he saw the line that was coiled around his forearm began to pulse. Odd, he thought, it had never done that before. The line would glow just a touch brighter, then fade into its usual illumination. It would repeat, each glow brighter than the next.

He stared at the line in fascination for a few moments longer, but when it didn’t seem to do anything else other than pulse, Draco left it alone and began walking towards the seventh floor of the castle.

But just then he heard a commotion from around one of the corridors. There were frantic footsteps followed by voices. He could hear them thundering nearer and nearer.

Then Draco glanced at his hand and saw that the line from his finger had begun to glow fiercely. Was it a coincidence? Curious, he walked faster to try and see round the corner to find out what the commotion was about.

But just before he stepped to turn into the next corridor, two things happened at once: the line on his hand disappeared completely and he found himself sprawled on the floor, with something heavy on top of him.

Fuck, he thought as pain seared through his lower back and the back of his head.

“Fuck,” someone mumbled from above him.

Draco was about to curse the idiot who crashed into him when he opened his eyes and saw Harry’s green eyes staring concernedly at him.

“Har—” he began, but stopped when he saw Weasley and Granger at the corner of his vision running up to them. “Potter, what the fuck?”

“Are you alright Malfoy?” Harry asked worriedly.

“I…” he began. But he had forgotten what he was about to say.

Harry was pressed against him, worriedly checking Draco for signs of concussion. So close, he thought. He could feel Harry’s laborious breath against his face, which no doubt was from running the entire length of the hall. One forearm was braced across his chest and he could feel the elbow digging at the socket of his shoulder. Harry’s other hand was busy trying to feel the back of his head and looking for a bump.

It felt nice.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Draco heard Weasley shout. “What did you do to Harry?”

He saw Granger trying to hold Weasley back, one of his hands cocked back and clenched, ready to deliver a blow.

“It was my fault, Ron,” Harry shouted from above him. Then he turned back to Draco and asked again in a gentler voice, “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Draco said quietly. “And Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“You can get up now.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide as saucers and he hastily scrambled up to get off of Draco. But their legs were still tangled and when Harry tried to get up, he tumbled right back down again. His face was beet red as he mumbled an apology and he struggled to get up.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking,” Harry said, his eyes still glued to the floor. “I didn’t know you were standing there.”

“It’s fine,” Draco assured him.

Draco stood up and began to brush down the dirt from his own robes. He ignored the way Granger’s eyebrows were up to her bushy hair and the way Weasley’s mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish.

“Right, right,” Harry said, obviously trying not to fidget. Then Harry grabbed both Granger and Weasley by the arm and whirled them in the opposite direction. “Sorry again,” he said as he began to drag them both away from Draco. Then Harry turned back, giving Draco a small apologetic smile that his friends didn’t see, before briskly walking away.

Draco stared as the three walked away from him, heads bent together and whispering furiously. Then he sighed as remembered he still had a task to do. It was a long time before Draco noticed that the string of light around his smallest finger had returned.


Chapter VI


“Right, mate,” Ron said, literally driving Harry into a corner. “So spill.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, feigning innocence.

They were only a few yards away from where Harry had turned too sharply at a corner and ended up half sprawled on top of Malfoy, but Ron cornered him into an alcove and proceeded to question him on what had happened mere moments ago.

His first instinct when he saw whom he had landed on was to check if Malfoy was all right, feeling for bumps on his head and looking for a sign of concussion. But when Malfoy calmly told him to get up and stop straddling him, Harry instantly flushed from embarrassment.

His brain had immediately supplied him with visions of the two men in the previous portrait having sex, because it was the same position they had been in. So he hid his mortification by looking at his shoes because damn it, that was not the time to be thinking of such things. Especially with Malfoy not a few feet from him.

Fortunately, Malfoy took it in stride, surprising Harry even, the way he hadn't made a big deal about it. It was the first time they had came face to face in the halls again in a long time. Since they began meeting at the Portrait Room, he and Malfoy rarely crossed paths. It was partly deliberate on Harry’s end. He didn’t know how he should react to Malfoy now that things had changed, albeit slightly, between them.

But also, it was because he didn’t want to give his secret away to his friends. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide anything from them if they ever saw him and Malfoy speaking to each other without trying to hex one another.

And he was right.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron said sarcastically. “The fact that you sent Malfoy tumbling down on his arse without coming to blows sounds bloody suspicious to me. I mean he didn’t even push you! Or…or fake being in pain!”

But Harry was determined to keep his mouth shut. He knew he had to tell them at some point, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about Malfoy with his friends. It felt…private.

“Harry,” Hermione said, placing a comforting arm on his shoulder. “You can tell us anything. You know that, right?”

Harry looked first at Ron then at Hermione before letting out a deep breath. Was there really a good reason to keep this secret from them other than the irrational feeling that he just wanted to?

No, he decided. They were his best friends and he knew he could trust them completely. If this turned out to be something that they should be worried about, then at least his friends would already know what was happening.

Harry took a deep breath.

“You know the secret room I found? The Portrait Room?” Harry began. When his two friends nodded, he continued. “Well, Malfoy goes there with me.”

There were a few moments of silence before Ron’s incredulous shriek reverberated through the empty corridor.

“What?!” Ron said at the same time Hermione said, “What do you mean, Harry? Like once or twice?”

“Um, like always?” Harry winced. “I know I should have said something earlier, but…” Harry trailed off and shrugged.

“Harry, how could you invite the Ferret into the room with you when you don’t even let us come with you?” Ron said. There was both hurt and incredulity in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said defensively. “I didn’t tell you before, but the door can only be opened by both of us. You remember me taking you guys there and the door didn’t even budge, right? I think it’s because it had something to do with me being a Gryffindor and him being a Slytherin.

“Harry,” Hermione finally spoke up. “You said the feeling on your hand began when you started meeting with that woman in the portrait, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“And then just now we were following it, and it led you to Malfoy,” she said. “Don’t you think that this could have anything to do with Malfoy, too?”

Harry furrowed his brows in thought. After more than a few failed research attempts from Hermione, they decided to finally follow the trail of light, promising themselves that they would stop if they felt any signs of danger. They had been following it eagerly until Harry finally rounded a corner and crashed into Malfoy.

The next thing Harry knew, the string of light was gone.

“I’m not sure, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “Possibly, but he hasn’t said anything.”

Harry heard Ron swear under his breath. “Why would he say anything? It could be Malfoy’s plot to take you to You-Know-Who, Harry.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s…he’s a bit different now,” Harry said, fully convinced even though his excuse for trusting Malfoy was flimsy at best. “He’s not the same as before.”

“Come to think of it, Ron,” Hermione said, turning to the other boy, “Malfoy hasn’t been harassing Harry lately. I don’t think they’ve even exchanged more than a few words since the beginning of term.” Hermione’s glanced at Harry before hastily adding, “At least not outside the Portrait Room.”

“Well, you better watch Malfoy carefully, mate,” Ron said. “We’ll try to keep an eye out for anything else, too.”

Harry nodded and they began walking back to the Tower.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron said suddenly. “When you said back then that you have a secret girlfriend, you didn’t mean Malfoy, did you?”


* * *

“I take it Weasley and Granger knew?”

Harry looked up shocked to see Malfoy waiting for him by the door of the Portrait Room. He hadn’t even taken off his Invisibility Cloak, so how did Malfoy know he was there?

Then Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach for a minute, thinking that Malfoy was talking about the string of light on his hand, before realising that he probably meant the Portrait Room.

“Potter?” Malfoy called out uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking off his cloak.

“Well?” Malfoy asked.

“Um, yeah. I kind of told them about us,” Harry replied. Then when he ran the words in his mind once more, he began to blush before hastily adding, “Meeting here, I mean.”

Malfoy looked at him curiously before shrugging.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harry said, part of him wondering why he felt the need to apologise.

“Can’t be helped,” was Malfoy’s only reply.

They both placed their palms on the door and entered the room.


* * *

The Student and the Professor

There was someone knocking on the door.

Duncan ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away. He continued reading through the essays in front of him, sometimes correcting spelling mistakes and sometimes writing notes in the margin. He then dipped his quill in a red inkwell and wrote the word 'Troll' with a flourish on the parchment he was holding.

The knocking increased in intensity.

Duncan cursed under his breath before calling out a, “Come in,” to whoever was intruding on his free time. He had very little spare time these days so it had better be good, he thought.

A dark haired girl peeked from behind the door, her brown eyes shining with fear. But when Duncan’s face softened in recognition, the girl brightened and quietly slipped into the room.

“Hi, Professor Lochrin,” the girl greeted shyly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Grimstone?” Duncan said with one raised eyebrow.

“It’s…it’s the same thing again, Professor,” the student blushed profusely. “I was wondering if I could…if I—”

He sighed. “You got locked out again?”

The girl nodded.

“Yes, go,” Duncan interrupted her before she could even finish asking his permission. He shooed her away as he returned to grading the essay before him.

“Thanks, Professor,” the girl grinned at him and hurriedly left the room and into the potions storeroom.

Duncan rubbed his temple. Merlin, that girl was a piece of work, Duncan thought. Helga Grimstone was, quite possibly, the only student that the Sorting Hat had ever been wrong about.

Duncan could still remember when Helga was sorted into Ravenclaw during her first year. The Hat took so long to decide that everyone thought the Hat had fallen asleep. As it turned out, she and the Hat had been having a nice little chat about Muggle magicians’ hats and how one could possibly pull out a rabbit from within one. When the Hat finally sorted her into Ravenclaw, everyone cheered loudly, happy that they could finally get on with the sorting and the subsequent feast.

Helga, however, was a bit…slow for a Ravenclaw (though he had heard other—meaner—students call her stupid), and always had trouble entering the Ravenclaw Common Room. At first, many thought that is was because she was Muggle born. She could not answer many of the bronze eagle’s questions, as many of the answers required basic knowledge of magical creatures, things or events. But as the years went on, Helga still had trouble answering the riddles. The other Ravenclaws eventually grew weary of her and had stopped helping her get inside.

What she lacked in knowledge, however, she made up for with enthusiasm. Duncan had taken a liking to the girl because of her eagerness to learn. She started by volunteering to clean cauldrons after Potions class to try and practice her Vanishing Charm. Duncan, not one to turn down offered help, allowed her to practise to her heart’s content (though he later regretted it when she accidentally Vanished his favourite cauldron made of pure silver). She became better with her wandwork, but at best, she was only an Acceptable student, and barely above Poor.

Duncan was probably the only Professor who still made an effort to help her now. Her Head of House, the wretched woman, had given up on her own student. Naturally, Helga gravitated to Duncan as the only Professor she trusted.

She eventually became friends with many of the Slytherins, and Duncan, as Head of Slytherin House, would sometimes allow her to sleep in the Slytherin girls’ dorms with her friends when none of her housemates could be bothered to open the door of their own common room for her.

Helga had now moved on from Vanishing residual potions from cauldrons to sorting through the Potions storeroom for him. Her grades in Potions had risen dramatically in turn, and she was beginning to show signs of skill in Potion making.

After grading the paper in front of him, Duncan decided to take a break and got up from behind his desk to follow Helga to the storeroom. He was fond of her, yes, but he didn’t trust her enough not to mess up his well-organized cupboard.

“Need any help?” Duncan said from the doorway. He saw her face was contorted in concentration as she held two vials with similar coloured fluids.

Helga looked up in relief at the sound of his voice. “Yes, please.”

“The one you are holding in your left hand is the Lobalug venom,” Duncan said. “The other is Bulbadox juice. You don’t want that to come into contact with your skin.”

Helga hastily replaced the vial in her right hand on the shelf with a look of horror on her face. At least she knew what Bulbadox juice does, Duncan thought amusedly.

They went through the potions ingredients quietly, refilling vials that were running low, and disposing of rotten and stale ingredients. Eventually, Helga broke the silence.

“Professor,” Helga said tentatively. “Do you think I’ll ever be worthy of having been sorted into my House?”

Helga always had these kinds of questions for him. They were hard to answer, but Duncan always tried his best. If he was honest with himself, he thought that his blunt way was better than the coddling they used to give her in her House. At least now she knew how to push herself harder when it comes to learning.

Duncan studied her face, trying to determine whether the truth or a lie would benefit her more. Instead he decided not to answer her question.

“The Sorting Hat is never wrong, Miss Grimstone,” Duncan said. “It no doubt found qualities in you that would make Helena Ravenclaw proud.”

“You know, Professor, I sometimes dream that I live in another life,” Helga sighed wistfully. “In it I was really really smart, just like the rest of my house. In fact, I always got the top marks in the entire school. Except…I wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw. I sometimes see Gryffindor’s red and gold.”

“Perhaps in another life you were just like that, Miss Grimstone,” Duncan said delicately. “Although I don’t doubt that the universe would balance your gift and intellectual capacity by giving you big teeth and bushy hair,” he added playfully.

Helga giggled. “I wish you were my Head of House, Professor.”

They spent a few more minutes in companionable silence before a voice called out from within the Potions classroom.

“Professor?”

Duncan looked up from his examination of an ingredient and gritted his teeth when he recognised the familiar voice calling him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured before heading out of the storeroom and into the Potions classroom.

When Duncan stepped into the classroom, a familiar looking student with messy dark hair was lounging on his desk, his foot swinging idly back and forth. A huge grin was on his face.

“Can I help you, Mr Cauldwell?” Duncan asked while trying to keep his tone neutral.

Although it didn’t seem possible, the boy’s grin only grew bigger.

Clive Cauldwell was another student that would constantly find his way into Duncan’s office. But unlike Helga, Clive’s requirements weren’t in the realm of knowledge and schoolwork.

Duncan had never noticed anything peculiar about Clive until he began taking NEWT level Potions. Before that, Clive was just another brat taking the requisite Potions class just like everyone. Then he signed up for NEWTs.

As these classes tended to be small, the setting was more intimate than regular Potions classes. Students often worked alone or in pairs, and some of them would even ask for one-on-one instruction for their final projects.

Clive had been one of those who always requested his help for a potion. Granted, the potion Clive was trying to brew was more difficult than the usual potions project as it would require several months to complete between the brewing and curing stages. But Duncan had noticed other things as well whenever they were working together.

He noticed how Clive would often stand close beside him instead of across the table from him as he instructed the boy on what to do next. Clive would also come into his office at least once a day to offer help with whatever he needed, much like what Helga was doing right now.

The only difference, however, was how Clive was constantly looking at him like some lovesick loon.

Now, Duncan knew things like this tended to happen in school. In fact Clive was not the first to show signs of interest in him. Nor was he the first male student who had. Clive, however, was the only student who ever made him fear for his job at Hogwarts.

Duncan thought that if he ignored him, Clive would eventually lose interest, just as many of the others had. But he never did. In fact, it grew worse as the school year progressed and Clive grew bolder. He would sometimes touch Duncan’s arm when trying to get his attention or when he was asking a question. Other times, he would lean in close, much too close, when they were observing a bubbling potion. After that, Duncan would be able to smell Clive’s shampoo in his dreams.

It all went south when one day Clive became bold enough to make his inevitable move on Duncan. They were alone in the Potions classroom and were peering into the potion they were brewing. Duncan was explaining why the potion must be allowed to boil for precisely fourteen and a half minutes before allowing it to cool off when he realised Clive wasn’t listening.

He saw that Clive’s eyes were glazed over and his lips slightly parted. They were standing close. Too close. And before Duncan knew it, Clive had braced one hand on the desk, and was standing on his toes just to be able to touch his lips with Duncan’s.

The only mistake Duncan made—the biggest mistake he ever made, in fact—was that he didn’t push Clive away immediately. Duncan only realised that he was actually holding on to Clive’s waist when the boy carded one hand through Duncan’s hair and opened his mouth invitingly. He immediately clamped his hands on Clive’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length, horrified at what had just occurred.

But the damage had been done. After that, Clive began to openly and relentlessly pursue him. No amount of Duncan’s pleading that it was a mistake or that he could lose his job for doing it could dissuade Clive. They could keep it secret, Clive had insisted.

If Clive only knew how he had nearly given in when he'd said that.

It really was too bad that Clive was the best Potions student he’d had in a long while. Duncan could use his help in brewing potions for the Hospital Wing to use and would not even skimp on giving extra credit points for it. But as it stood, he could not even stay in one room with the boy without wanting to either throttle his neck or snog him thoroughly.

Duncan glared at the boy now sitting in front of him. He had better behave, as Helga was just in the next room.

“Actually, Professor, I was hoping you could give me a private tutorial,” Clive said in a deliberately low voice. “I heard you have certain…skills. Maybe you could teach me some?”

Duncan groaned inwardly as the words sent a shiver down his spine, berating himself for finding the words far too enticing. Damn Clive for his ability to do this to him.

“Mr Cauldwell!” Duncan hissed angrily. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Really?” Clive said as he got up from the table and began to stalk towards him. “Because I thought that you and I could—”

“Professor?”

The two men both turned and saw Helga standing just outside the Potions storeroom and shuffling her feet. Duncan was momentarily horrified when he realised she must have been standing there long enough to listen in on their conversation.

But Clive smoothly cut in before Duncan could react.

“Hey Helga! Here for extra credit too?” Clive said without missing a beat. “Sorry Professor, I didn’t realise you were busy. I’ll just wait in your office, if that’s alright with you.”

Duncan was mildly impressed at how Clive was able to quickly shift his demeanour from someone illicitly seducing a Professor to a seemingly hard-working student asking for extra credit. He gave the boy a small nod, although he dreaded the thought of allowing Clive inside his private office. But he would have to deal with that later.

“Are you done for the day?” Duncan said, turning to face Helga.

“Yes,” Helga said slowly. Her eyes flicked between Duncan’s calculating gaze and Clive’s retreating back. “Professor was he just…?”

Duncan’s heart thudded against his chest. So she did hear their conversation! But when she shrugged her shoulders as if saying she couldn’t care less about it, Duncan nearly exhaled loudly in relief.

“Never mind,” Helga said instead, shaking her head. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Duncan waited for her to leave the Potions classroom before locking the door and bracing himself for whatever was waiting for him inside his office. He could just imagine what Clive was doing in there, snooping around his desk.

But when he went inside, he saw Clive sitting on an armchair away from his desk and quietly reading through the first year’s Potions essays.

Duncan couldn’t help but smile fondly. The scene looked so achingly familiar. It was something Clive used to do. Clive used to help him grade some of the lower years’ Potions essays before this…thing between them began.

Clive looked up when Duncan quietly closed the door behind him.

“Is she gone, then?” Clive asked.

“Yes,” Duncan replied warily.

“Good,” Clive said, standing up and replacing the papers onto Duncan’s desk.

The predatory gleam in Clive’s emerald eyes returned at once as he stalked towards Duncan. Duncan narrowed his eyes as he was slowly backed onto the door. Clive’s hand was splayed on his chest above his heart and he could feel Clive’s warm breath on his neck.

“Mr Cauldwell…Clive, stop.” Duncan’s voice was strained.

Clive looked up at him, his eyes pleading. “Why?”

“We can’t,” Duncan said, voice cracking. “You know we can’t.”

Then all of Clive’s bravado fell away as he slumped dejectedly against Duncan.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Clive said mournfully against his chest. “Don’t you want me?”

“I—” Duncan stopped.

We wanted to tell Clive that no, he didn’t want him. He could finally end this with that one word. But his chest constricted even from just thinking about it.

No, Duncan decided, he couldn’t lie about what he felt.

“I want you too,” Duncan finally whispered in Clive’s ear. “But you and me? It’s too impossible. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be leaving school in a few months,” Clive began to sob into Duncan’s robes. “Don’t let me go again. Please, please tell me to stay with you.”

A shiver ran down Duncan’s spine as a vision of an older Clive walking away from him flashed in his mind. He didn’t know where the memory came from and his chest constricted painfully at the phantom image, but he knew that he could never ask the boy to stay. He would do what was best for Clive, and that, unfortunately, did not involve a future with him.

“I’m sorry,” Duncan whispered, finally allowing himself one last indulgence. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around Clive’s quivering body and held on tight. “I’m so very sorry.”


* * *

Clive never came to him after that. The end of term came and went and Clive finally left Hogwarts for good. A few years later, Duncan heard that Clive had married one of his old classmates and they had two children and a dog.

Duncan would never admit to anyone that the news hurt him deeply.

A few months after hearing the news, he received an unsigned letter without a return address. But it didn’t matter because he knew who wrote it. He would always be able to recognise Clive’s messy script.

Professor,

I’m living the life you wanted me to have, but you will always have my heart. I loved you then, I love you still.

And for Duncan, it was enough.

* * *

“Yet another story with a unfortunate ending,” Malfoy commented wryly as both Deja and the image in the portrait vanished.

“Mm,” Harry replied noncommittally. “But shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

“Yes, but it seems too tragic,” Malfoy said. “They’ve had plenty of opportunities to be together yet they choose not to be. I’m beginning to think they weren’t really meant to be together.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “Or maybe it just wasn’t the right time for them?”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy said as he began to walk to the door.

Harry still stood in front of the portrait of the former Hogwarts Professor and his student. The younger boy was looking up mischievously from his book and the older man smiled indulgently at him. They didn’t look unhappy, so perhaps it had not been a terrible life for them after all.


* * *

Several days later, Harry found himself in the library, listening to Hermione droning on and on about some sort of ancient magic that he couldn’t understand. They were still searching for any clue as to what the line of light in his finger might be, but most of their leads turned into dead ends. He tuned her out and instead wistfully remembered the young girl from the last portrait.

“How come you’re so smart, ‘Mione?” Harry said with a grin.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “Harry James Potter, if this is some ploy to get me to let you out of researching this, then I swear to Merlin I’ll—”

“No, it’s not!” Harry said, quickly shaking his head. “I just meant that studying seems so natural to you. You could even be a Ravenclaw, I bet.”

“Ravenclaws are unintentional snobs, Harry,” Hermione said with a tilt of her chin. “They’d rather spend their time with their noses in books than interact with the people around them, even their own House mates. They don’t mean to be rude, except they really are.”

“I guess you’re better off in Gryffindor then,” Harry said.

“Wouldn’t dream of being in any other house.” Hermione grinned back at him. “Anyway, Harry, you really should try to read this book,” she said pointing at the open book in front of her. “It’s about magical ties and threads of destinies. There’s a section here on an old Asian magic about red threads that connect two people together. It’s the closest I could find that matches the one on your finger, except that it isn’t red.”

“Well, what does it do and how can we get rid of it?” Harry asked, suddenly alert.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione replied biting her lower lip. “There isn’t any indication that it was a cast spell. I have a feeling that it has more to do with a person’s inner magic than spells.”

“At least that rules out Death Eater traps,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “But that doesn’t rule out Voldemort.”

They looked at each other from across the table, worry evident in their faces, and didn’t say anything else.


Chapter VII


“Hullo, Malfoy,” Harry greeted him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Potter,” Draco greeted back.

“Two more to go,” Harry said conversationally as they walked into the Portrait Room. “Do you think they’ll ever find a way to be together?”

“I doubt it, Potter,” Draco said. “If there are two more portraits, then the one before last will undoubtedly end in tragedy. Again.”

“You’re so pessimistic, Malfoy,” Harry said, slightly grinning. “Who knows, they might have been together in those last two lives.”

It had been more than half a year since he and Harry began going to the Portrait Room, but Draco was still surprised whenever Harry threw the occasional smile in his direction. It was something that he still couldn’t get used to.

Ever since the holidays, he and Harry had been spending less and less time going to the Portrait Room. He knew it had something to do with the impending war but neither of them had ever talked about that.

It was a taboo topic, never to be discussed.

Here in the Portrait Room, they were just Harry and Draco: two simple Hogwarts students. They were tentative friends, at least. Outside this room, Draco still couldn’t shake off the stigma of being the Death Eater’s son, just as Harry could never stop being the Boy-Who-Lived in front of other people.

But sometimes, Draco couldn’t help but wish that circumstances were different. He wondered what Harry’s reaction would be if he told him that he’d rather support him instead.

Harry would probably check for a curse, Draco shook his head with a slight grin.

“Ready for the next one then?” Draco asked.

“Sure,” Harry replied.

Soon, they were transported to a world that was both horrifyingly real and familiar.


* * *

The Tides of War

“Aidan!”

“Galvin?”

“Aidan, where the fuck are you?”

“Over here,” Aidan called out.

Aidan was standing on the top of a tall ridge, looking out to the valley below. It was a cold and rainy day and he was soaked to the skin, but that was not the reason Aidan was shivering as if a Dementor had passed over him.

Far below him, a village lay in ruin. Houses were burning and dead wizards littered the narrow dirt roads of the small village, their bodies deformed and severed in grotesque manners that could only be achieved with the use of Dark magic. Aidan did not doubt that if they entered the houses, they would see corpses of children, raped and mutilated beyond recognition and women, raped and butchered with knives from their own kitchens.

It was not an unusual sight. He’d seen it before, after all.

A dark shadow hung low over the desecrated town. Aidan recognised the shadow as a spell used by Dark wizards to kill anyone who would dare offer help to the surviving members of the village. It was a spell that could turn a person’s skin to boiling acid, slowly and painfully eating through the flesh until only the bones would remain.

Aidan could hear the sound of dogs howling wildly and infants screaming in fright. Soon, they too would be dead and the entire valley would be nothing but a horrific memory that would haunt his dreams each night.

“Did you find it?” Galvin asked, coming up from behind him and equally drenched in the rain.

“Yeah,” Aidan answered grimly. “We’re too late.”

“Fuck,” Galvin cursed when he saw the scene below him. “Think we could get to the survivors?”

Aidan shook his head. “Acid Cloud Curse on the area. Let’s just hope the survivors die as quickly and as painlessly as possible.”

Galvin nodded.

Both Aidan and Galvin were used to seeing scenes like these, but they never got any less daunting. They had been assigned as Runners, wizards who would Apparate to villages targeted by Grindelwald’s army, to warn the people and help them evacuate if necessary.

Although the bulk of the war was being fought in continental Europe, Grindelwald had gained a rather impressive following of Dark wizards in wizarding Britain in the last year. Following in the footsteps of their master, these wizards began purging wizarding villages that they deemed too ‘friendly’ with Muggles.

All this they did while proclaiming it was ‘For the greater good.’

“Let’s check the perimeter, then,” Galvin said. “Someone might have escaped and survived the raid.”

“Are you sure?” Aidan asked uneasily. “Maybe we should just head back and report the incident.”

“We still need to check if all of the Dark wizards are gone,” Galvin argued. “Come on.”

Aidan reluctantly followed Galvin down the valley. The path was wet and slippery, but Galvin was marching determinedly and it was all Aidan could do not to fall too far behind.

Two miles from the village, they came upon a young man who looked no older than sixteen seemingly asleep with his back against an oak. Both Aidan and Galvin took one look at him and knew he was a survivor of the raid.

Galvin grew excited, knowing that there were people to save. They immediately went to the boy’s side and shook him awake.

“Hey,” Aidan said, shaking the boy’s shoulder gently. “Are you alright?”

The boy’s eyes opened slightly, and Aidan gasped when he saw that the boy’s eyeballs were completely white. What was a blind boy doing out here and how was he able to walk this far from the village without anyone to guide him?

“Help me,” the boy rasped. “Please help.”

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw several beams of red light streak through the air, flying towards them in rapid succession. He was barely able to cast a Protego around Galvin before a curse hit the shield and shattered the magical barrier.

“What the fuck—” Galvin whirled around and met Aidan’s concerned green eyes in surprise. He nodded a quick gesture of thanks before leaping to his feet and started flinging out counter curses towards their unseen attackers.

Another spell sailed through, this time hitting the boy and severing his ear.

“AAAAHH!”

“Fuck,” Galvin swore before leaping from behind the tree that served to cover them, and out into the open.

Galvin was able to stun two of their attackers and Aidan tied up another one who was hit by a Blinding Spell, but one of the attackers got away. The man gave a surprised cry when he saw the others fall and ran away, leaving his companions behind. Galvin immediately gave chase.

“Galvin, wait!” Aidan shouted.

Aidan was about to run after them when his leg was grabbed forcefully. He looked down to see the boy clinging to his leg, his ear still bleeding from the Severing Curse.

“Don’t leave me,” the young man said. “I’m scared.”

Aidan hesitated, looking between the dying boy and back to where his partner had disappeared. After a few seconds of indecision, he crouched low and took the boy’s hand in his.

“What’s your name?” Aidan whispered softly.

“S-sylas,” the young man whispered.

“It’s okay, Sylas,” Aidan said.

He pointed his wand to the boy’s ear and quietly murmured a healing spell. He knew it wouldn’t do any good—he was crap at healing charms—but at least it might ease some of the boy’s pain.

“I’m here, don’t worry,” Aidan spoke again. He himself was trying to stay calm as he reassured the trembling boy.

Aidan watched with growing horror as blood and rain flowed freely down the side of Sylas’s bleeding head. He could barely look at the sight of the pink flesh where the skin was peeled off and his stomach threatened to turn. There was a hideous stench in the air and Aidan belatedly realised that it was Sylas’s rotting leg that no doubt had gotten hit by a Dark curse during the skirmish earlier.

“I…I was protecting the village,” Sylas said, his voice faltering. “My cousin lived there. I tried…to save them, but…too late…too late.”

“Shh, you need to rest,” Aidan said, trying to calm him down. “You did your best. That’s all anyone can ever do.”

“Some…some got away,” Sylas struggled to continue. “Led them up the mountain…men were pursuing us…I got hit by a Blinding Curse…stayed behind, I was slowing them down…”

Aidan felt his eyes prickle. It was a story he often heard, all of which ended badly.

“Will you find them…for me?” Sylas asked.

Aidan bit his lip as the boy gave his dying wish. He couldn’t refuse. “I will,” Aidan promised.

“I’m afraid,” Sylas rasped. “All this sacrifice…was all for nothing. That Dark wizards…will win…eventually.”

“No, they won’t,” Aidan said, though his voice wavered. He hoped that Sylas would not notice the way his voice was trembling. “And someday…someday people will recognize you for the hero that you are.”

“I hope so.”

Those were the last words that left Sylas’s lips, and Aidan bowed his head as a single tear rolled down from the corner of his eye. Except for his name, Aidan didn’t know who this boy was, what he did, or if he had any family left who were waiting for his return. They would be waiting in vain, Aidan thought.

Aidan understood how Sylas felt. He was every bit as afraid of what might happen to him and Galvin. That they too might end up just like Sylas. Just another dead body, a casualty of the war.

It wasn’t his idea to sign up as part of the resistance. He could have lived a terror-filled life in the city. Granted, it wasn’t so much as a life as merely an existence. But at least it was far from the fighting and he wouldn’t be trying to outrun death every minute of the day.

Galvin, however, insisted that they join the resistance.

Aidan had first met Galvin in school where they had become fast friends. When the war reached wizarding Britain, Galvin left school to meet up with what used to be a rag tag bunch of wizards who tried to provide protection to whose who lived too far from the city. The group later became known as the Shield.

Aidan’s entire family had died in one of the raids. It was during the summer break when the village was attacked by Dark wizards. It had taken several months, but Galvin had been able to find him ten miles from the village, shocked and shaken to the core. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, and he wouldn’t even move on his own unless someone was guiding him along. Galvin took him to the camp so their Healers could find out what was wrong with him. At first they thought that he had been cursed, but they later found out his condition came from the shock of seeing his family murdered before his very eyes, and it had left him with a scar that no magic could ever heal. As a result, Aidan became extremely afraid of anything that would remind him of the war and he kept seeing dead people everywhere, even when there were none. He was beset with nightmares day and night.

It took several days before Aidan was able to function properly again, and it was all due to Galvin’s help. For reasons no one could understand, a simple touch from Galvin could calm him down. Whenever Galvin was with him, the images of the dead would fade into the shadows. It was Galvin’s constant presence and unfailing patience that finally brought Aidan back from the brink of insanity.

When he was finally well again, he was told that he could finally leave the camp. But with his entire family dead, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. And he was unwilling to part with Galvin, who was the only one who could bring him back when his nightmares became too much again. He realised that he had little choice but to follow his friend into the war.

Even if he was reluctant to do so.

Eventually, he and Galvin became one of the first pair of Runners in the group. Quick on their feet and able to move in shadows, their speed and stealth helped them to survive on their missions. Knowledge and experience also honed their magic, and Aidan even had the potential to be one of the more powerful wizards in their group, except he never got over his deeply ingrained fear of the war.

He was afraid of the Dark wizards, even if he could match them spell for spell. It took a long time before he was able to overcome his instinctive reflex to cover and run in the midst of a skirmish. He was afraid that one day their camp would be found and attacked by Dark wizards when they least expected it. He was also in constant fear that he might lose Galvin in the war the way he lost his family.

But most of all, he was afraid of dying.

If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see the mutilated body of his father, who had stood guard by the front door of their house before the Dark wizards came and dispatched him with a single word. He would see the mangled body of his older sister, who had been used and abused by those same men long after she had taken her last breath. If he closed his eyes, he would feel the weight of his mother’s body crushing him, as the men stabbed her again and again with her own kitchen knife. They had laughed while piercing her, trying to drive the knife clear through her body so they could get to him from underneath her protective embrace.

Those were but some of the images that haunted him, not just at night while he slept, but even during the day. It had all happened more than a few years ago, but he knew that these images would follow him all the days of his life.

Aidan was startled when a warm hand was gently placed on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Galvin approach.

“Hey, are you okay?” Galvin asked, his voice tinged with worry.

They both looked at the body of the dead boy and Aidan tried his best keep his own fears from rising to the surface.

“I’m fine,” Aidan replied as he let go of Sylas’s limp and cold hands before standing up to face Galvin.

As much as he needed Galvin right now, they had a mission to finish. But Galvin could always tell when he was lying. He knew when Aidan’s fears were about to break through his carefully set up defences.

“Are you sure?” Galvin’s face hovered close before cupping Aidan’s face between his calloused hands. He rubbed the blood and rain from Aidan’s face with his thumb and gently brushed back the damp strands of dark hair clinging to Aidan’s face.

“Yeah,” Aidan said, leaning in close to press his lips lightly against Galvin’s.

They stood there for a little while longer, holding each other as Aidan tried to get his bearings back. They still had a body to bury and three Dark wizards to take back to the camp.

Around them, the rain continued to fall.


* * *

“The next raid will be in a small town called, Blackhill. It’s approximately eight and a half miles due east of Mould-on-the-Wold. It’s an important town and we can’t let Grindelwald’s army get to it.”

Both Galvin and Aidan gathered their maps and supplies as the briefing ended and people began to file out of the tent one by one. The camp leader required all able-bodied wizards to join in the defence of the small town, as it was an important strategic location.

It was their first time to join an anti-raiding party and Galvin had been excited since the announcement the previous night. Aidan, on the other hand, all but froze on the spot when he heard the news.

“We’re runners, Galvin,” Aidan pleaded. “We don’t have the proper experience or training to fight, or even defend ourselves from that kind of assault.”

“This is the reason why we’re here, Aidan,” Galvin said calmly. “It’s why we signed up in the first place.”

Aidan wanted to tell Galvin that the only reason he signed up was because of him, but he refrained from doing so.

“But we might get killed,” Aidan said, his voice a mere whisper.

“Then that’s our fate,” Galvin replied grimly.

They had not spoken to each other since then. He knew, Aidan thought. Aidan knew he could hold his own in small skirmishes, but on large-scale battles like this, he would crumble under pressure. Galvin knew how he felt about this, but he didn’t listen. Aidan’s chest constricted at the thought that Galvin might not even care. And Galvin was too used to getting his own way and could not be talked out of joining.

As they were silently walking back to their tent, one of the other men flagged them down.

“Maddox!” the man shouted from across the noisy camp, waving his arms to get Galvin’s attention. It was Burns, one of the newer recruits. “Post for you. The owl came from Tinworth.”

Aidan heard Galvin stifle a gasp as he heard his hometown’s name. He continued to walk to their tent, leaving Galvin to read the letter that most likely came from his family. He was curious, of course, why they would send one now when they had never had any communication with him for the last six months, but he was still feeling hurt about their argument last night and didn’t want to talk to Galvin.

Moments later Galvin walked in with a grim face and Aidan almost regretted not waiting for him.

Galvin began sifting through his things, sometimes placing objects inside the knapsack that he’d be bringing on their mission, and throwing the rest in a messy pile on his bed. Aidan could tell his friend was distracted, as he kept running his hand through his hair. He watched as Galvin missed taking the extra wand from the desk and packed instead a tartan blanket that he would not need. His resolve not to talk to Galvin crumbled.

“Hey,” Aidan said softly, approaching his friend. “News from home?”

Galvin turned to him, his grey eyes hard. “Mum’s asking me to come home,” he said.

“What? Why?” Aidan asked, alarmed. “Did something happen? Are they okay?”

“Yes, but the adjacent town was hit by the Acid Cloud Curse,” Galvin said. “Mum said Dark wizards have been seen around town. They could be next.”

Aidan swore under his breath. He’d met Galvin’s parents before. They were very kind and loving people. And when they learned about his family’s death, they practically adopted him. He had spent several Christmases there, and every year they would celebrate his birthdays too, as if he was their own son. When they found out about him and Galvin, they weren’t exactly happy, but they didn’t object. If anything, they treated him even more as if he was a legitimate part of their family.

“We’re going,” Aidan said immediately, packing his own sack and taking things he might need for the long travel. “We’ll tell them we can’t help with defending Blackhill. Your parents are in danger, they’d understand. I’ll—”

“Aidan,” Galvin said, cutting him off. “I’m not going.”

“Of course we’re going,” Aidan said dismissively. “It’s your family and we—”

“I said I’m not going.”

This time Galvin stopped Aidan’s frantic packing by pinning his arms against his sides. Aidan tried to free his arms to protest, but Galvin only tightened his grip.

“This is more important,” Galvin said. “I already owled them and told them to leave town and head here. We’ll meet up with them once the mission is done.”

“But what if something happens to them before they can get out? What if your owl doesn’t reach them in time?” Aidan said, his tone rising in anger. He couldn’t believe Galvin would choose to fight in the stupid war over saving his family! “Fuck, Galvin. Don’t you even care? They’re you own family for Merlin’s sake!”

“I can’t think of that right now,” Galvin shouted back. “A distracted wizard is a dead wizard.” And then he said in a gentler voice, “When that’s done, we’ll come back here and we’ll take them somewhere safe. Okay?”

“No,” Aidan said, his green eyes narrowing in defiance. “No, I’m going to find them. And you can go and do your stupid mission without me.”


* * *

“Confringo!”

“Protego Horibilis!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

All around them wizards were falling dead as Grindelwald’s army surged in from the woods. They had been well prepared for the assault, but what they had not expected was for some of the villagers to have stayed instead of fleeing before the battle began. In the end, their already too few men had been split between protecting the women and children, trying to get them to safety, and preventing Dark wizards from taking over the town.

A spell grazed Galvin’s head, and he was momentarily blinded by the jet of bright light. Suddenly, his arm was grabbed and he was being dragged into a narrow alley and away from the fight.

“Alright there, Maddox?” someone said. It was Burns.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Both of them were breathing as hard as they had fought, running from one end of the town to another and helping out where the fighting was thickest. Galvin had lost count the number of times he’d had a brush with death and the number of men he had duelled with. Yet despite all that, the attack never seemed to ease. There were far too many Dark wizards for them to hold their ground.

“Catch your breath, then we’re going,” Burns said briskly. “We’re to rendezvous with the others at the north gate. We’re supposed to lead the civilians to the camp while the other stay here and defend. Then we’re to head back here with supplies for a siege in case this ends in a stalemate. That is, assuming, we can get past the enemies on our way back here.”

He was tired and hungry, but these things had no place in a battle. “Alright, let’s go then,” Galvin said, preparing to Apparate to their destination.

But then a group of Dark wizards appeared. It resulted in a series of spells flying back and forth as they duelled four burly men in the narrow backstreet. They were holding their own when one of the spells hit Burns, sending him to the ground.

“Fuck,” Galvin swore as he was forced to switch to a defensive stance.

He stood in front of Burns, casting strong Shielding Charms around them both. The assault was relentless, however, and Galvin couldn’t even try to get a shot in.

“You okay?” Galvin shouted, glancing quickly at Burns’s prone body, still on the ground.

“Yeah,” he heard Burns say, even though it seemed as if he was coughing his lungs out and didn’t sound okay at all.

“Oi, you look familiar,” said one of the Dark wizards suddenly.

Galvin’s attention returned to the four Dark wizards before him. He saw one of the men walk up while still firing curses at his Protego spell.

“Oh, I remember now! I was just at Tinworth the other day. Saw a group of wizards and witches trying to leave the town. Slaughtered them all like a brood of flobberworms, didn’t we?”

The other men laughed in agreement.

“Thought you looked like one of them,” the man continued.

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a silk green scarf and Galvin’s eyes widened when he recognised it. It was his mum’s favourite scarf—the one Aidan had given her on the first Christmas he spent with them.

“Did this belong to Mummy?” the man mocked him when he saw Galvin’s expression.

Galvin suddenly leapt, letting the Shield Charm down as he tackled the man to the ground. Caught by surprise, the other men momentarily paused in their attack and Burns used it to his advantage. He cast Stunning Charms one after another, before tying them all together with a Binding Spell.

Behind him, Galvin was still beating the first man with his fists.

“Fucking murderer!” Galvin was shouting, as he straddled the man and pummelled him into the ground, his fists already full of blood.

The man’s face became bloody and misshapen as Galvin’s fists connected with his face, one angry blow after another. His nose was broken and a large purple bruise was forming on one cheek. Galvin had never been in such a murderous rage and all he wanted was to keep on pounding on the man’s face forever. For a moment, he was nearly frightened at the feeling that was clawing through his chest, but it was quickly overcome by deep hatred. He knew he should stop before he killed the man, but he didn’t want to.

Eventually, his body grew weary and he finally stopped, his bloody fists hung limply at his side. He stood up, watching then man who was barely alive but still had the audacity to laugh while choking on his own blood.

“Your mother was a fine fucking whore,” the man said in between coughing up blood. “She let me fuck her mouth while the others were fucking her cunt and her arse.”

He wanted to punch the man again, but his arms were worn-out and his knuckles were battered. Beside him, Burns growled and moved as if he was about to do what Galvin had been thinking. Galvin grabbed the man’s arm to stop him and Burns backed down.

Galvin then released him and began walking towards the still laughing man. His face was deathly calm, but there was a fire burning behind his feverish grey eyes. Then he slowly pulled out his wand and whispered two words:

“Avada Kedavra.”

The effect was instantaneous, and Galvin doubted if the man even saw the spell coming. Galvin then turned to the others who were tied up and slumped against the wall and whispered the same spell three more times.

It should have been frightening how he was able to kill these men. He had never been able to cast that spell before, not even when his life was on the line. But seeing the Killing Curse land on his family’s murderers, he felt nothing but extreme satisfaction. It felt foul. It felt right.

He stood looking at the dead men for a long while before he felt Burns’s hand on his shoulder. In his other hand, Burns held out the green scarf that was now covered in mud and blood.

“Let’s go,” Burns said. “We still have a job to do.”

Galvin took the proffered scarf, but didn’t move. He held the scarf to his face and tried to inhale the scent of his mother’s perfume. He could imagine the smell of lavender filling his nose.

“Maddox, we need to go,” Burns repeated urgently.

Images of his family’s faces came to him. His father, always strong and proud, no matter how many people had shunned him for not taking Grindelwald’s side. His mother and her understanding eyes, even when he told her he was in love with Aidan and would never be able to provide her with grandchildren. His little brother, still very young, who would always look up to him and say ‘One day, I’m gonna be just like you.’

“Maddox, we can’t wait anymore. I’m leaving now,” Burns said, his voice tight. “You know where to find us.”

Galvin didn’t even turn to look as Burns Disapparated with an audible crack.

In Galvin’s mind, all he could see was Aidan’s angry face when he told him he was going to find his family.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the green scarf that bore a remarkable semblance to the colour of Aidan’s eyes. “Where are you?”

All around him, the din of the battle became increasingly deafening as more and more Dark wizards began to take over the village.


* * *

Aidan stopped running once he saw the outskirts of Blackhill.

He had travelled three hundred miles to get to Tinworth only to hear news that a group of travelling wizards and witches had been killed by Dark wizards from Grindelwald’s army not too long ago. Galvin’s family was among them.

He had followed the path that the group was supposed to take. It took him half a day’s worth of travel, but he eventually found them.

He had smelled them long before he found the bodies. They had been carelessly thrown together in a ditch on the side of the road. Whoever did it hadn’t even bothered to cover them up. He supposed it was better than leaving them lying on the ground.

Aidan could see the broken bodies, one on top of the other. Some of the women were naked from the waist down, while some of the men’s faces were mutilated beyond recognition.

Aidan hadn’t even tried to look for Galvin’s family. He didn’t think he could stand seeing them like that.

With deliberate care, Aidan had used his magic to slowly cover the ditch and bury the dead bodies. He'd Transfigured a rock into a simple cross and offered a silent prayer for them before heading back to camp to deliver the sad news.

When he got back to the camp, the resistance had already gone to Blackhill like Aidan knew they would have. He was half anticipating—hoping—that he’d find Galvin there, but he knew it was a vain hope. There was nothing else to do but quickly follow them to the town.

Now here he was at the outskirts of Blackhill, staring at the burning village below. He saw black smoke rise as houses were consumed by what looked like Fiendfyre and could hear the shouts and curses of duelling wizards ringing in the air.

Then fear began to claw its way back into his heart. It was a familiar feeling and Aidan fought frantically to keep it from consuming him. He desperately needed Galvin, but he was too far away.

All at once he was transported back to the night of his own family’s death.

It had started out like any other day in the countryside. People went about their tasks from daybreak until dusk. By the time the sun had set, people were beginning to go back to their homes, while some were gathering in inns to gossip.

Then there was the shouting. It had started far to the south of the village. Aidan could still remember the bloodcurdling screams that tore through the quiet of the early evening. His father had ordered them to stay inside the house while he dashed out to see if he could help.

But before his father could even step out of the house, four hooded men barged into the front door, knocking his father backward. His mother immediately leapt to his side, enveloping him in her arms and shielding his eyes. However, between her fingers, he could see everything that was happening.

He had seen his father being tortured by two of the hooded men. His screams seemed to last forever before he died choking on his own blood. Meanwhile the other two had had his sister pinned down. He could hear her scream with pain and agony as they broke the bones of her knees. So she wouldn’t run away while they had their fun, was what he'd heard the men say.

They were in pain and dying. Why was his mum not doing anything?

His mother was holding him and chanting. She was chanting a series of spells as she held his head down, trying to keep him from seeing everything that was happening. And even when the men began to gather around them, his mother still kept chanting. Even when the knife plunged into her body again and again, still she kept chanting until her very last breath.

And then the men were laughing all around him. His mother was dead, and on her lips were the final words of the spell.

Then everything became blindingly white.

When he had next opened his eyes, Aidan saw the four men lying dead on the floor. The burning beams of the house were beginning to fall all around him. Aidan scrambled to his feet, crying as he did so, and made his way to the front door. He took one last look at the house and his dead family, and then took his father’s wand lying on the floor and rushed out.

He ran and ran and ran.

He hadn’t turned to look at what was happening to the rest of his village, but he could hear people screaming and dying left and right. He could hear people pleading for their lives, answered by harsh and cruel laughter. Still, Aidan kept running. He hadn’t turned to look back until he was safely hidden in the edge of the forest. And when he was sure that he had not been followed, Aidan climbed a tall tree and watched his entire village burn.

From then on, Aidan lived his life in seclusion, and he was constantly in fear. He would hide himself away from everyone and would only come out to the market when he was in dire need of food. Whenever he heard someone scream, his mind would immediately be transported back into that fateful night and would stay there for some time. Sometimes he would wake up, lying on the floor in a foetal position, only to find out that he had missed several days of his life.

Be it destiny or good fortune, it was when the nightmares became too much that Galvin had found Aidan.

But Galvin wasn’t here with him now. There was no one to save him.

Far below, Blackhill continued to burn.

He could hear people screaming in agony, he could see people dying.

He could see his father turning into a living corpse.

He could see the fight leave his sister’s body as she succumbed to her death.

He could hear his mother whisper in his ear.

Run. Run. Run.

So he did.

* * *

Draco stood shocked as the image in the portrait went up in flames. Beside him, Harry was equally shocked. His mouth was moving, as if he wanted to say something, but no words were coming out.

“Did they die?” Draco asked Deja, a deep frown etched on his face.

“Yes,” she answered. “One be too distracted with the news of his family’s death. He be fit to fight no longer. The other be found hiding like a coward under an old bridge. It be said that he be hit by a stray curse, though he be far away from the fighting.”

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Harry’s entire body shaking. Draco could hear him muttering to himself

“Potter,” Draco said tentatively. “Are you okay?

“Coward,” he could hear Harry whisper. “The fucking coward.”

“Potter…?” Draco cautiously approached him.

When Harry looked up, his eyes were ablaze.

“He was a fucking coward,” Harry spat. “He could have saved them. But no, he just had to run away, didn’t he?

Draco was taken aback at the venom in Harry’s voice. He had never seen Harry get angry like that before, not even back then when they used to fight a lot. Harry’s rage seemed almost palpable. Draco could almost imagine the violent uproar of Harry’s magic swirling around him in anger.

“That’s in the past,” Draco said, reaching out a hand to try and calm Harry down. “There isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“Bet you could relate.” Harry sneered, his voice dripping with hate. He turned and faced Draco toe to toe. “Bet you’d run away in a heartbeat. Just like that fucking coward. You’d run straight back to Daddy, wouldn’t you? Oh, wait, he’s in prison isn’t he?”

Draco’s eyes widened for a second before they narrowed in fury. Mere moments ago he thought that he could actually trust Harry. That he could help him with his predicament. But Harry was still the same git he always had been.

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco hissed, shoving the other boy hard. “You don’t know anything.”

Draco turned on his heel and began to march out of the room. He needed to get out, to get away from Harry before he could do anything he might regret later. He walked out of the room, ignoring the dismayed cries of Deja.

“That’s right Malfoy,” Harry shouted after him. “Walk away. Walk straight to Vol—”

Harry’s insults were suddenly cut off by a choked cry. Instinctively, Draco turned back. Then his eyes grew wide when he saw Harry lying crumpled to the ground as if he was being hit with Cruciatus.

Heart beating wildly, Draco ran back, falling on his knees with a thud beside Harry. Harry was curled in a foetal position and was clutching his forehead.

“Potter!” Draco cried, trying to get the other boy’s attention, but his words were drowned by the muffled cries of agony. “Potter, what’s wrong with you?”

Harry continued to writhe in pain and Draco didn’t know what to do. He tried to pull Harry’s hands away from his forehead to see what was wrong, but when Harry’s hands fell away, there was blood all over. A shiver of cold dread ran down his spine.

“Potter! Potter!” Draco shouted over Harry’s the cries. “What the fuck’s happening?”

“It’s him,” Harry said in between choked agony. “He’s doing something again.”

“Who, Potter?” Draco asked frantically.

“Vol—vol—”

Draco’s breath hitched. What was the Dark Lord doing? How could the Dark Lord effect Harry this way? Was he somewhere near? These were the first thoughts that entered Draco’s mind. And more importantly, had the Dark Lord learnt of his secret?

His eyes widened. If Harry, who was fated to defeat the Dark Lord, was writhing in pain with a mere thought from him, then what hope was there for the rest of them?

Draco began to back away in fear, but he was stopped by a strong grip on his forearm.

“Please,” Harry begged even as his body began to shake violently. “Please…don’t go yet.”

Draco watched in horror as Harry’s eyes glazed over in obvious pain. Blood continued to trickle from the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. And without knowing why, Draco found himself thinking he wanted to do nothing more than hold the other boy close.

“Shh, I won’t,” Draco said, hauling Harry up and leaning them both against a wall.

He dragged Harry’s shaking body and sat the boy before him. Draco pressed his chest against Harry’s back and wrapped his arms securely around Harry’s body in an effort to stop the trembling. Harry continued to shake and whimper while Draco rocked them both back and forth.

“Potter…Harry?” Draco asked anxiously. “What’s happening to you?”

“He…He’s doing something,” Harry said. Draco could tell how much effort it took for Harry to choke out those words. “I can’t see what—but I know, it’s not good.”

Harry suddenly stiffened and his entire body began to shudder violently. Draco held on tighter, as if it would help keep the pain away.

“Shh,” Draco whispered in Harry's ear as another whimper escaped from the other boy’s lips. “It’s okay. He can’t get you here.”

“Don’t leave me,” he heard Harry whisper. “Please?”

Draco closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Harry didn’t even have to ask him that. Draco knew that he could never leave Harry. Not when he was like this.

“I won’t,” Draco whispered back. “I’ll be here until the first light of dawn.”


Chapter VIII


No matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t remember what happened the night he had the vision of Voldemort in the Portrait Room. When he woke up the next day, he was in his bed in the Gryffindor tower.

The things that Harry could recall from that night were only what his senses told him. He remembered the blinding pain from his forehead. He remembered the metallic scent of blood tricking down his face. He knew where those had come from.

But he also recalled being enveloped in a tight embrace. A soft voice had been whispering soothing words in his ear, trying to calm him down. The voice told him to remain strong—that the pain would eventually pass. He could remember the warm comfort that coursed through his body then.

Harry could have sworn it was Malfoy. After all, he was the only one there with him. But he was quite certain it wasn’t the other boy because Harry knew Malfoy’s voice all too well. Although the voice was akin to his, it sounded older to Harry’s ear, and yet somehow it was oddly familiar. It was as if an older version of Malfoy had been the one talking to him and whispering encouraging words in his ear that night.

And for a split second, he swore he saw images of dead people in his mind. He didn’t know who they were, but somehow they seemed familiar. And a sharp pain coursed through his heart when the vision of a familiar young man with his face down on the ground, lying dead in a pool of his own blood, flashed in his mind.

Then the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Ron in the Gryffindor dorm.

He asked his friends what had happened, but then they shared an odd look. They told him how Malfoy had come knocking on the Fat Lady’s portrait at dawn, nearly waking everyone in Gryffindor tower. Both Ron and Hermione were still up waiting for Harry in the common room that night, and when Malfoy showed up seemingly alone, Ron nearly hexed him on sight.

Fortunately, Hermione stopped Ron just in time, as the hex nearly hit Harry who was underneath the Invisibility Cloak. Harry had been barely conscious then and was only able to stay upright with Malfoy’s help. Identical looks of horror crossed both Ron and Hermione’s faces when Malfoy told them what had happened in the Portrait Room. The looks of loathing and contempt immediately vanished and were replaced by gratitude from Hermione and a grudging “You’re alright, Malfoy,” from Ron for bringing Harry back to the towers.

As for exactly what happened in the Portrait Room, no one knew but Malfoy. Harry tried asking him several times about it, but Malfoy would not answer any of his questions. Not only that, but the other boy had also begun to show up less frequently at the Portrait Room, until one day Malfoy stopped coming altogether.

Harry had tried confronting Malfoy several times in between classes, but Malfoy always gave him the slip. Harry even tried owling him, but his notes kept returning to him unopened. Frustrated at the way Malfoy was behaving, Harry began following him around Hogwarts under his Invisibility Cloak.

And just like that, it was as if they were back at the beginning of the school year all over again.

Harry pulled out his Marauder’s map from the pocket of his robes and carefully unfolded it. If this was how Malfoy wanted to play it, so be it.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry whispered, and the parchment came alive as names of people and places began appearing on the map. Harry scanned the contents of the map and immediately locked his eyes on the set of footprints heading up to the seventh floor of the castle. Underneath them was the name Draco Malfoy.

Harry ran quickly when he saw Malfoy heading towards a familiar corridor. Harry didn’t know if Malfoy knew about the hidden room there, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Rounding the last corner that would take him to the Room of Requirement, Harry ran full tilt when he saw the door of the room already open with Malfoy quickly vanishing inside.

“Shit,” Harry swore under his breath when he saw the end of Malfoy’s robes disappear into the room. Harry reached the room just as the door began to close. He lunged at the door and impulsively reached out and jammed his hand in between to prevent it from disappearing completely and making the room inaccessible to him.

“What the fuck—” Harry heard Malfoy swear loudly from within, followed by a horrific crunching noise and a sharp pain shooting up his arm.

“Christ,” Harry muttered as he jerked his broken fingers back, cradling his hand delicately. But when he saw that the door was quickly closing again, Harry immediately slammed his shoulder into the door, forcing his way in and nearly falling on top of Malfoy in the process.

“H-Harry?” Malfoy asked confusedly.

Harry was still under the Invisibility Cloak, but Malfoy was gripping both his arms, holding him up and trying to steady them both, looking as if he was holding onto nothing but thin air. Then Malfoy grabbed the fluid silvery material and viciously tugged the Invisibility Cloak off of Harry.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the look of guilt clearly written on Malfoy’s face when he realised that Harry had found him. But when the Cloak snagged on Harry’s broken hand and he yelped in pain, Malfoy’s face immediately transformed into a look of concern.

“Idiot,” said Malfoy as he roughly took Harry’s hand and whispered a healing spell. Harry winced at the brusque treatment but immediately sighed in relief as the cool trickle of healing magic washed over his hand, mending his broken fingers in an instant.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, flexing his fingers to find they were completely healed. Malfoy apparently had talent for healing. But when Harry looked up, he saw Malfoy staring intensely at him, his face a carefully neutral expression.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between Harry’s face and his right hand.

“I—” Harry nearly blurted out ‘was stalking you’ but was quick enough to stop himself from admitting to the deed. Instead, he flung accusations at the other boy. “You didn’t show up,” Harry said. “You were avoiding me in the halls and you kept returning my owls.”

Malfoy laughed without mirth. “You sound like a scorned lover, did you know?”

“Malfoy…” Harry said in warning. But a glimmer of light caught his eye and his gaze wandered into the room. He then looked around and suddenly recognised his surroundings. He knew this place! “Malfoy…this is the Room of Hidden things. What the hell are you doing in here?”

Harry saw Malfoy’s guarded expression slam back into place as the other boy began pushing him back out through the doorway.

“Get out, Potter,” Malfoy said grimly.

“No!” Harry said.

There was a scuffle as Harry tried to force his way back into the room, grabbing Malfoy’s arm when he tried to block his path. Malfoy tried to pry Harry’s grip but Harry just kept holding on stubbornly tight. Finally Harry was able to flip them over and he quickly slammed the door shut, trapping Malfoy between him and the door. Harry used his entire weight to pin Malfoy there as the other boy struggled to get free. Then the door behind them suddenly began to melt, leaving only solid wall behind them.

“What the hell did you just do?” Malfoy suddenly cried in panic. “You made the door disappear!”

“Relax, it’ll come back when we need it,” Harry said.

“Well, I need it now,” Malfoy said, trying to push Harry away. “You need to leave right the fuck now, Potter.”

“No,” Harry said. He fisted his hands onto the front of Malfoy’s robes and braced his arms against Malfoy’s chest, pinning him to the wall. “Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

Malfoy's answering glare would have caused anyone to quail beneath it, but Harry was used to Malfoy’s icy looks. They stood glaring at each other for such a long time that Harry thought they would be locked in the room forever. Eventually Malfoy’s eyes narrowed before finally saying, “If I tell you, will you leave?”

Harry paused for a second, as if thinking of an answer, before he bit his lip and said, “No.”

Then the tension suddenly melted from Malfoy as his shoulders slumped down in defeat. The fight seemed to have left Malfoy’s body all at once and Harry heard the breathy “Fuck” from Malfoy before the other boy slowly slid boneless down the wall and onto the floor.

Harry released the front of Malfoy’s robes and helped him sit down on the dirty floor. Malfoy pulled his knees to his chest and rubbed his face in frustration. Harry felt a pang of sympathy seeing Malfoy looking so lost and miserable like this. In fact, he looked so vulnerable that Harry had the oddest urge to reach out and comfort the other boy.

Instead, Harry crouched down on the balls of his feet, bracing one hand on Malfoy’s knee and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Fucking fabulous, thanks,” Malfoy said with a glare.

Harry moved to sit beside Malfoy, leaning back against the cold wall. They sat there with their shoulders touching, and Harry found the feeling of Malfoy’s warmth against his side comforting. He hoped Malfoy felt that same comfort coming from him.

“Look,” Harry began. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Harry heard Malfoy’s breath catch. When he looked up, Malfoy was looking sidelong at him, his eyes full of evident speculation and, for a split second, what seemed to be undisguised hope.

“Can I really?” Malfoy whispered.

Harry gulped before nodding his head. “Of course,” he said. “Were like…sort of friends now, aren’t we?”

“Friends, right.” Malfoy chuckled bitterly before they both drifted to silence once again.

Harry waited patiently, watching Malfoy brood. It looked as if he was debating with himself about whether to tell Harry what he was doing in the Room of Hidden Things. Malfoy would shake his head before muttering to himself, and then he’d run his hand through his hair in obvious frustration. Eventually, Malfoy sighed and turned to face Harry.

But what Malfoy did was the last thing Harry expected. Malfoy pushed back the left sleeve of his robe and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt. Then he pulled the sleeve of the shirt up as well, exposing his left forearm.

A Dark Mark lay gleaming in an angry shade of red against the pale skin.

Harry immediately leapt to his feet, pulling his wand out quick as lightning. He trained the wand onto Malfoy, who was looking guardedly at him. Making no move to hide the Mark, Malfoy slowly stood up and lifted his left arm defiantly towards Harry.

“Take a good look, Potter,” Malfoy said with scorn. “You said that I could tell you anything. That we’re friends. Tell me, how many of your friends have this tattooed on their forearm?”

Harry looked into Malfoy’s furious grey eyes. And there, he saw the ill concealed loathing for the Mark on his forearm. The same loathing he had seen not so long ago from someone bearing the same Mark.

“Two,” Harry said with a low voice. “One of them I hate. I wouldn’t call him my friend, but I trust him enough. But the other…he stands before me now.”

Malfoy stony façade fell away and turned into confusion. Then it immediately transformed into incredulity and shocked disbelief.

“How—how can you still say that?” Malfoy shook his head and breathed heavily. His voice was so low it was as if he was talking to himself.

Malfoy swayed on his feet and it looked as if he was about to faint. Harry immediately caught him before he could hit the floor and wound his arms around Malfoy. He carefully sat Malfoy down again and propped him against the wall, still not letting him go.

“Tell me,” Harry urged him.

“I—I don’t understand, why do you still want to help me?” Malfoy said faintly. He turned to Harry, their faces so close that Harry could feel his warm breath. “Potter, I’m a Death Eater. Don’t you get it?”

“And so is Snape,” Harry answered calmly. “You wouldn’t have told me this if you were plotting something evil, like turning me over to Voldemort, would you?”

Malfoy shuddered at the name. “Don’t say his name,” he said. “And I am. Plotting something evil, that is.”

Harry drew back. “You’re planning on handing me to Voldemort?”

“No!” Malfoy cried quickly. “I mean…I was asked to do something…”

And Malfoy proceeded to tell Harry about the task that the Voldemort assigned to him. He told Harry about how Voldemort threatened to kill his family if he didn’t succeed in this task. He even got up to show Harry the Vanishing Cabinet he had been trying to fix since the beginning of term.

“I was headed here that first night you followed me and we discovered the Portrait Room,” Malfoy said. “And then, everything became a mess. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I only wanted to go to the Portrait Room and talk to Deja and…and even spend more time with you.”

Harry bit his lip. It felt that way for him as well. As if everything else had faded into the background. The wizarding world could fall apart, and all Harry wanted to do was stay in the Portrait Room forever.

“And then last Christmas—” Malfoy choked, as if he couldn’t bring himself to tell the rest of his story. Then he took a deep breath and began again. “He told me he’d kill Mother if I don’t succeed,” Malfoy said, his voice trembling. “Seeing what happened to you in the Portrait Room…I was so afraid. Potter, I can’t let her die.”

Harry finally gave into the urge to comfort the other boy and once again wrapped his arms around Malfoy. “Shh,” Harry said, rubbing soothing circles on the back of Malfoy’s trembling body and tucking Malfoy’s head in the crook of his shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We can help her. We can keep her safe.”

“She’s in danger,” Malfoy insisted. “They’ll know where to find her. Even if she tries to hide, Aunt Bella will know how to find her.”

“We’ll ask Dumbledore for help. We can keep her safe,” Harry said. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to her.”

They sat for a long time, silently taking in the comforting presence of the other. Harry felt drained, as if he had just faced Voldemort once again. Looking at Malfoy, he thought that in a way, he had. But this time, Harry had come out the victor.

“H-Harry?” Malfoy asked uncertainly.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll win the war, right, Harry?”

Harry’s breath hitched at the question. But he took a deep breath before he promised, “I will,” he said before adding, “Draco.”


* * *

They were walking side by side, once again heading back to Portrait Room.

Before leaving the Room of Hidden Things, Harry had extracted a promise from Draco that they would return to the Portrait Room at least one last time, if only to watch how the story of the two people in the portraits would end.

They walked slowly together, Harry feeling lighter that he had in the weeks since Draco stopped showing up at the Portrait Room. Harry had missed the place, unable to get in without Draco. With the amount of time he had spent there, it felt more like home to him than his dorm in the Gryffindor tower. And here they were, returning to the room once again. But with only one portrait left, Harry thought of the possibility that it might be their last time going to the Portrait Room. It made his chest ache a little and he tried not to think about it.

Harry gave Draco a smile, but the smile he got in return was one filled with sadness. Since the events in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco had become more silent, reclusive. Harry thought they would grow closer, that their friendship would become stronger because of it, but it had been the exact opposite. Whenever Harry would try to touch him or give him a friendly pat on the shoulder, Draco would visibly cringe and move away.

Harry was loath to admit it, but it actually hurt seeing Draco react that way. It nearly drove Harry mad trying to figure out the reason why. At first he thought that it was because Draco was uncomfortable around Harry, having just revealed that he was a Death Eater. But the more Harry tried to reassure Draco that he still trusted him despite his marred arm, the more Draco seemed to keep his distance.

Harry decided to try again as they walked to the Portrait Room. He tried to surreptitiously brush the back of his hand against Draco’s arm as they walked, but before Harry could even touch him, Draco had already sidestepped smoothly. Harry bit back a growl of frustration and decided to change his approach with light conversation.

“So,” Harry began casually. “We get to see the end of the story today, yeah?”

But Draco visibly stiffened. “How do you know that it’s the end?” Draco asked, his pace slowing as he turned to look at Harry.

“Because it’s the last portrait,” Harry answered simply.

“But that doesn’t mean their story has already ended.”

“Well, it’s the last we’ll see anyway, so it’s as good as over.”

“Good as over,” Draco repeated, chuckling humourlessly and shaking his head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry cried, finally getting fed up.

Harry suddenly stopped walking and pushed Draco against the wall of the corridor. Draco didn’t even try to block the attack and let himself hit the wall. Harry watched when Draco flinched and creased his forehead in a frown while warily watching the hand that had pushed him.

“What?” Harry cried in frustration.

Draco looked up sharply, and Harry watched as Draco clenched his own fist, his eyes flickering back and forth between Harry’s hand and face.

“Nothing,” Draco answered, licking his lips.

“It’s not nothing,” Harry snapped. “Look if it’s about your mum, I already promised you that—”

“It’s not that,” Draco said cutting him off. “I…I know what you said, but it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Harry asked, his arms flailing at his sides in exasperation. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Draco only shook his head in response and resumed walking towards the Portrait Room, his strides lengthening as if he wanted to get away from Harry or to get to there quickly, or possibly even both. “Let’s just get this over with,” he called back.

Harry let out a frustrated growl and hurried to catch up to the other boy.

When he got there, Draco’s hand was already pressed against the door, waiting for Harry. Harry approached slowly, still wanting to continue their abandoned conversation. But Draco turned to face him and asked, “Don’t you see it?”

“See what?” Harry asked, looking confusedly between the door and Draco.

Again, Draco just shook his head and, without waiting for Harry to place his hand on the other side, pushed the door open.

“What the—” Harry said, his eyes wide. “How did you—”

But Draco entered quickly and headed to the dais where Deja’s portrait was. He didn’t even wait for Harry to finish what he was about to say. Everything was becoming weirder and weirder, Harry thought. He quickly followed Draco, intent on questioning him, but became distracted when he saw Deja’s portrait.

“Deja!” Harry exclaimed. “What is that?!”

“Unbelievable,” Draco muttered in awe.

Inside Deja’s portrait was the most beautiful place Harry had ever seen. The stretch of sky was a bright baby blue and clear as far as the eye could see. Not a single cloud was in sight and the sun glowed mildly, a warm yellow on a fine day, and not like the scorching heat of the summer sun.

A soft breeze was playing with wisps of Deja’s hair and the lulling music of the sea could be heard behind her. The barren stone where she was usually perched was now overflowing with dense vegetation, and every now and then, a tiny butterfly would flutter to the fore of the portrait before disappearing once again at the edges of the canvas.

“Why does your portrait look like this?” Harry asked incredulously.

“It only means that everything be going well,” Deja said.

“What’s going well?” Draco asked, looking at the portrait with narrowed eyes.

“Everything,” she answered.

Harry watched as both Draco and Deja looked at each other for a long time without saying anything. As if they were reading each other’s minds and having a long, wordless conversation. Deja suddenly looked sharply at him before looking back at Draco. Then Draco shook his head imperceptibly and glanced sidelong at Harry before locking eyes with Deja again.

Harry didn’t know what had just happened, but he felt like he should be a part of the conversation they were having. He was about to ask what it was all about when Deja waved her hand and the canvas covering the last portrait flew across the room. It revealed a wooden frame with several runes that Harry didn’t recognise carved along its edge.

“But—” Draco suddenly said, breaking the silence in the room.

“No,” Deja said, cutting him off and looking at Harry. “He be needing to know this too.”

“I…what’s going on?” Harry asked confusedly.

“Wait—”

And suddenly the portrait came to life in a swirl of colours and images, flashing not just through the portrait, but in his mind as well. Images so familiar that Harry’s knees buckled looking at them, and he felt strong hands wrap around his arms and help him to the floor.

Harry knelt on the ground, unable to tear his gaze away from blur of images...

…of him and Draco, meeting for the first time at Madam Malkins’…

…of him and Draco, straddling speeding brooms, clawing and kicking at each other and fighting over the Golden Snitch…

…of Draco, dressed as a Dementor and laughing at Harry’s predicament…

…of Harry, touching the Triwizard Cup and being transported to a horribly familiar graveyard...

…of Harry, fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, with Lucius Malfoy among them…

…of Draco, kneeling before Voldemort himself, and being given a task to accomplish on pain of death…

And here the scenes had become achingly familiar…

…him and Draco, watching the wall of the dead end corridor fall away to reveal a hidden corridor…

…his and Draco’s hands on the surface of the door, a blue light emanating from underneath their palms…

…him and Draco, meeting Deja for the first time…

…him and Draco, returning to the Portrait room everyday, talking and laughing, clearly at ease with each other…

…of Harry running into Draco in the corridor, following the string of light from his hand…

…of Draco cradling Harry in his arms as he rides out the pain of Voldemort’s vision…

And then something that Harry had never seen before…

…Draco’s face twisted in pain as the Dark Mark burned black against his skin while he held Harry that same night…

…and finally, Harry couldn’t believe his eyes as the last image that the portrait revealed was of Draco, who standing alone in the Portrait Room and speaking silently to Deja.

Harry’s head reeled as the last image finally faded, leaving the canvas blank. Shocked to the core, with his eyes impossibly wide and mouth hanging open, he turned to Draco expecting to find the other boy equally as stunned as he was.

But Draco was watching him silently, his expression guarded and his arms folded across his chest defensively.

So many thoughts raced through his mind as question after question flooded him. What was that blue light at the door? Was that what Draco had been trying to show him just before they entered the room? And he could still see the agony in Draco’s face as the Mark burned on his arm. Was that why Draco refused to tell him what happened in the Portrait Room that night? Was it because he hadn't told Harry about his Mark until only a few days ago? And how was Draco able to enter the room when Harry clearly wasn’t there? He’d never been able to get in alone, how long had Draco been doing it?

But at the foremost of his mind was the portrait itself. For it to show them their entire lives—for it to know so much about them. It could only mean…

“You knew,” Harry said, pointing an accusing finger at Draco. He stalked towards Draco and pushed his shoulders hard. “You knew about this didn’t you? You knew it was…us in there.”

“I didn’t in the beginning,” Draco said. He spread his hands, and in a gesture of not quite apology and not quite defence, he said, “I only guessed when she didn’t call us by our names. She kept calling us her Gryffindor and her Slytherin.”

Of course. His mind went back to the time they first met Deja. She asked them if they were a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. He thought she was asking them about their house! That should have been his first clue, but back then he didn’t think it meant anything.

Harry turned to Deja, confused and feeling a little betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, his voice cracking in a pained whisper. “Why did you lie?”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Deja answered back, bristling at the accusation. Then she pointed at Draco saying, “He be able to guess. If you be not perceptive enough to know, then that be not my fault.”

“But—” Harry began before stopping. He then turned back to Draco and said, “Why didn’t you tell me when you realised it was us in there?”

Draco exhaled loudly. “I didn't know for certain,” he said. “At least not until today.”

“What do you mean not until today?” Harry asked with a frown as he became increasingly disconcerted. “But I saw you. You were here inside the room alone and I don’t even know how you opened the door without me. Why were you talking to Deja then?”

“Because I knew it had something to do with her—with this room,” said Draco. But when Harry’s only answer was a blank stare, Draco's eyes widened and he said, “Wait, you really can't see it, can you?”

“See what?” Harry asked confusedly.

Draco glanced nervously at Deja, who just nodded encouragingly, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry waited, his curiosity giving way to the anger and hurt that he had felt earlier, anticipating what was about to happen. What was supposed to happen anyway? But Draco just stood there, still and silent as a statue for so long that Harry began to fidget with nervous energy. A sidelong glance from Deja, however, had Harry forcing himself to keep still.

A minute later, Draco slowly opened his eyes again. This time, the expression on his face was relaxed, serene. It was an unfamiliar expression on Draco’s face, which was usually filled with anxiety and disquiet. He stood a little taller, as if all his burdens had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked as if he had found the solution to all his problems.

Then their eyes met and Draco gave him a soft smile. “Look again,” he said.

With that, Draco lifted his hand, palm up with his arm outstretched towards Harry. Harry gasped when he saw Draco surrounded by a faint ethereal glow. And then he noticed an achingly familiar trail of light coming from the smallest finger of Draco’s hand and curling up and away from him.

“That’s—” was the only thing Harry was able to say as the rest of his words died in his throat.

As if in a trance, Harry raised his own hand to his face to look at the identical light that was wrapped around his own hand—the light that he’d had for so long that he felt it was already a part of him. It used to always disappear whenever he was in the Portrait Room, but he was seeing it here right now.

And he was seeing it on someone else’s hand.

“H—how?” was the only word that Harry was able to choke out.

Draco bit his lip before he began to explain. “I’ve had this for quite some time. I first saw yours when you followed me into the Room of Hidden Things. I didn’t realise you were following me that time because it would usually disappear whenever you’re near. That’s why I always knew whenever you were close by. But it didn’t disappear that time and you caught me by surprise. When you found me, I saw the light from your broken hand. I knew then that whatever this was about, Deja would know the answer.”

“But you knew about this since the beginning,” Harry said. “You had it too, probably for as long as I did.”

“But I didn’t know you had one too,” Draco said shaking his head. “If I knew, I would have asked you about it.”

“Then how come you were able to see mine first?” Harry asked. “And why can I see it now?”

Harry studied the trail of light. It began with a thin ring of light from his smallest finger, curling and twisting around his hand and away from him. As he followed it with his eyes, he instantly realised why he could see it now.

The light that was wrapped around his hand was now connected to the one from Draco’s outstretched arm.

“What—”

Harry eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed, trying to say something, but failed each time. He suddenly felt like he was drowning with questions that he couldn’t form and emotions he couldn’t name.

Feeling completely overwhelmed, Harry ducked his head and ran out of the Portrait Room.


* * *

When Harry woke up the next day, the string of light was gone.

He lay on his bed for a long time, quietly going mad and holding out his hand in front of him, staring intently at his smallest finger. It was odd not seeing the string of light there after having it on his hand for so long. It left him feeling bereft and a bit…naked, truth be told.

He tried tilting his head to one side, and then to the other. Nothing. He tried squinting as he slowly rotated his hands, but not a single glimmer was seen. He tried everything he could, from shaking his hand rapidly, or casting revealing spells on his hand, as if the action would magically turn the light visible once again. But still nothing happened, and Harry sighed in defeat.

“Harry?”

He heard Ron’s voice calling him just behind his drawn curtains. Ron standing there just waiting for Harry to come out must have taken a lot of willpower from his friend, who would more often that not just bound into his bed without so much as a by your leave.

When Harry returned from the Portrait Room the night before, he had gone straight to his bed, ignoring the concerned faces of his friends, and their pleas to come and talk to them. Instead, Harry had thrown himself on his bed and spelled his curtains closed with the strongest privacy charms he knew.

He didn’t sleep that night, though. All night long he replayed in his mind everything that he’s seen in the final portrait. From the very first portrait when Deja was created, to the lovers who had found each other lifetime after lifetime, only to be forced apart by circumstances and by choice, and finally to the very last that ended in bitter tragedy. He still couldn’t reconcile the fact that those two they’d been watching all along had been him and Draco.

It just wasn’t possible.

But with every argument he created in his head, he became more and more convinced that it was true. How else would he explain being inexplicably drawn to Draco? They’d been at each other’s throats since first year, and every year after that they’d been constantly seeking each other out, enemies though they may be. And there was Deja, too. She couldn’t have made up these stories, not when Draco had said they have a portrait of the melancholy woman in their home.

And finally, there was that light on their hands. Draco couldn’t possibly have created that with his own magic. It would have taken too much effort to do for something that was just for a laugh.

And yet, Harry thought, looking forlornly at his hand, it was no longer there.

“Mate?” Ron called out again.

Sighing, Harry sat up and tugged at the hangings around his bed. He met his friend’s concerned eyes and shook his head. He didn’t feel like dealing with this right now.

“You look like shit,” Ron commented as he sat beside Harry on the bed.

“Thanks,” Harry replied.

“Look, I—”

“Don’t,” Harry said, cutting his friend off. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Ron nodded. “It’s just that…well, Malfoy came by last night looking for you. He looked worried actually, saying something about that string on your hand being gone—hey it really is!”

Harry held up his hand for Ron to see. He was secretly hoping that it had only become invisible. But if Draco had been asking about it and Ron couldn’t see it, then it must really be gone.

“Anyway, Hermione tried talking to Malfoy about it, but he refused to say anything else,” Ron continued. “She meant well, I think. But this is old magic. No matter how many books Hermione reads, I knew in the end only you and Malfoy could fix whatever it was.”

Harry looked incredulously at his friend. “Since when have you been such a fan of Malfoy?”

“Well he did help you that one time with You-Know-Who, right?” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “He can’t have been that bad if you’ve been spending nearly the entire year with him.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that anymore,” Harry said and looked at his bare hand. “It’s gone now, isn’t it? That’s what we’ve been trying to do, right?”

“Well I hope it’s that easy,” Ron said. “But maybe you should check just to be sure.”

“And how would I do that?”

“I dunno, go back to where it all began?” Ron suggested.

Harry thought about returning to the Portrait Room once again. It would be possible, he thought, since Draco was able to get in without him. He could talk to Deja, he decided. If there was one person who would know the answer to everything, it would be her.

Harry quickly jumped to his feet, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and wrapped it around himself. “Thanks for the advice, mate,” Harry said, before rushing out of the room.

He could hear Ron’s protest as he charged down the stairs and out to the common room. “But I was supposed to take you down to breakfast!”


* * *

Harry stopped at the door of the Portrait Room. He didn’t know how to go about opening the door without Draco. Should he put one hand on each side? Or would one hand be enough? He hesitantly placed both hands on one side. Maybe he should push harder, he thought, since Draco wasn’t here to help him open it. He braced himself against the door, preparing to push, but when he did, he was surprised to feel…well, nothing.

He didn’t feel any resistance from the wards that used to block the door. Absent, too, was the faint blue glow, but he only ever saw that in the portrait so he didn’t think it counted. But what was unusual about the door was that it felt just like an ordinary door. It swung in smoothly, with only a light squeak coming from the unoiled hinges.

Harry stepped in slowly, as if expecting something strange to occur, just like the last time he had been in the room. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, he cautiously called out.

“Deja?”

Harry walked further into the room towards Deja’s portrait. When he got near enough, he saw Deja already waiting for him there.

“I be expecting you to come earlier,” she said.

“Were you?” Harry said guardedly.

Deja nodded in response. “I expect you have questions. A lot of questions.”

Harry thought about all the questions he had wanted to ask her. About the portraits, about the lives they saw and how he didn’t think it could have possibly been them, about what she and Draco talked about when he came here alone to talk to her. And most importantly, about what they were supposed to do now that they knew.

But there was only one question burning in his mind that he needed the answer to right now.

“Why?” Harry asked quietly.

“Why…?” Deja tilted her head, apparently trying to understand his question.

“Why?” Harry asked again. “Why me, why us…why now? Why everything?”

“Why…” Deja repeated, seeming to contemplate the question. She looked away for a long time, as if trying to decide how to answer him. Then, she surged forward, as near as she could get and looked Harry straight in the eyes. “Why be you afraid? Met you your match with the eaters of the dead?”

“I—” Harry stuttered, taken aback with her question. “What do you mean?”

“I be here, expecting you to ask questions about the past,” Deja said. “I be able to tell you everything. Why you carry the light on your hands, why you be unable to open the door to this room alone before, why you be unable to see the light on his hand while others could see yours. Yet you come here, asking me why it be happening to you.

“I told you, it be not my choice. It be yours. You began this long ago, when you made a vow to me. And after, when you made a vow to him. This be your own doing.”

“But—” Harry said, shaking his head and frowning. “But I didn’t do it. It was those people from the past.”

“Yes, but you bound yourself to this path. You chose it,” Deja said gently. “You both be very powerful wizards. The spells you cast be powerful enough to cross from one lifetime to the next. And what you do in the past dictates what you be doing in the next. This is why you keep finding each other again and again. The light be helping you find each other.”

“Tell me,” Harry said, his voice a quiet plea. “Please. Tell me what’s happening. What was the light? And what does it have to do with anything?”

“The light be created from both your magic when you joined it together several lifetimes ago,” Deja explained. “When you made the vow to find him in the next life, it became a tool for you to recognise each other. Not every one of your former selves be able to see it, but most of them did.”

“But why were my friends able to see it?” Harry asked.

And at this question, Deja smiled. “Because lifetime after lifetime you chose to bind yourselves to each other. The light be so much stronger now than when it was first created. The light be only visible to ones you trust with your life.”

“Oh,” Harry said. It made sense for his friends to see it then. He knew how much he trusted them both, but it was comforting to have proof of that. Then he frowned. If seeing the light meant he trusted a person with his life then… “How come Draco can see mine, then?”

Deja looked at him oddly. “I already told you why.”

Oh, Harry thought when he realised just what Deja had been trying to say. Because if he thought about it, if he really really thought about it, he knew that it was true. He really did trust Draco that much. Well, not at first, obviously, but now he couldn’t deny that he did. But then another thought occurred to him.

“But then, the last time we were here,” Harry began, “he showed me his hand and I saw his. I wasn’t able to, not before that time anyway. Then all of a sudden I could and that would mean…oh.”

He remembered seeing Draco’s face when the light suddenly appeared from his hands. Harry had never seen him look so at peace before. And now, knowing what it meant…it warmed Harry to know that the other boy thought of him that way.

“But…” Harry began to ask again. “But why can’t I see it now?”

“Because it served its purpose,” Deja said. “You already found each other and it be no longer needed. It be the same with the door. It opened only for both of you at first, but now you know the truth, there be no more need for the wards.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked at his feet, trying not to feel disappointed. It really meant that it was all over now.

“Harry…” came Deja’s gentle voice.

Harry looked up at her, startled. He had never heard her call him by his name before. It sounded strange to his ear, the way she pronounced it, but he felt that his heart swell at finally being acknowledged as himself, and not as someone who had been another person in the past. He smiled.

“Harry,” she said again. “Those be not your real questions. What do you need to know?”

Harry sighed deeply. There was another question in his mind that he needed an answer to, but he feared what her answer would be. He took another fortifying breath before plunging in.

“Deja, you said that our past actions dictate out current lives, right?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Deja nodded. “That be true.”

“Then…then the two boys who died in the war,” Harry said his voice faltering. “I…I was the one who ran away.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow, Harry already knew what Deja’s answer would be.

“It be a war,” Deja said sadly. “You be not at fault.”

“But I still let him die,” Harry said, his eyes prickling. “I did that. I ran away. If it wasn’t for what I did, they’d probably have lived longer than that.”

“One cannot be sure of such things,” Deja said. “It be their time that day. Do not be too sad. They be happy together, if only for a while.”

“But for their lives to end that way,” Harry argued. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Harry heard a small sound escape from Deja, and when he looked up, a hint of smile was dancing on her lips.

“You be not feeling right about it,” she said as though she had expected him to feel that way. She smiled mysteriously before saying, “One life dictates the next.”

Harry’s eyes widened when he realised just what Deja was trying to say. “I can make up for it,” Harry said, growing excited. “I can make it right again, can’t I? I can try to save Draco this time. I wasn’t able to do it before, but I was given a chance to do it again!”

Deja beamed proudly at him as Harry resolved to make up for the wrong he did in the past. It may have been a different war back then, but it was all the same to him. A hundred different plans began to form in his mind. This time he had the courage to face Voldemort himself, and he planned on saving Draco along the way.


* * *

Harry found himself running once again. This time, not to get as far away from Draco as possible, but instead he was running towards him. He had been trying to look for the other boy for several days now, but no matter how hard he tried to look on the Marauder’s Map, Harry couldn’t locate Draco’s dot. He was afraid that Draco had been spending a lot of time inside the Room of Hidden Things again.

So when Harry finally saw Draco’s dot appear, he was surprised to see his footsteps walking down the corridor that would lead him to the Portrait Room. When the footsteps disappeared at the end of the hall, Harry knew he had entered the room. Their room, he thought with an odd feeling.

He ran down from the top floor, hoping that Draco would stay there long enough so Harry could corner him in the Portrait Room. Perfect, Harry thought. He would convince Draco of his plan, and if he refused, he could ask Deja to help explain that it was his destiny to help him, to make up for what he had done in the past so that they could move forward in this life.

Harry’s heart began to pound in his chest just as he approached the door to the Portrait Room. The last time he had seen Draco was in this very room when their bond had connected. He had run out after that, feeling confused and overwhelmed.

And now he was about to face Draco again, but this time he knew everything.

His mind ran back over the lives in the portraits. They had been friends in the beginning, and eventually they had been lovers. It felt odd to think of Draco that way, but he found that he didn’t really mind. In fact, it held a certain…appeal.

Harry shook his head, trying to remove the inappropriate thoughts forming in his head. He had to focus. He needed to do this first. Then maybe, when all this was over, maybe he and Draco could try and find out if they had something more in common than just their past.

Harry smiled to himself. He was looking forward to that moment.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the Portrait Room, ready to face Draco once again. He saw the other boy standing in front of Deja’s portrait. They were speaking in hushed tones and Harry had to strain his ear to hear them.

“I’m sorry,” Harry heard Draco say. “I didn’t want to leave you, but I have no other choice.”

“Draco?” Harry said tentatively, frowning at what he’d heard.

Draco whirled around. “H-Harry!” he said, surprise evident in his voice at finding Harry standing behind him.

“Are you…going somewhere?” Harry asked, biting his lower lip.

Draco refused to look Harry in the eye as he said, “I need to go. My mother…”

“Wait!” Harry cried.

He ran forward and grabbed Draco’s wrist. Draco gave a startled twitch and eyed Harry’s hand on his wrist. Harry realised he was holding Draco just a little below where his Dark Mark was hiding under his robe. But Harry didn’t let go, and instead held on tighter.

“I have a plan,” Harry continued. “I can help you. We can save your mother.”

“What…?” Draco asked confusedly.

“It was Deja who helped me realise what I should do,” Harry said, grinning at Deja. She gave him a small nod in return. “I can take you to the Order, both you and your mother. Then you wouldn’t have to do Voldemort’s bidding anymore.”

It had all been so simple in his head. They would talk to Dumbledore and ask for his help. And maybe they could even hide Mrs Malfoy in Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order. But Harry’s heart sank when he saw Draco shaking his head sadly.

“I can’t let you do that,” Draco said.

“But you have to let me help you,” Harry said, his voice breaking. Then he boldly took Draco’s hands in his own and squeezed. “Please, you have to. It’s the only way I can make up for what I…what I did to you.”

Harry looked down on the floor, willing himself not to fall apart in front of Draco. He had only just acknowledged the fact that he had done something despicable to Draco in their past life. He couldn’t face the condemning glare that Draco was sure to give him.

But he felt a hand tilt his head up and he saw Draco’s grey eyes staring intently at him. His face was far too close and he could feel Draco’s warm breath mingling with his own. But Harry twisted his head and tried to look away. He couldn’t look Draco in the eye, with the shame of his past burning inside him.

“Harry,” Draco whispered insistently. “Harry, look at me.”

Harry slowly lifted his eyes, expecting to see the pain of betrayal there. Instead, Draco’s eyes were warm and full of understanding that Harry was torn between relief and guilt.

“Don’t you see,” Draco said. “I need to do this too. It has to be me so that I can fix what I did.”

“But…then how will I be able to make up for what I did?” Harry asked.

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Draco said. “You have to do it for you. So you can live with yourself, knowing what you did then.” And although Draco was telling him this for his benefit, Harry couldn’t help but feel that Draco was actually trying to convince himself. Harry realised that both of them had done something they equally regretted. And then Draco’s expression hardened. “Death Eaters are going to attack Hogwarts. I was going to tell you before I left, but you found me first.”

“You’ve been going back to the Room of Hidden Things,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing. “That’s why I couldn’t find you the last few days.”

Draco nodded. “I went back to fix the Vanishing Cabinet.”

“But why?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, shaking his head sadly. “But I had to do it. It’s the only way I’ll be able to save my family.”

Then Harry drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He understood why Draco had done it. He really did. He looked down at their joined hands and thought sadly that perhaps this was the only way they could free themselves from their past.

Draco’s words from before echoed in his ear. If you love someone, set them free.

“I understand,” Harry finally said.

Draco let out a huge sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for Harry’s approval all along. “Thank you,” Draco said in a fervent whisper before drawing Harry close and enveloping him in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he repeated.

A thousand emotions surge through Harry as he stood there with his arms wrapped around the other boy. He felt fondness, deep affection, and even unbridled passion stir in his chest. He felt things that he had never felt before. He wasn’t sure if these emotions were his own or just a manifestation from all the other lives he had lived, but he felt them all the same.

And in a moment of clarity, Harry knew exactly what he needed to do.

He pulled back to look at Draco once more, looking for a sign that what he was about to do wasn’t as absurd as it sounded. But the grateful smile and shining eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Harry cupped Draco’s face with both his hands and said, “Before you go, will you grant me one wish?”

“Anything,” Draco replied in an instant, his gaze never wavering.

Harry paused and took a deep breath.

“Bond with me,” Harry said.

A look of surprise crossed Draco’s face. Clearly he hadn’t expected Harry to say that. But then his eyes softened and the tone of his voice was uncharacteristically tender when he said, “You mean it?”

“Of course,” Harry replied. He then turned to Deja who had been silently watching their exchange. “Would you help us?”

“It be my honour,” she said.

Deja held out her hand and they saw the gold ring on her palm. It was the same ring that she had shown them all those months ago. Alia in vita. In another life. The words echoed in Harry’s mind as the ring dissolved into a familiar string of bright white light. It looked exactly like the string of light that used to be wrapped around both their hands.

They stood face to face in front of Deja, never taking their eyes off of each other. Harry held out his right hand and Draco firmly clasped it in a stance that looked remarkably like the one used in an Unbreakable Vow.

“So, we’re really doing this?” Draco asked one last time.

“Yeah,” Harry answered with complete confidence.

They smiled knowingly at each other, phantom memories of their past lives flashing before their eyes.

“After this…after the war…” Draco began. “If we never find each other again…”

“I’ll see you in the next life,” Harry said. “I promise.”

With that, Deja lowered the string of light onto their clasped hands and initiated their bond.

Epilogue


Harry stood amidst the ruins of Hogwarts castle. Smoke rose from the fallen debris and everywhere dead bodies of both friends and enemies littered the ground.

The war was finally over and Voldemort had been defeated.

He’d done it. He hadn’t run away this time. He’d been able to face his own death.

But his heart ached when he remembered Draco. He hadn’t seen him amidst all the chaos of the battle. Had he succeeded in saving his family? Or was he one of the many Death Eaters that lay dead outside the castle walls?

Suddenly, there was a commotion as people began to shout angrily.

“There’s one still alive!” someone shouted from the battlements.

“How dare he show his face here?”

And Harry turned to look at what everyone was pointing at.

On top of the tallest ridge that led to the Hogwarts lake stood a man against the backdrop of a breaking morn. His black cloak billowed behind him and on his face was the menacing mask of a Death Eater.

Harry’s heart thumped wildly against his chest. He knew who that man was.

Harry raced up, ignoring the shouts of warning from the people around him. At the same time, the masked man ran down to meet him.

They met in a tangle of limbs and Harry tore the mask away from Draco’s face before meeting his lips in a reverent kiss.

“You’re back,” Harry whispered.

“I am,” Draco whispered back.

And they kissed again…and again…and again, on the most beautiful morning of Harry’s life.


The End.