Originally posted at: hp_halloween
Gift for: lq_traintracks
Title: A Different Kind of Blame
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R (for subject)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. I wish he were, though. I’ll ask Santa.
Warnings: Pending Character Death
Summary: No matter how much Draco loves Harry, when his family is threatened by Death Eaters, he sees no other way out than to comply with their demands.
Notes: A big shout out and thank you to the amazing mods for not only notifying me when sign ups were open (as I tend to be late every single year), but also for organising this incredibly fun fest once again. I don’t know how I’d be spending my Halloween without it. And thanks to my lovely beta, lordhellebore as always, and missingkeys for the last minute save! You two are my heroes. ♥

lq_traintracks, this ficlet was born out of your prompt: “A cold tomb behind his/her back”. You might find that I used it metaphorically, and I really hope you don’t mind, as I kind of got attached to the idea that it gave me.

*
It’s not his fault. It’s never been his fault. Not the war, not my fate, not even Him and what He did to my family. No, it’s definitely not his fault.

And yet, despite none of this being on him, despite the sacrifices he’s already made, despite my pleas and begging for forgiveness to Them, he’ll still have to pay the price. He always will, because he always has. I understand that now.

An angry tear rolls down my cheek, leaving a burning streak on my cold flesh. I don’t wipe it away. I won’t. I don’t deserve it.

He’ll be better off, back with the people he’s lost and so desperately longs for. People who love him in a way I feel I’ve never fully managed to. I see it in his eyes every single time I look at him. And my family: the father for whom I was never quite enough and the mother who never spoke up to him, they’ll be safe. They’ll be saved, one last time.

And as I pull my hood back over my masked face once again, cover my Mark and pull out my wand, I console myself with that exact thought.

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 2688
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 10: BlinkCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 2678
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 9: The Man in the Top HatCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 4245
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 8: Truths and InterrogationsCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 6383
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 7: ConfessionsCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 5877
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 6: The AllyCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 3768
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 5: Dreams UnravelledCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 6070
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 4: Restriction 11BCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 3259
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 3: The Secrets of Draco MalfoyCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 6017
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3

*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)

‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor

( Chapter 2: An Unwelcome AwakeningCollapse )

Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for gatewaygirl
Username: lordes
Betas: lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 4622
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014

BLINK ON AO3



*

’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)



‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor




( Chapter 1: Mysteries and Top HatsCollapse )





Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Awakening

Thanks to alisanne, I had to make a Tumblr account as well...

You can find me here: lordes310.

I still have no idea how it works, but I'm sure I'll figure it out someday!

How shiny is livejournal now? I love it!

So, stuff has happened. I've been in an accident during a storm, have stressed, slept and even switched psychologists. Yes, stuff has happened indeed.

I was asked to pinch hit! I love to be asked to pinch hit! It's not good for me though; next to the fact that I'm busy with my at least 100k fic I hardly have time to start another project, especially not this particular one which will, and I can already feel it growing in my head as I type, end up to be at least 20k.

And then she asked me if I could do a minimum of 3k... Ha

I wrote 420 words tonight. It doesn't seem like much, but I've written part of the first and the second chapter of my Harry Bang fic and I'm very proud.

Today was a very relaxing day. I finished Charlie and the Chocolate factory (the book) today for my Literarture class. I will have to watch the movie tomorrow and then answer a question list about the two, or a comparison, or something.

I also read, knitted (I'm still working on my 11 by 11 squares blanket) my 5th square and am now moving on to another colour of which I'll also do 5. I told myself to do one square a day and so far I've been managing.

Then I read some Harry Potter (I restarted the book serie) and watched the last of the Lord of the Rings trilogy (which I also restarted).

Finally I caught up a bit with livejournal and hung with one of my housemates.

I almost forgot how nice it felt to do absolutely nothing!

The question that came up while writing today:
Where/what or on whom do you base your IC Draco while writing? How do you do this? What do you think of? What are your tips, tricks and moves?

As I'm slowly crawling out of my place of books and exams I realise it's been nearly a month. A month. This midterm period was horrible! It never takes them a month to get us to complete everything, but apparently they figured we had no life and no friends and absolutely no need for relaxation and... you know... breathing.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EVERYBODY WHO HAD THEIR BIRTHDAY LAST MONTH!

I'll have a week of holidays now before school starts again. I NEED IT. Sleep all day, give nothing back!

Right, and sunlight. I've never been so pale in my life.

FREEDOM!

I'm going to be a serious Bang-er tonight and write! I'll be in the HarryBang writers Chatzy in an hour or so (10:30 pm Timezone +1). Anybody free to join me?

♥

Title: Cold Case PART 1
Author: lordes
Recipient: winterdaffodils
Pairing: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy
Wordcount: ~16k
Warnings: Uses of the Cruciatus Curse, heavy emotions
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his world nor his husband belong to me.
Summary: Five years after the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt has been replaced as Minister for Magic by Minister Cyneric, who is set on re-opening every single closed Death Eater case. Unfortunately, Draco's name is amongst them, assessed with the highest danger rating possible. Not able to live with the sentence given to him, Draco will have to find a way out of the mess the Minister has created for him and Harry…alive.
AO3: COLD CASE
Author's notes: First and foremost, thank you 'T' for the extreme thorough beta and 'S' and 'S' for all the help! Without any of you this would not have been possible. Also thanks to the Mod for her everlasting patience and smarts.
Dear winterdaffodils, I had so much fun writing this, even when neither Harry nor Draco wanted to work with me. I hope you'll like it!

This piece was originally written for hpholiday's Christmas fest and originally posted HERE.

[Cold Case]

Closing Godwin’s letter for the hundredth time, Harry wonders about the big news the man had for them, and what happened to him. He decides to send Godwin’s office a letter, and leaves to find Layla, Draco’s owl.

*

"Can we go shopping today?" Draco asks as he comes into the kitchen. He grabs Harry’s cup of tea from the table and sits down, sipping. "Perfect temperature," he says as he sees Harry’s raised eyebrows.

Swallowing his food, Harry grabs his teacup back from him. "You seem happy," he says after emptying the cup.

"I had a good night’s rest," Draco says. "Plus, it’s about time Pip gets some new dresses, don’t you think?"

Harry smiles at him. It’s good to see some of the old Draco shine back through. "Want something to eat first? Pip’s made plenty."

Draco gives the food on the table a once over before swallowing audibly and shaking his head.

Scowling, Harry wants to say something, ask if he’s okay, but decides against it. If it were him losing his magic, he’d probably lose his appetite as well.

The first thing he notices as they Apparate to Diagon Alley are the carols. There are groups of singing people moving around and about everywhere. Some are standing still on corners, enchanted snow eternally falling on to their heads, covering them in a white coat. There are bells, too, and every kind of Christmas decoration one could possibly think of. Not one shop has gone undecorated, making Harry grin widely.

Seeing Draco roll his eyes at him he throws an arm around his shoulders. "Oh come on, it’s Christmas!" Harry says happily as he starts dragging Draco deeper into the street. "Where did you want to go first?"

Several shops and plenty of spent Galleons later Harry and Draco make their way over to their last destination, Eeylops Owl Emporium, when a broad shouldered man steps in between them and the door. Harry, walking in front of Draco, nearly bumps into him and splutters, "Excuse me, we were trying to get in."

The man huffs once, giving off the feeling of a large horse, and crosses his arms, staring at Draco. Harry, who missed Draco stare in shock at the windowsill of the shop, protests, but the man simply points at the posters of the ‘newly convicted’ Death Eaters who aren’t welcome in the shop. Harry recognises Nott, Macnair and Yaxley. His nostrils flare when he sees the picture of Draco at the bottom, looking up at the snarling faces of the others as if he can’t remember why he’s there.

Harry whips out his wand and turns back to the large man, who pales and backs up a step or two, but he is stopped by Draco’s hand on his arm when he wants to raise it further. "Leave it," he hears him whisper. "Just.. let’s go home." A pause. "Please."

Harry shoots the man a last nasty look before turning, engulfing Draco in a tight hug and Apparating them back home.

Upon arrival Draco immediately turns and stalks into the library, closing the door and locking it behind him. Harry, calling out for him, goes ignored and after a good ten minutes of knocking and pleading, he gives up. Preferably, he’d blast the door in with his wand, but given the current circumstances, he figures that would only make things worse than they already are.

*

By the time the big clock in the sitting room strikes nine, Harry’s had enough. He had called out for Draco when he’d made dinner, and had been ignored. He’d then made tea and had got no answer, either. He understands that it’s been a rough day for Draco, but sitting and moping around won’t do anybody any good and quite frankly, it’s making Harry feel terribly helpless himself.

As he walks up to the library’s double doors he takes out his wand. "Draco, open these doors or I’ll open them for you," he calls out and waits. After several minutes have passed he raises his wand at one of the doors, getting ready for a blast, not patient enough for a calm Alohomora spell. "Draco…" he warns and, when he gets no answer, swishes his wand once and blasts the doors in.

He gasps and screams as his vision clears - Draco is lying in the middle of the room on the ground - unconscious.

"Draco!" he yells as he rushes towards him. Draco is shaking all over and, as Harry sees when he casts a couple of basic healing spells, appears to be running a dangerously high fever. Wasting no time Harry raises his wand once more and casts a Patronus Charm for Healer August, telling him to Apparate to their house as soon as possible.

Just as Harry opens the wards on the house the Healer appears, immediately falling onto his knees next to Draco. As Harry tells August everything that happened that day, he watches the man run some basic tests, his scowl deepening every time he casts another charm or spell.

"We have no time to lose," August finally says as he lifts Draco onto the stretcher he summoned. "Meet me at St Mungo’s," he instructs before quickly Disapparating.

Harry stands there for a while before following the Healer. Shocked, lost and shaking, guilt eating away at him. He should’ve known Draco wouldn’t ignore him without reason! Angrily raking his hands through his hair, he pulls at it and cries out in despair.

St Mungo’s is bustling with people as Harry makes his way over to the counter. Under many a protest he skips the line and quickly asks for the room Draco has been brought to. The witch behind the counter, probably not older than 30, responds shocked. Doubt visible in her eyes whether to send him back to the end of the line or to help Harry Potter, she decides on the latter and gives him Draco’s room number and floor.

Rushing into the room he sees several Healers and Mediwizards feverishly chant and work around Draco. As Harry tries to step closer to him one of the Mediwizards breaks free of the group and escorts him back out.

"There’s nothing you can do for him now, Mister Potter," the man says. "We are doing our best." He lets his hand rest on Harry’s shoulder for a moment before turning and going back into the room, closing the door behind him again.

Harry feels like a broken man. Never has he felt so powerless, not even when Voldemort had taken control of the Wizarding World. At least then he knew what to do, what was expected of him. Having already sat in every position he remembers ever sitting in, he has now taken to feverishly pacing the waiting room. Whenever a Healer or any other medical staff pass through the room he’ll look up, hoping they have news, hoping that everything will be okay with Draco, but it’s never for him. Not even sparing him as much as a second glance, they’ll come in, call out for the the person they need, and leave again.

When he’s finally able to get a hold of one of the Mediwizards running around the place, he asks if he’s allowed to use the Floo network and when he gets permission, he Floos Ron and Hermione.

"Oh Harry," Hermione says when they see him. She walks up to him and hugs him tight.

"Mate," Ron says quietly, face as sickly pale as Harry feels.

"What happened?" Hermione asks. "Was it the spell?"

Harry shrugs and swallows, trying to fight back the tears, and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head a couple of times and fixes his gaze firmly on the opposite wall of the room. "I’m not sure," he manages to choke out. "One moment we’re in Diagon Alley buying Christmas presents, and the next he is lying on the library floor. Just..." Harry looks up, blinking away the tears.

"What about Godwin?" Hermione asks then, sitting him down. "Heard anything from him yet?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nothing. Sent a letter to the bureau he works for, but they haven’t sent Layla back yet."

Hermione scowls and gets up. "I’ll be right back," she says before disappearing around the corner.

"Still haven’t got used to that," Ron says as a way to cheer him up. "Always bouncing around, that one, and never bothers to tell me what’s going on in that head of hers."

Harry smiles. It’s a wry smile, but at least his mate is trying. "Yeah," he says before staring at the wall again.

As they sit in silence an elderly Healer heads their way. His hair is grey, his eyes almost as green as Harry’s, his beard short but curly.

"Healer Midgea," the man introduces himself with a thick Scottish accent. "You must be Harry Potter."

Harry shakes the Healer’s hand and nods.

"Any news?" Ron asks as he shakes Healer Midgea’s hand in his turn. "Ron Weasley," he adds.

The man nods once. "Yes, if you’d come with me, please?" He turns, expecting Harry and Ron to follow him out.

Healer Midgea’s office is airy, with a sandy coloured wooden floor, one wall of the room only consisting of a big window looking out over a flowery garden.

"Mister Malfoy is showing signs of an addiction," Midgea says and holds up his hand when he sees Harry opening his mouth. "We’ve found the curse, Mister Potter, and yes, we know it is the cause."

Harry closes his mouth again, nodding.

"We think Mister Malfoy’s body is responding badly to the sudden absence of his magic," the Healer says. "And we were wondering if your husband has shown earlier signs of withdrawal?"

Harry has to think for a moment, but soon enough remembers Draco’s hands. "His hands were shaking, yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t-"

"And you couldn’t have," the Healer interrupts. "Not even we knew this could happen, however, now that we’ve seen it, it does seem rather logical, and," he adds when he sees Harry wanting to interrupt him, "we are doing everything within our power to get Mister Malfoy walking again."

"So, what now?" Ron asks.

"Well, we’ve put him in a Magic-Induced Coma, or a MIC, as we usually call it." When Healer Midgea sees the confused looks of the men he continues, "It is a coma in which we give the patient’s body bursts of magic every couple of hours to keep it stable. The curse the Ministry has put on your husband, Mister Potter, will suck that magic up as it did with his, but for now it’ll make him survive."

"Barely," Harry says softly before sighing. "Thank you," he adds. "For everything."

"It is our job to save lives, Mister Potter." Midgea smiles. "But you are very, very welcome."

*

"I want to do it," Harry says the moment he enters Healer Midgea’s office the next morning. "Emanuel," Harry says and nods in recognition as he sees the darker man sit across from Midgea.

The Healer doesn’t speak and shuffles around in his papers before looking up at Harry. "Once Mister Malfoy’s body has got used to a certain person’s magic, there’s no other to do it but them," he says. "It is a very taxing procedure, Mister Potter, one that will not be easy on your body or your own magical abilities."

Harry looks at the man and takes a deep breath. "Show me how."

"Very well," Midgea says as he gets up. "Follow me, then."

*

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Harry enters Draco’s room. It’s dark, save for the two lone candles on Draco’s bedside table. Harry walks over to his husband and carefully lays a hand on his arm.

"And it doesn’t matter where I touch or what I hold?" he asks Midgea.

The Healer shakes his head. "Not in the least. However, I would stay away from the neck area, for now."

Harry nods and licks his lips slowly, thinking. "You said the chances of his body accepting my magic are bigger," he says and looks the Healer in the eye. "But you didn’t tell me until I offered to be part of the procedure myself."

"Correct," Midgea answers as he puts away the chart he had been observing. "Like I warned you before, Mister Potter, this procedure is a serious one and often… often family or friends will feel compelled to help, without being ready to." He whips out his wand and casts a nonverbal spell over Draco.

"Just a status check," he says when he sees Harry eye him questioningly. "Now, let’s begin."

Harry moves his hand over to Draco’s gripping it tightly as he feels another burst of magic leave him and enter Draco. The sensation is odd, but welcome, because with every single burst, Draco’s breathing becomes just that bit steadier.

Harry looks at the clock and counts down the last two bursts. As he slowly untangles their fingers and puts a strand of hair back behind his husband’s ear, he hears a soft knock on the door.

"Hermione," he says as he looks up. "Come in."

She smiles at him. "You look better," she says as she hugs him. "Good to see."

Harry smiles back. "Knowing there’s something I can do for him makes it easier, I suppose," he says as he puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. "Found anything?"

"You better sit down," she says and shoots a worried look towards Draco. "Let’s go somewhere else."

Following Hermione’s gaze from Draco back to her, he nods and follows her out. They walk back into the waiting room he had spent hours in the other day. An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach, but he shakes it off and sits down in one of the chairs. Hermione sits down next to him, putting down her purse, and takes out a file containing several official looking forms.

"I went to the Attorney’s office Godwin works for," she says as she opens the file. "They say they’ve never even heard of a man with that name. Of course I didn’t believe them, so I went to the Ministry’s registration office for Attorneys, and there’s not a single mention of a Gregory Godwin in there either." She hands him the file. Shuffling through it and scanning the names, Harry sees she’s right. He blinks, not sure what to say, and nervously rakes a hand through his hair.

"And these are the names of all registered Attorneys in Britain over the past 50 years?" he asks, eyebrows raised, already knowing the answer but still wanting to make sure. After all, the documents in his hands clearly state the years.

Hermione nods. "And as Godwin was not even near 50, it is almost like he’s vanished." She scowls at a point behind Harry for a second and bites her lip. "Luckily," she continues, looking back at him, "I know a woman who might be willing to help us out. Her name is Victoria Ravensdale. She studied at the same university as I did."

Harry is slightly dumbfounded. "I guess… I mean… Thanks. thanks, Hermione," he says as he gets up. "I’m going to get some rest now if you don’t mind."

"I take it the treatment is going well then?" she asks, picking up her purse and putting the documents back in it.

Harry nods and rakes his hand through his hair again, making Hermione smile and try to pat it back down. "Yeah," he says, "but Healer Midgea was right. It’s tiring." He looks over and sees one of the fireplaces blaze green flames as another Healer walks out of it. "I think I’ll take the Floo network back home."

He looks over at Hermione. "If you come with I can give you what Godwin has found and shared with us so far."

"Good thinking," she says. "Still got that note he sent you?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, it’s… somewhere." He shakes his head tiredly and yawns. Waving his hand dismissively, he says: "I’ll find it when we get home."

"Thank you," Hermione says. "I’ll make sure to contact Victoria tonight.

*

"Mister Harry Potter, sir needs to wake up! Now, now!"

Harry groans and pushes the covers off himself. "What’s wrong, Pip?" he asks tiredly. Since he has to apply the bursts of magic to Draco every few hours, he’s been back and forth between St Mungo’s and his home several times already that day. Looking at the clock on his nightstand, he groans: three in the morning.

"There is being a very important person in the Floo for you, saying that Pip needs to be getting Mister Harry Potter right now, right now!" she squeaks, bouncing from one foot to the other nervously. "Pip is worried Mister Draco Malfoy is not okay, Mister Harry Potter. The Mister is looking like a Healer a lot, Pip thinks."

Harry’s eyes go wide as he stares at Pip. "A Healer?" he chokes out, grabs his dressing robe and sprints down the stairs. "Thank you Pip, you did well!" he manages to yell at her as he runs through the hallway into the library.

Falling on his knees in front of the fire, he recognises Healer Midgea. The man looks worried and at least a decade older than he did some hours ago. "Healer Midgea!" Harry demands, "Is everything okay with Draco?" Fear strikes him as the man doesn’t answer right away, making his stomach turn and his heart skip a beat or two.

"I’m afraid there are some complications," Midgea says. "It would be better if you come over right away."

Harry stands up and ties his robe quickly, before wanting to step into the flames, only to be stopped by Healer Midgea’s voice. "Bring your wand, Mister Potter," he says quietly before disappearing. "It might come in handy tonight."

Wand in hand, Harry rushes through the halls of the now almost empty ward and into Draco’s room, only to find none other than the Minister for Magic already waiting for him, accompanied by two rather intimidating Aurors.

"Ah, Mister Potter," the man says with an amused grin on his face. "I have some rather inconvenient news for you, I’m afraid." A fake frown of sadness crosses his face. "As it turns out, your husband can no longer stay at St Mungo’s."

"And why would that be, exactly?" Harry grits out between clenched teeth.

"Well, St Mungo’s and by extension its Healers," Cyneric gestures at Healer Midgea. who is wearing a grim expression and is staring straight into Harry’s eyes. "are off limits for any convicted felon with a danger rating above three-stars." The Minister raises his eyebrows now. "In Mister Malfoy’s case, there are five." The amused smile now returns. "I’m afraid he’ll have to leave the hospital, Mister Potter."

"I don’t think so," Harry says defiantly. "He’s staying right here, in this hospital, in this room."

Cyneric walks up to the door and puts a hand on his shoulder as he passes Harry for a brief moment. "If dear Draco isn’t gone by dawn he’ll be escorted to Azkaban," he whispers, eyes twinkling, tongue flicking out.

"He’ll die," Harry tries. "You can’t do this!"

"Oh, but I can," Cyneric says before patting Harry’s shoulder once and leaving, followed by his two Aurors.

"I’m afraid I can’t do anything," Midgea says as he sees Harry’s pleading look. He whips out his wand and ends the coma spell on Draco with a quick swish. "He should be fine without the forced sleep," he says as he looks at Harry. "And don’t forget the bursts of magic. Six every two hours." He pauses for a moment. "I’ll send an owl with my contact details at home, in case his condition deteriorates."

"Thank you," Harry says before grabbing Draco’s hand to Disapparate.

"Be careful, Harry," Midgea says right before they pop away.

*

"Four," Harry counts softly as he feels another burst leave his body. He Apparated Draco straight into their bedroom last night, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. Not daring to sleep without Draco being under the coma spell, he had stayed up all night, applying magic whenever Draco would stir or the shivers would worsen.

"Five," he whispers and swallows, trying not to lose consciousness. The spell is wearing him out slowly, but the memory of what happened fuels his anger enough for him to stay awake. He clenches his teeth during the last burst. "Six," he says and sighs, letting go of Draco’s hand and closing his eyes.

When the Floo in the downstairs library erupts, Harry hears tiny swift footfalls on the stairs. "I got it, Pip," he says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, scrunches his eyes shut and yawns loudly. "I got it," he repeats, more to himself than anybody else.

He gets up and stretches, making sure to check Draco’s temperature before he leaves the room. "Keep an eye on him, please," Harry says to Pip before he walks down. "And make sure to warn me if anything changes."

Pip nods, her eyes big and sad. She’s wearing one of Draco’s favorite dresses for her, a dark green one with silver linings and a big ribbon on her back. He always said it matched her eyes, which are big and silver, too.

As he enters the library he finds Hermione and a woman who he guesses must be Victoria already waiting for him.

"Harry!" Hermione says, startled. "By Merlin, you look paler than Voldemort!"

He hears Victoria choke at the mention of the name, but decides to ignore it and offers her his hand. "Harry Potter," he says. "I’m very grateful you’re willing to help."

Victoria purses her lips. She’s tall and slender with a somewhat pointy chin and sharp cheekbones. Her hair is almost as pale of a blond as Draco’s, but her eyes are a warm hazel. She shakes his hand. "Attorney Ravensdale," she says and Harry nods. "Officially, I am not allowed to offer help to any convicted felon with a rating above three-stars." She eyes Harry for a moment before continuing. "but let’s say this’ll be a personal project of mine, one I’ll do outside office hours… as a friend." She nods towards Hermione once. "And what I do in my private life has and will stay outside of the Ministry’s control." She smiles a small smile.

"However," she cautions, voice stern now, "lets keep this between us. Godwin’s fate needn’t be mine, I think."

Harry agrees and leads both Victoria and Hermione out of the library and into the kitchen. "I asked Pip to stay with Draco so I’ll go make us some tea," he says, but Hermione protests.

"You two start the case, I’ll go make some. Where do you keep your bags?"

Harry points towards one of the cupboards and sits down across from the attorney.

"It’s a peculiar case," she starts, softly shaking her head as she ruffles through the files she brought. "Very peculiar."

She grabs the envelope Godwin sent Harry and opens it again, unfolding the familiar note. "Especially this. Written hurriedly, sent by owl, no further contact…" Once again she purses her lips. "Do either of you have any idea what the evidence attorney Godwin mentions could be?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not a clue. And neither does Draco," he quickly adds when he sees her open her mouth.

Victoria nods and strokes the paper with her hand, lost in thought.

As Hermione puts down the steaming cups in front of them, she continues: "I take that it was Godwin who suggested the route of evidence?"

"It was," says Harry. "But both Draco and I agreed it was probably the best lead we have for now."

"Very well, then that’ll be where I’ll start," she says and collects her files. "I’ll keep these with me for now, if you don’t mind." When Harry shakes his head she puts them back in her purse and stands. "I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve found anything."

"Please," Harry answers.

"Be careful," Hermione says quietly before Victoria leaves, then turns back to Harry, feeling his forehead.

"I don’t have a fever, Hermione," Harry says as he ducks away from her hand. "I’ve just been working on Draco a bit more than the Healers told me to.

"A bit more?" Hermione asks skeptically and raises her eyebrows.

Harry tells her about last night. "Kicked him out?!" she responds, baffled. "But they can’t do that, can they?"

"Apparently, they can," Harry says as he sips his tea.

"I was wondering what you meant when you said you had Pip looking after him," Hermione says. "Is that why you’re so pale, then?"

Harry shrugs. "Just tired," he says and smiles before taking another sip.

"You know this could be dangerous, right?" Hermione says carefully, placing her hand on his arm and squeezing softly. "For you, for your own magic. What if you overdo it and cause something permanent?"

Harry looks up at Hermione. The worry is clearly visible in her eyes, but he knows she understands like nobody else would except perhaps Ron. "Hermione, it’s the only thing left I can do for him…"

*

Days go by. The snow melts, the rain starts and as the Christmas lights get put away, a new year begins. Victoria comes by every other day, checking on Draco and updating Harry and Hermione about her findings, ideas and thoughts on Godwin’s notes.

"I’ve found Godwin’s lead," she says. "Or so I think. I’m going to follow it and see where it takes me and what I’ll find."

Once again they are sitting in the kitchen, files and documents alike spread wide over the table, a second pot of tea already on the fire.

"I’m almost sorry for making you into a detective," Harry says. "But I’m happy I finally have some help."

"Are you kidding me?" Victoria says with a laugh. "This is kind of exciting." She winks at him. "Plus, a chance to personally work with the great Harry Potter is not one I’ll let slip by easily, of course."

"Oh, shut up." He smiles back at her and empties his cup. "Okay," he says as he pushes the cup away from the files. "What’s next?"

*

"Hey there," Harry says as Draco slowly blinks and opens his eyes. He grabs a strand of hair, moves it away from Draco’s forehead and plants a soft kiss on the damp skin.

Draco swallows once before slowly licking his lips, looking around the room in confusion.

"You’ve been out for a while," Harry says as he strokes Draco’s hair. "Found you lying on the floor of the library after our Christmas shopping." He smiles a small smile. "Scared the magic right out of me."

Draco nods before speaking in a raspy voice. "I thought…" He stops and thinks. "I think I dreamt I was at St Mungo’s." He tries to sit.

Harry helps him up and props a pillow behind his back. "You were in St Mungo’s. For a while at least," he says, avoiding Draco’s eyes as he fluffs the pillow beyond necessity.

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it, and opens it again before speaking. "Then why am I here? I still feel like I’ve been put under the Cruciatus Curse for an hour or two."

Harry bites his lip in thought before answering. "I thought it would be better for both of us if you stayed here," he says softly.

"Harry?" Draco asks, sounding insecure. "Why aren’t you looking at me?"

When Harry focusses on the wall instead of him, Draco continues: "They kicked me out, didn’t they? They kicked me out of St. Mungo’s just like they refused me entrance at the Owl Emporium." His voice is weak, but the despair in it evident enough to give Harry chills and make him cringe. Draco angrily wipes away at a tear. "It’s like the end of the war all over again."

"Draco, we will get through this."

"Easily said for you," Draco snaps. "You’re not the one without magic. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be unable to cast even the simplest spell? I’m nothing more than a cripple, a burden!"

Harry groans. "You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be positive for once! I’ve done everything I could to help you!"

"And that’s what exactly?" Draco asks. "Hold my hand while I sleep?"

"You’re unbelievable!" Harry stands up and raises his voice. "If that’s not enough for you, then what are you still doing here?!"

"We’re married, you insensitive arse!" Draco yells.

Harry throws his arms in the air and bites his tongue, stopping a snide remark from leaving his lips. "Forget it," he says. "I’m sleeping on the couch tonight."

*

When Harry wakes up that night he feels disoriented. Blinking, trying to make out his surroundings, he sees the edge of the couch appear, his pillow and blanket both hanging off it. He must’ve fallen off somehow. He arches his back and pops his shoulders, groans, turns and checks the clock. An immediate feeling of worry fills him and he’s on his feet before he knows it, but stops. Sod his sodding husband, he’s not going up there.

Defiantly walking into the kitchen, he flicks the fire on with his wand and hangs a teapot above it. As the flames lick at the pot Harry thinks of the argument he had with Draco earlier, sighs, Vanishes the fire and makes his way up into the bedroom.

The first thing he sees when he enters is Draco’s sleeping form shivering violently.

"Draco?" he asks as he rushes towards him. He lays a hand on Draco’s forehead and gasps. Remembering the time, he counts back; Draco should’ve had three more treatments already!

Cursing under his breath, he conjures a chair, sits down, grabs Draco’s hand and, while petting his husband’s hair, lets his magic flow.

*

The exhaustion from treating Draco is not enough to knock him out cold, so Harry decides to shower and get dressed, and by the time Victoria and Hermione come over that morning, a steaming pot of tea and fresh bread rolls are already waiting for them on the kitchen table.

"I found Godwin," Victoria announces when she enters the kitchen, laying her purse - which is once more filled with files in every size and colour - on one of the chairs before pouring herself a cup of tea and sitting down.

"Godwin?" Harry asks. "He’s alive, then?"

"Surprised me as much as you," Victoria says, glancing over at Harry once before focussing again on adding just the right amount of milk to her tea. "But yes, he’s at home."

Harry opens his mouth to say something but Hermione jumps in. "No use, his memory has been completely wiped. Poor guy doesn’t even remember his own name."

Harry curses softly and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So nothing on the evidence thing, then?" he says.

"I don’t think it’s the evidence we should be looking at anymore," Victoria answers him. Her eyes sparkle and she gives him a smile that’s almost devious.

"What do you mean?" Harry scrunches his forehead. "Was there anything else we could have looked at?"

"Not concerning the case, no," Victoria says. "But maybe it’s not the case we should be investigating."

Harry, confused, looks from Victoria to Hermione and back before shaking his head and shrugging.

"The Minister," Hermione says when Harry doesn’t answer. "He’s been behaving rather odd lately and after doing some research," she pulls out a very old document from a leather bound file containing every single Minister for Magic name since the creation of the Ministry, "it turns out he doesn’t exist."

He stares at Hermione, slowly putting his bread roll back on his plate. "He doesn’t exist?"

"Or," Victoria says, hanging over the table, almost whispering, "he isn’t who he says he is." She grabs her purse and retrieves another set of documents from it. "These, I’m going to leave with you; there’s just one more thing I need to do to make absolutely sure." She throws her head back and empties her cup, then grabs one of the bread rolls and her purse. "I’ll meet up with you later," she says to Hermione.

Hermione, mouth full, holds her hand in front of her mouth and nods in confirmation.

After the fireplace has stopped roaring, Harry turns to Hermione. "He isn’t who he says he is?" he asks. "So he isn’t Minister for Magic?"

"No, no," Hermione answers, "he is. But the odd thing is that there isn’t a single file about him. According to the Ministry’s documents, the man hasn’t even been born!" She smiles widely, but when Harry shakes his head in confusion she starts to explain.

"The man has no relatives, no background, address, history or anything else. His name isn’t anywhere in the Birth Registry of the Ministry, nor in the Name-Change Registry - I checked," she says. "And the Ministry documents, everything."

Harry splutters. "We need to go to the Prophet with this!"

"Already working on it," says Hermione. "Or well, Victoria is, anyway." She lays her hand on his shoulder and smiles again. "Harry, do you know what this means? If the Minister turns out to be a fraud, Draco’s, or any case reopened under his reign will be annulled."

*

Checking the clock, Harry realises it’s about time to start another one of Draco’s treatments. Hoping the fever has gone down somewhat by now, he goes upstairs only to find the bedroom empty.

"Draco?" he calls out and wants to start searching when he realises that he knows exactly where he can find his husband.

"Same book?" he asks as he walks into the library. The room is warm, lit - probably by Pip - by several fires, candles and torches. The curtains are drawn, keeping the sunlight out and hiding the spell that is so ironically beautiful.

Draco nods and sighs. "Draco, listen," Harry starts, but Draco shakes his head. "Don’t. I was awake last night."

"Oh."

Nodding, Draco lets out another sigh. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- "

"It’s okay," Harry says.

Draco nods again and looks away. "You are the only person in my life who can drive me absolutely insane."

"‘s probably why you’re with me, then," Harry says and smiles, earning a smile from Draco in return.

Sitting down across from Draco he grabs his hand and links their fingers, making their wedding rings touch. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too, you big prat."

*

"Harry!" Hermione says as she answers the Floo. "What a happy surprise." Checking her watch, she adds, "I thought you and Victoria would be going over Draco’s case by now."

"She never arrived," Harry says. "Yesterday either. And after the whole Godwin thing…"

"Hmm." Hermione frowns. "With Attorney Godwin it was publicly known he was working on it, right? Whoever Obliviated him must’ve had something to do with it. But Victoria has kept it a secret, as far as I know."

Harry sees her turn away from the fire and ask Ron something. "Ron says he hasn’t heard from her either," she says as she turns back towards Harry. Seeing the worried look on Harry’s face, she adds: "No worries, I’m sure she’s fine, I’ll go check on her later today."

"Thank you, Hermione."

"How’s Draco doing?" she asks.

"He’s sleeping right now, but he’s doing better. The treatment really seems to do wonders for his well-being."

"I’m glad to hear that," she says. "And what about his mental well-being? And yours?" Now it’s Hermione’s turn to look worried. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine. I have to rest a lot, though," Harry says. "And Draco… well, we work with what we have."

"You will get through this Harry." Hermione sounds reassuring. "The both of you will." She smiles at him. It’s a kind smile and even though it’s a small gesture, it makes Harry feel a lot better.

"I’ll let you know when I’ve heard from Victoria," Hermione adds. "Contact me if she comes to you first, though."

"Of course."

Hermione ends the Floo connection and Harry goes upstairs. Draco is still sleeping and it’s not yet time for another treatment. Harry counts; another 45 minutes before the next one, that should be enough to get some quick groceries for tonight’s dinner.

He writes Draco a short note, puts it on the bedside table under a steaming cup of tea - protected by a warming charm - and leaves, all the while wondering where Victoria might be.

*

With two brown paper bags filled with food and drink of every kind and colour, Harry stumbles out of the library’s fireplace.

"Wand, wand, wand, wand," he mumbles as he tries to hold one of the bags up on his knee while clamping the other one between his arm and chin. "Damnit," he says, unable to reach into his backpocket. He sighs and decides that carrying them into the kitchen by hand will have to do for now. Carefully kicking at the double doors leading into the hallway, he calls out for Pip, but is met by a strangled cry instead.

"Harry!"

Without a second thought he drops the bags, whips out his wand and runs into the direction of the cry. As he turns and rushes into the sitting room, he is met with the too familiar eyes of none other than the Minister for Magic.

Harry stops dead in his tracks, stunned, confused and not sure what to do. Cyneric is holding Draco, wand firmly pressed against his throat and his arm twisted behind his back.

He lets his eyes dart from the Minister to Draco and back, raising his wand. "Minister Cyneric," he says, faked politeness in his voice. "Care to enlighten me as to what you are doing in my house?"

The Minister grins a big toothy grin, the grin of a madman, tongue darting out. Chuckling coldly, he says: "Don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary, Harry, and hand over your wand." His eyes sparkle and the grin gets wider. "Or your dear beloved ferret... dies."

The odd feeling of recognition overwhelms Harry and, shaking his head to shake off the unpleasantly confusing feeling, he takes a step back.

"The Minister isn’t who he says he is." The memory of the words rings in his ears. Daring to look up once more into the Minister’s eyes, he gags and falls over, giving the Minister just enough time to push Draco away and cast a curse at Harry, who is immediately disarmed and bound to the wall behind him.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw up, willing himself to stay conscious.

"Overwhelming, isn’t it?" Cyneric says mockingly. "Oh, you’re not the first to respond like this." He pauses for a moment. "The magic, I must admit, is quite powerful indeed, and to the weak…" Taking a few steps closer to Harry, he lifts his chin. Harry opens his eyes and stares straight into the Minister’s, making his eyes roll back immediately and shivers run down his spine. "...it might be too much to handle."

Cyneric quickly spins around, robes and cloak billowing behind him, walking back towards Draco. Opening his eyes again, Harry focusses on him instead of the Minister, trying to clear his head, to think of something to do.

"If there is one thing I hate more than any other," Cyneric mutters, more to himself than to Harry, "it is a Death Eater who walked free." He sniffs angrily at Draco.

Harry’s eyes go wide as a particular familiar memory hits him.

"You’re a sharp boy, Potter," he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder’s Map. "Crouch could be thinking along those lines," he said slowly. "Very possible… there have been some funny rumours flying around lately - helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It’s making a lot of people nervous, I reckon." A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth. "Oh, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. …"

Harry gasps.

"I asked you," said Moody quietly, "whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn’t even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky."

"You fired … What are you talking about … ?"

"I told you, Harry … I told you. If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry. …" Moody’s face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. "Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful … prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all … you."

Harry shakes his head and stares at the man in front of him. He just didn’t see how this could be… the Minister. It made no sense, no sense at all.

"You!" he spits out, now actively struggling against the bonds holding him up against the wall. "You’re supposed to be dead."

The insane smile the Moody from his memory had worn twists the lips of the man in front of him. "Ah…" he says softly, eyebrows raised, "so you remember." Raising his wand, he points it at himself and swishes it past the length of his body. "I guess I won’t be needing these anymore, then."

The magical shine disappears as quickly as it came. In front of Harry is now Barty Crouch Jr., wand in hand, manical smile on his face, ready to kill them both. Harry swallows past the lump in his throat - and he is wandless.

"I have to admit I was rather disappointed," Crouch says as he flicks his wand in Draco’s direction, earning a high-pitched scream from him, "that you didn’t notice sooner."

"Leave him alone!" Harry yells through clenched teeth, kicking the air in front of him in an attempt to get free.

Barty only chuckles more. "Our hero." His tone is mocking. "Our precious little hero." He spits at Draco who clutches at his stomach and rolls over in pain, moaning.

"Haven’t you ever wondered, Harry?" Crouch says as his tongue flutters back out again, licking the corner of his mouth. "The re-opened cases, the conviction of Death Eaters, the nauseous feeling every time you left my office - you thought I hadn’t noticed? - the tinge of familiarity every single time you look into my eyes." He laughs a high cackle, pointing his wand at Draco and hitting him with the same unknown curse. Draco screams, clawing at the carpet.

Harry breathes out heavily, trying to keep his calm, not daring to take his eyes off the Minister. Who isn’t the Minister. Barty Crouch Jr. is dead, or as good as, in any case.

"They weren’t punished," he says softly, so softly Harry has trouble hearing him. "They just… walked away from him." He swallows, and for a moment Harry thinks he sees pain in the eyes of the madman in front of him.

"THEY TURNED THEIR BACKS ON HIM!" His lip trembling, Crouch raises his wand once more.

"NO!" Harry screams, but it is already too late.

"CRUCIO!"

The screaming fills Harry’s ears, blood rushing and heart pumping madly as he sees Draco writhing and shrieking on the floor. Hoping that somebody, anybody will hear them, he closes his eyes.

Crouch raises his wand, leaving Draco on the ground, gasping for air.

"It was the perfect punishment. Perfect, until you intervened!" He points his wand at Harry now, breathing heavily, nostrils flared. "Did you know, Harry," he says as the toothy grin returns on his face. He rakes a hand through his greasy hair to get it out of his eyes. "Did you know that the a wizards body needs magic to live?" Not waiting for an answer, he continues, circling the room but never taking his eyes off Harry. "Yes, it does. Ha! So… So without it, the body slowly shuts down." He waggles his eyebrows. "And nobody knew!" Another mad cackle fills the room.

"It was perfect," he whispers, spitting the words. "Because let’s face it, they deserve it. ALL OF THEM! To die like the Muggle scum they associate with now!"

Draco moans softly, curled up in a ball, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"So let’s wait, Harry. Harry Potter. Hero… our dear dear hero." Crouch’s eyes roll back in his head for a moment before he looks back down at Draco, walks over to him and bends over his shivering body.

"Did he save you too, Draco? Sweet tiny little ferret of mine? Did he? Did he?"

"ANSWER ME!!!</i>" he yells at Draco when he doesn’t respond.

Moving his focus from Draco back to Harry, he pants. "The only thing I had to do was wait. Wait until they would all just drop dead." Gesturing his hand at nothing in particular, he moves around the room again, chuckling to himself and mumbling beneath his breath. Harry struggles against his bonds again, trying to get free, trying something, anything to prevent what would be happening otherwise.

"But then Godwin interfered," Crouch continues and for a moment, Harry falls still. Godwin!. "And I had to stop him, of course." Crouch turns back, facing Harry. "He didn’t deserve what he got. The good Pureblood that he is. Poor fellow. Yes… yes, poor lad."

He sniffs and stares at an invisible spot on the wall. "And then she came. Together with that filthy Mudblood." Spit flies out of his mouth as he says the word.

Fear strikes Harry. Victoria! Hermione!

"What did you do to them?!" he wheezes, out of breath because of his struggling, still weak from Draco’s earlier treatment. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HERMIONE!"

"Well, we had to take care of her, of course," Crouch says calmly, still staring at that particular spot on the wall. Harry cranes his neck to see what the man sees, but is unable to spot anything.

"She couldn’t find out." His words are barely audible. "Nobody could. It would all fail if she had."

Swirling around unexpectedly, he raises his wand. "CRUCIO!" he screams at Draco, whose body spasms on the ground.

"STOP IT!" Harry yells at the top of his lungs. "Please!"

Barty laughs. "And why would I do that, Harry, my dear boy?" Contrary to his words, he does release the curse on Draco, who coughs, moans and loses consciousness, and turns towards Harry. "Your sweet little Mudblood friend is dead, Draco is soon going to be dead and then…" He spreads his arms. "Then, Harry Potter, you’ll die, too." His tongue flicks out. "The final revenge for my master."

Harry is seeing red. He pulls his arms away from the bonds, breaking the spell, falls to his knees. Looking up, he sees the man’s eyes go wide, and as he stands up and takes his first step towards him, Crouch aims his wand at Draco’s limp form.

"One more step and the ferret dies."

Harry stands still, calculating his next move.

"Back off, Potter," Crouch spits, voice raw, eyes wide in fear.

Seeing a familiar bush of hair move in the corner of his eye, Harry stays put. Relief washes over him, but knowing it is not yet over, he summons his wand, still.

"I don’t think so," Crouch says before starting: "AVADA -"

"KEDAVRA!!!"

*

As the Aurors come rushing in one by one, taking over quickly but softly consulting with one another, Harry stands still, staring at the scene in front of him. The dead body of Barty Crouch Jr. is lying limp in a corner of the room, his eyes wide and limbs in positions that aren’t possible without breaking or even shattering a bone or two.

Looking over at Draco, he sees a set of four Healers feverishly work on him. He swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, and releases a shaky breath.

Finally he turns, facing Hermione. She’s as pale as a ghost. Her hair is a mess, knotted and sticking out in random places, blood dripping from one of the strands. Her lips are purple, her eyes bloodshot, her clothes ripped. Not sure what to say, he doesn’t say anything.

"Victoria’s dead," she finally breathes. Her voice is hoarse and cracks at the end of the sentence. "Had been dead for a while when I got there, but they were waiting for me." She pauses and swallows audibly. "They tortured me." She says it without emotion, her face ashen, looking over at the dead body of the former Minister.

"You killed a man."

"I killed a dead man."

*

"Just one more," the Healer says as he taps his wand against Draco’s throat. "There, that should do it." Draco inhales as he feels his magic flood back into his body.

"How do you feel?" Harry asks worriedly.

Draco reaches out and grabs Harry’s wand from his back pocket. Harry lets him, curiosity and nerves almost overwhelming him.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Draco says softly and one of the Healer’s quills gets lifted up into the air. Draco gasps, a single tear rolling over his cheek. Annoyed, he rubs it off with the palm of his hand and smiles at Harry, who reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Squeezing, he smiles back.

"Told you."

*

Bowing deeply, Harry enters the office. "Minister," he says.

"I never thought I’d be back here," the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt answers. "No need to bow for me, Harry," he then says. "So tell me, what can I help you with?"

Harry sits down in one of the comfy armchairs facing Kingsley’s desk. He pauses for a moment, not sure what to say, before deciding to keep it clear and simple. "Hermione…"

"Ah," the Minister answers. "Yes, I thought you might come to ask about her." He pauses and looks Harry in the eye before sighing. "She’s fine, my boy. In custody, but fine."

"Where is she?" Harry asks.

Kingsley leans in over his desk and links his fingers together. "She’s downstairs," he says and raises his voice when Harry tries to interrupt. "But not for long."

When Harry doesn’t answer, he continues. "Miss Granger was right when she said that she killed a dead man."

Leaning back in his chair, Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

"The former Minister…" Kingsley pauses, obviously uncomfortable with his own choice of words. "Barty Crouch Jr.," he corrects, "was sentenced to a Dementor’s kiss roughly a decade ago. Miss Granger, however illegal her deed, in my opinion granted him a more merciful fate."

He stands up and Harry, feeling the conversation is over, does the same. "And since I am the Minister for Magic and Head of the Order of the Phoenix, my opinion matters at least a little bit, I think." He winks at Harry before holding out his hand. Harry shakes it once, firmly.

"Thank you," he says. "For everything."

"That’s quite alright," Kingsley answers with a cheeky smile and a sparkle in his eyes. "Now, I think somebody’s waiting for you."

Harry, confused at the statement, turns, and sees Draco waiting for him, leaning in the doorway of the Minister’s office, wand in hand and a smile promising more.

And right then and there, Harry knows all is well with the world again.

~ Fin

Title: Cold Case
Author: lordes
Recipient: winterdaffodils
Pairing: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy
Wordcount: ~16k
Warnings: Uses of the Cruciatus Curse, heavy emotions
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his world nor his husband belong to me.
Summary: Five years after the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt has been replaced as Minister for Magic by Minister Cyneric, who is set on re-opening every single closed Death Eater case. Unfortunately, Draco's name is amongst them, assessed with the highest danger rating possible. Not able to live with the sentence given to him, Draco will have to find a way out of the mess the Minister has created for him and Harry…alive.
AO3: COLD CASE
Author's notes: First and foremost, thank you 'T' for the extreme thorough beta and 'S' and 'S' for all the help! Without any of you this would not have been possible. Also thanks to the Mod for her everlasting patience and smarts.
Dear winterdaffodils, I had so much fun writing this, even when neither Harry nor Draco wanted to work with me. I hope you'll like it!

This piece was originally written for hpholiday's Christmas fest and originally posted HERE.

[Cold Case]

The room is a dark, almost mossy shade of green. Torches are lighting only part of the walls, hiding most faces of the attending Wizengamot members in shadows. One of them, an elderly wizard with a long black beard streaked with grey, nervously clears his throat, while a young blond woman on the other side of the room reshuffles a stack of papers for the second time.

"Reopening the case of Draco Abraxas Malfoy." The man sitting at the head of the table taps the file in front of him once with his wand. He is middle-aged, has dark, shoulder length hair tied in a short ponytail on his back and auburn robes. "Aged 22. Currently residing on 147 Chester Square, London with Mister H.J. Potter. Current case status: dismissed." He swishes his wand once to make the papers float into the middle of the room to stay and circle around each other. "Discussing the new evidence in case number 3094, Gylden Bungard has the floor."

The younger blond woman nervously looks around and swallows audibly in the eerie silence of the room. She picks up the stack of parchment in front of her, her hands shaking so badly she has to put it down for a minute to calm herself. "I don’t think we should do this," she tries, glancing at the Head Auror before trying to find the eyes of her fellow members. "I think we’re making a mistake." Her tone is urgent and serious, yet soft enough it could be considered a whisper.

The room stays silent, not one person present daring to voice their opinion openly with the Head Auror in the room. Orders were clear, orders were strict: every single war case would be reopened, starting with anybody suspected of having been fighting on the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"And why," the Head Auror starts in a bored tone, "would you think this is a mistake, Miss Bungard?" She can’t see it, but can almost hear the cocked eyebrow in his voice. She knows he thinks she is inexperienced, lucky to have got a job so many wanted, so many who, in his eyes, could’ve done a much better job than herself.

"We shouldn’t forget we’re not just dealing with Mister Malfoy," she says. Her hands start shaking again and she curls them into fists in an attempt to control her nerves. "It was Mister Potter himself who pleaded against the Ministry considering Mister Malfoy’s case." The Head Auror stays quiet, staring at her with what looks to her like a very unimpressed expression. When it seems like he is not going to answer her, she tries to continue, but is interrupted.

"The Ministry does not fear Mister Potter, nor his opinion of us," he says. "Do I make myself clear?" He doesn’t wait for an answer before he continues. "The evidence, Miss Bungard."

Gylden looks down at her papers, defeated, and nods once. "I sent each of you a file with the aforementioned evidence, which you have all read by now. The evidence, derived from sources of the Minister for Magic himself, are primary in source, secondary in documentation." She puts down the file she was holding and points her wand at the others still floating in mid-air. A quick flick of her wand has one of them floating above the others, rotating around its own axis. "As we can see in the first document-"

"We’ve all seen the evidence." The elderly man with the dark beard on the other side of the room stands as he speaks. "And I am sure we can all agree it is of the highest importance this case is handled immediately."

"Ezekiel is right," another man says. He is shorter and somewhat chubby with the nose of a pig. He speaks robustly, so much so that spit regularly flies out with every hard consonant. "The evidence, if in case, valid, is rather disturbing indeed."

A woman, probably around her forties, with long red curls, gets up. "Immediate action is required to ensure the safety of the Wizarding World," she says, her face stern.

"That is assuming the evidence that has been found is valid," Gylden says. "According to-"

"I thought we had established the evidence to be valid enough to be used in the Wizengamot trial of Mister Malfoy already?" Aldrin says sarcastically. "I think we are ready to assign a rating to Mister Malfoy." He looks around the room calmly, a determined look in his eyes.

"Anybody in favour of giving Draco Abraxas Malfoy a five-star rating raise your hands, please."

A set of 48 hands are raised, only Gylden’s and a woman’s she didn’t recognised stay down. Their eyes lock, Gylden’s confused, the woman’s sad.

"Adopted." Aldren’s voice rings through the room. "From this day on, Draco Abraxas Malfoy will be guilty of treason against the Ministry of Magic on the account of Death Eater practises and will from now on be guarded under the five-star danger rating." He swishes his wand, and as the papers rotating in the middle of the room come floating back to him he says: "Gentlemen." The Aurors at the door turn and salute. "Immediate repercussion shall be executed." He then looks around the room one last time. "You are dismissed."

As she leaves the room with the rest of the Wizengamot members, Gylden can’t shake off the feeling of having made a terrible mistake today. Something wasn’t right about all of this. Something was definitely not right.

*

The weather is cold and windy as Harry and Draco make their way over to the front door of their old English home. It’s a beautiful home, Harry has to agree, even though it might just be a little too pompous for him. However, his husband seems to love it and it isn’t the Manor, so Harry is okay with it. Not to mention that the view from their living- and bedroom is absolutely amazing.

As they enter they are greeted by their House Elf, Pip. Pip had joined them in their home roughly a year after Harry and Draco had begun living there. She had been fired by her last owner for being too peppy, which Draco had initially mistaken for the word ‘pippy’. This had resulted in the nickname ‘Pip’. It fit her well, and as she was now officially a ‘rescue elf’, Hermione didn’t seem to oppose, which was a good thing for the overall peace, too.

"Master Draco sir has company," she squeaks nervously as Harry puts his scarf and coat on the peg in their hallway. "They is being in the sitting room. Pip has already been giving them tea, sirs."

"Tell them we’ll be in shortly," Draco says and gives the tiny house-elf a quick pet before she walks back into their sitting room, her steps small and hasty.

Harry looks expectantly at Draco. "Were we expecting anybody?"

Draco shakes his head slowly. "Not that I know of," he says before looking back at Harry. "Did she seem extra nervous, somehow?" He hands Harry his coat and scarf which join Harry’s on the peg.

"Doesn’t she always?" Harry asks and smiles, throwing his arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco has been a little paranoid ever since the war has ended, and uninvited strangers in their house is not a good sign in his book, Harry knows. "Everything will be fine," he says. He lets his arm fall from Draco’s shoulders and takes his hand. "Come on, let’s see who’s here for us."

As they enter their sitting room, Harry sees a group of roughly eight Aurors sitting and standing around. Harry recognises maybe a couple of them, but the rest look unfamiliar to him. "Can we help you, gentlemen?" he asks. Draco is partly hiding behind him, not so much that it’s noticeable but just enough for him to feel safe enough around a group of men he doesn’t know personally.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy?" a larger man in dark red robes in the back of the room asks. His black hair is tied back in a short ponytail. Harry recognises him from pictures to be the current Head Auror, but knows nothing else about him.

"Yes?" Draco says insecurely. Harry feels him gripping his hand tighter and squeezes back in reassurance.

The Head Auror moves so swift and unexpected that neither Harry nor Draco have enough time to respond. Harry gets blasted against the far wall of their sitting room as two Aurors corner Draco. A quick spell from the third disarms Draco while a fourth casts a binding spell on Harry’s arms. He screams and a burst of his magic shatters the windows and every single other glass item present in the room. Two more Aurors grab him and hold him down as he watches the Head Auror cast a spell on Draco. A single silvery thread gets shot out of the tip of the Auror’s wand and wraps itself around Draco’s neck. As Draco scrunches his eyes shut tightly, twitching on the floor in pain, the black-haired man unrolls a scroll of parchment.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he begins. "From this day forward you are officially convicted as a former Death Eater and direct threat to our Wizarding Society. Therefore you shall live on, banned from using magic. In case you breach your sentence and the rules which have been laid upon you, you shall be transported to Azkaban for life, immediately."

Harry struggles to get free of the two men still restraining him. "You can’t do this!" he screams. "He was cleared of all charges years ago, you have no right-"

"Spare me your assumptions and accusations," Aldrin says in a bored tone as he lets go of the end of the scroll, which rolls back up. He waves his hand once and the two Aurors let go of Harry’s arms as Aldrin casts a Finite Incantatem. Harry wastes no time, gets up and pulls out his wand. The Head Auror looks at him, annoyance clearly visible on his face.

"Now is not the time for heroes, Mister Potter," he says. "So if you know what’s good for you and your…" he shoots a glance at Draco, "husband," he spits the word out as if it’s something disgusting, "you’ll put your wand away."

Harry is breathing heavily. Anger is soaring through him and as he sees Draco’s unconscious body lying on the ground next to him he is torn between running over to him to make sure he’s okay and ripping out the Head Auror’s throat. He decides on the first, puts his wand away, shoots the Auror a look of pure hatred and rushes over to Draco’s side.

Aldrin chuckles. "See, now that’s a good boy." It comes out in a drawl and even though Harry isn’t looking, he can still hear the smugness present in the man’s voice. He turns to look Aldrin in the eye. "This is not the end of it," he threatens.

"Oh, I don’t doubt it is," Aldrin replies, eyebrow cocked and smug smile visible. He turns and leaves through the front door, the team of Aurors he brought with him following without sparing them as much as a second glance.

*

The Ministry is bustling with life when Harry Apparates inside. The wards crackle around him, protesting against the vile intrusion. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but speaking to the Minister for Magic and setting what has been done straight as soon as possible. People around him give surprised yelps as he so impudently appears in their midst. After all, Apparating within the Ministry or on-or-off Ministry ground has been impossible ever since the demise of Voldemort, and even before that only licenced people could do it.

Harry takes a quick look around, notes the surprised looks and starts walking towards security. The man behind the desk seems very young. His shoulders are hunched in what seems to be almost a permanent shrug, and when Harry approaches him he ducks his head. Harry shoots the lad a dangerous look when he is asked for the registration of his wand and stalks right past him.

When he reaches the lifts they are filled completely with people. However, Harry doesn’t feel like he has time to waste and pulls a man in dark purple robes out of one of them. The man starts to protest, but stops when he sees Harry’s scar.

"Mister Potter," he starts, surprise and shock evident in his voice. The rest of his sentence gets muffled as the doors of the lift violently close on them. An awkward silence hangs in the air as they slowly go down the shaft. Harry cocks his head sideways a couple of times and manages to crack his neck twice. He is angry.

As he stalks towards the Minister’s office a set of two Aurors try to stop him. One of them is older, probably mid thirties, and has an ashen kind of short, blond hair. His robes fit him well and his stance is secure, emitting an aura of authority. The other Auror is smaller, probably only a trainee, has dark brown curly hair and is wearing robes that are at least one size too big on him.

"Halt!" the older of the two calls out as Harry walks right past them. He doesn’t pay the two any attention until he hears the start of the chant for a stunning curse. Harry whirls around, wand at the ready, and blocks the curse without too much trouble.

"Expelliarmus!" he calls out and disarms both of the Aurors facing him at the same time. As he gives them a small salute with their wands, he turns back around and continues his way down to the Minister’s office.

When he enters the oval office the Minister is working at his desk. Harry moves towards it and angrily slams both his hands down onto it.

Unimpressed, the Minister looks Harry straight in the eye, causing Harry to have to swallow away the sudden unexplainable feeling of nausea. "And what can I do for you today, Mister Potter?" he asks.

Harry is fuming now. How dare the man be so calm! "I don’t know what you were thinking," he says, voice raised and nostrils flared, "but you undo what you did right now!"

"Take a seat." The Minister’s calm tone does nothing to ease Harry’s anger and so he refuses. Instead, he raises himself back up, back straight and eyes looking down at the man in front of him.

"If you think you can intimidate me, you are mistaken," the Minister says. "Now what exactly can I help you with?"

Harry gives the man another once over. Minister Cyneric had taken Kingsley’s place after the last elections. Harry has always thought of him as a somewhat peculiar man, and even now the presence of the man has small shivers run down his spine. There is just something off about him, something Harry can’t quite place. It’s almost as if he’d seen the man before somewhere.

"It’s about my husband," Harry says and, when Cyneric doesn’t respond, adds: "Draco Malfoy." Harry takes a deep breath to calm himself down just enough to speak to the Minister in a calm and clear tone. "He was cleared of all charges roughly five years ago. Today, a group of your Aurors came marching in our home with the news that he was once again convicted of Death Eater practices."

Cyneric nods but doesn’t say anything, so Harry continues. "I want this solved. I want the conviction reversed."

"Take a seat, Mister Potter," the Minister repeats while directing his hand at the chair on Harry’s side of the desk. This time Harry obeys, hoping it will at least favor him in getting this problem solved.

Now the Minister stands up and Harry curses inwardly, Auror lesson number one: never give your opponent the idea they are in a more powerful position than you. "You might not be aware," Cyneric starts, "but for the past year or so the Ministry has been going over so-called ‘cold cases’. Cases the last Minister deemed…" Cyneric pauses for a moment. "Unsolvable."

Harry cocks an eyebrow at the man. Draco’s case hadn’t been unsolvable, it had been dismissed.

"Ah," Cyneric continues. "I know what you’re thinking, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy’s case was indeed not necessarily unsolvable. However..." Harry sees him look him up and down once, giving him the chills. There is just something about this man… "the only reason Mister Malfoy was cleared of all charges was because of lack of substantial proof. Proof that has now been found."

"Okay," Harry says, "then I’d like to see such proof."

"Ah, but here’s the problem with that." Cyneric smiles a toothy grin."You gave up that right when you resigned your position as an Auror, Mister Potter."

*

The house is warm and inviting when Harry comes home. The fires are lit, probably by Pip, and there’s a nice melody playing on the wireless. Harry steps out of the fireplace and makes his way through the sitting room area into the hallway. A soft humming in Latin can be heard from upstairs and Harry sighs in relief; at least the Healer is already working on Draco.

The first thing Harry had done when the Auror squad had left was Floo for Hermione. Draco had been unconscious and, unable to wake him up, Harry had panicked. Hermione had wasted no time and had come over straight away, promising Harry to get in touch with a Healer as fast as she could while Harry Apparated away loudly.

When Harry enters their bedroom the Healer looks up and puts his wand down on one of the bedside tables.

"And?" Harry asks worriedly as he shakes the Healer’s hand. He’s seen the man plenty of time before at St Mungo’s. He is a kind man, around his forties, with dark skin and even darker hair.

"He hasn’t shown any other signs of life yet," Healer August says. Harry chokes, his eyes darting from the limp body of his husband to the Healer and back. "Not to worry, Mister Potter," August smiles and reaches out for him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "His body is in shock. With time and rest he’ll be absolutely fine."

Harry nods. "And the spell?" he asks.

"Only time will tell what the exact effects are." August’s face is grim. Dropping his hand from Harry’s shoulder he picks up his wand and casts a nonverbal spell on Draco. Several areas on his body begin to glow instantly.

August hovers his hand over one of the brighter spots. "The magical currents within his body are moving and weak," he says, proceeding further down, "and they all seem to be aiming directly towards where Mister Malfoy was hit with the curse." He flicks his wand and lifts the spell, making the room dim down instantly. "There is really no telling what the end result will be, I’m afraid, Mister Potter.

As the Healer leaves Harry lets himself fall into the big and comfortable chair next to the bed. He closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

"Oh Draco…"

*

"How is he doing?" The words have left her mouth before she’s even properly stepped out of the fireplace. She dusts herself off gracefully and hands her cloak to Pip.

"Thank yous Mistress ma’am," Pip squeaks before running off to put the silky garment away.

Narcissa ignores the elf and stares at Harry, who notices for the first time how old she’s really started to look.

"We don’t know," he says and holds up his hand when he sees Narcissa is about to say something. "Let me finish, Mistress Malfoy." Staying calm is hard. Preferably Harry would be slamming a certain Minister and Head Auror against a few walls or more, but as that isn’t going to help his case any, he decided staying calm was the best way to go for both him and Draco. The one person who needs him most right now.

"Healer August was here yesterday and according to his findings, Draco will be fine. We just don’t know in what way yet."

Narcissa raises her chin defiantly, eyes blazing, reminding Harry that she is not only his husband’s caring mother, but also still a Black by blood and Malfoy by marriage. The one Malfoy who stood against Voldemort’s will and spilled his plans to another man, at that.

"And who exactly were the men who did this to my son?" She almost spits the words in disgust. "I have a right to know. Draco-"

"Needs us by his side," Harry interrupts. He sees Narcissa blink rapidly a couple of times, mouth set in a grim line, probably not used to people cutting her off like that. Sitting down in a huff, she crosses her legs ever so elegantly. "Then at least come to the Manor with me," she says, hands folded in her lap. "He’ll have more room there and infinite resources in potions and Healers. We only have the best of the best, of course."

Harry sighs inwardly, he’d been expecting this request. "I’d rather have him stay here with me," he says and quickly adds: "At least for now. But I’ll ask him what he prefers when he wakes."

"If he wakes," Narcissa says quietly.

"When he wakes. I have the fullest confidence in Healer August," Harry answers.

They sit in absolute silence for a while, the only sound the flames crackling in the big, white marble fireplace. Harry tries to imagine how hard it must be for her - husband in Azkaban for life, her son’s life uncertain and her own future unclear - but fails. The only thing he is capable of feeling right now is his worry for Draco and his anger towards the Ministry.

In the end, it is Harry who breaks the quiet. "Have you heard anything from the Ministry yet?" he asks.

Narcissa shakes her head calmly, eyes on an invisible spot on the far end wall, before looking over at Harry. "No. But neither you nor my son had any warning beforehand either, had you?"

Harry doesn’t say anything as the answer to her question is obvious.

"In any way, it would be unnecessary," she continues. "As far as the Ministry is concerned, I’m safely in my family’s chateau in France." A small smile plays on her lips. "I am safe. For now."

Harry nods, but before he can say any more the fireplace starts blazing again and Hermione steps through. At first she sees only Harry and is about the speak until her eyes find Narcissa’s.

Both women stare at each other for a moment, neither party unwilling to break contact before the other one does. Hermione looks pale, fists clenched tightly. It might’ve been years, but she still can’t be in the same room as Narcissa Malfoy, memories of the war and the Manor still fresh on her mind. Narcissa on the other hand looks rather calm, and a bit solemn.

"I should leave," she says as she gets up. Pip immediately comes running in with Narcissa’s cloak. Again not acknowledging the tiny creature, she puts it on and walks towards the fireplace. "Thank you for your time, Harry," she says before disappearing in the flames. "Take good care of my son."

Hermione opens the bag she’s carrying right away, taking out a set of ten books or so. "I’ve been going over and through every document and book I could find considering Wizarding Law," she says. "But there’s nothing we can do to the Ministry. They have every right to go over these so-called ‘cold cases’."

Harry rakes a hand through his hair, making it stand up in some places before shaking his head. "They can’t do this," he protests. "They can’t just re-open old cases because they’re not agreeing with the old Wizagamot’s verdict!"

"And that’s exactly the problem," she says. "Draco was never cleared, nor voted an innocent man. His case was dismissed due to lack of substantial proof from either side." She pauses to let this information sink in. "Harry, his case was never closed."

*

The big clock above the mantelpiece chimes eleven times as Healer August arrives through the Floo. He dusts off his cloak a bit before taking it off and handing it to Pip. Harry closes one of the many Wizarding Law books he has open on the table and sighs.

"Anything so far?" the Healer asks him. By now they’ve turned into questions of formality, as they both know Harry is unable to find anything and probably never will.

Harry shakes his head. "It all seems perfectly legal what they’re doing, Emanuel."

The Healer nods solemnly. "It is what I feared," he says and walks towards the hallway to go up and see Draco. As he passes Harry he stops and softly lays his big hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing once. "It’ll be okay, son."

When Emanuel has left the room Harry sits back down heavily in his chair. It is time to hire somebody with a little more knowledge. Maybe that’ll get them somewhere.

*

"Draco!" Harry jumps up out of his chair as his husband walks, somewhat shakily, into the kitchen. Draco’s hair is a mess and he’s as pale as a ghost but he’s awake and walking - a huge relief to Harry who’d started to fear he might never wake up. Harry walks around the table and engulfs Draco in one of the tightest hugs he’s ever got.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks after he’s finally let go of Draco.

Draco blinks first a couple of times before swallowing hard and smiling a weak smile with empty, watery eyes. "‘m fine," he says.

Harry’s heart breaks, but as Draco obviously doesn’t want to talk about it now he lets it go. "Can I get Pip to get you anything?" he asks instead, but Draco just shakes his head and sits down at the table, giving the man already sitting there an odd look over.

"Let me introduce myself," the man says as Harry sits back down opposite of him. "My name’s Godwin, attorney Godwin, but you may call me Gregory." He holds out his hand for Draco to shake but when Draco doesn’t move, slides his index finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging nervously at it, before continuing awkwardly. "I have been going over your case for the past few days with Harry here and-"

"Oh," Draco says. "Harry, is it?" He raises his eyebrows curiously at his husband.

Harry bites his tongue and closes his eyes for a second to keep himself calm. Draco’s jealous streak has always been something he finds hard to deal with, but just like Draco’s earlier comment he lets it slide for now.

"And Gregory here thinks we best take another close look at the new evidence the Ministry has suddenly found against you," Harry says.

"Exactly," Gregory adds. "The only way to reverse what has been done is to see if it is indeed valid evidence or not. I heard you were not present at the trial itself?"

Draco shakes his head calmly, still staring the man down.

"Right." Godwin clears his throat. "And were you notified such a trial was in progress at the time?"

Once again Draco doesn’t answer and only raises a single eyebrow.

The attorney looks from Harry to Draco and back before quickly writing something down on the parchment in front of him. "Interesting," he mumbles, mostly to himself, and stares at the wall for a while, lost in thought.

"So, I am assuming here neither of you saw any of the newly found evidence?"

Harry sees Draco roll his eyes, a snide comment probably already on his lips, and cuts in. "We haven’t. We wouldn’t even know what it is they’ve found."

Gregory nods. "Very promising," he says. "You see, if we can somehow prove that the evidence is, in fact, not valid, then they’ll once again have to dismiss the case."

"Ending us right back where we started," Draco says now, leaning in and letting his arms rest on the table in front of him. "We got in this mess in the first place because my case was, apparently..." He glances at Harry, "dismissed. They’ll just reopen it again."

"And that is where you are wrong," Godwin says with a smug smile. "Not only can evidence never be re-used after falsification, the Wizengamot will have to come up with proof for themselves as to not only get Draco’s case dismissed, but to prevent him from being cleared of all charges. Standard procedure." He leans back in his chair.

"All charges?" Draco says, leaning in, interest piqued.

"All charges," Godwin answers.

*

Harry comes walking down the stairs when he hears a loud crash in the sitting room area.

"Draco!" he calls out as he rushes down the stairs, jumps off the the last couple of steps and sprints into the room.

Entering, he finds Draco frozen and dumbfoundedly staring at the remains of a mug of tea on their hard wooden floor.

"What happened?" Harry asks as he walks over to his husband, whips out his wand and vanishes the shards and cold liquid away.

"I just wanted to make it hover," Draco says, voice small, "while grabbing a book." He holds out the book as if to show him he isn’t lying. "And it just fell." He looks back up at Harry now, eyes big and eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "It just fell," he repeats. "Just… fell."

Draco’s breathing quickens as panic rises in his throat. He closes his eyes and Harry sees he is trying to calm himself down but losing the battle with what he imagines must be the memories of what happened with the Aurors. Harry steps closer and wraps his arms around his husband. "It’ll be alright," he chants. "Everything will be alright."

As they sit down for tea later that day, a big tawny owl taps its beak against the window impatiently. Harry sees Draco get up, but stops him with a hand on his arm. "I’ll get it," he says. "It’s probably a letter from Gregory." He opens the windows and a cold breeze comes in, making him shiver. "He told me he would get in touch the moment he’d find something," he says and gives the owl a small treat before quickly closing the window again. "I guess he did." He waves the envelope a couple of times before sitting back down and opening it.

The letter is short and simple, written on a ripped off piece of paper rather than official letter parchment, the handwriting hasty and almost illegible.

"He says there’s something majorly wrong with the evidence," Harry says. "He went to investigate, but ensures us it’s great news and will stop by tomorrow afternoon."

"That’s all?" Draco says, copying Harry’s confusion.

Harry nods and folds the bit of parchment back up. "I guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow."

*

Harry scrunches his brow as he stares at an invisible spot on the wall, fork in mid-air and mashed potatoes slowly falling off it.

"Care to share?" Draco says and puts a forkful of his own mashed potatoes in his mouth.

Harry hums under his breath once before tearing his gaze away from the wall and shaking his head a couple of times. "Just wondering what he could’ve found, ‘s’all," he says while putting his fork back down for a new bite. He pokes away at his vegetables before looking back up at Draco. "Are you sure you don’t have any idea?"

To his amazement Draco slams his fork down on the table, throws the napkin from his lap on his plate and gets up. "I’m done here," he says before storming off.

"Draco!" Harry calls out after him, hastily putting his own napkin down as well and following his husband’s footsteps up into the bedroom. Draco is pacing, hands clenched tightly into fists and face dark.

Harry hovers in the doorway for a while, waiting for Draco to spot him, but is ignored.

"Draco- "

"No," Draco interrupts, turning towards Harry. "You think you’re helping, but you’re really not, you know that?"

Harry opens his mouth to respond but Draco cuts him off before he’s even had the chance to start talking.

"Do you think I know what he possibly could’ve found as evidence against me? Because if I do I might as well confess to the whole thing right now!" he says, angrily throwing his arms up in the air and raking his hands through his hair.

"Draco I wasn’t -" Harry starts.

"YES YOU WERE!" Draco screams. "It’s been like this all day and yesterday since that bloody letter arrived." He huffs disdainfully. "Draco, do you know what this could be? Draco, do you have any idea? Draco, think, what could he have found? Well, I don’t know what it could’ve been, Harry, but obviously you think I do!"

He spreads his arms as if to make a point, knocking over a vase filled with flowers from the dresser in the process. Before either of them can react it has fallen onto the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Draco curses, holds out his hand and falls completely still.

Harry, wand already in hand to fix the vase, realises only a second too late what it was that his husband was trying to do. He walks over to Draco and softly puts his hand on his back. Draco looks pale, almost sickly so, mouth set into a firm grim. Harry opens his mouth to say something and sees Draco clench his open hand back into a fist, turning his head away from him. After giving Draco a reassuring pat on the back, Harry nods once and leaves the room.

As he gets back into the kitchen Pip hurriedly comes up to him. "Is Master Draco sir going to bees okay, sir?" she asks, concern clear in her voice, eyes big and round as she stares up at Harry.

Harry kneels down and pats her on the head. "He’ll be okay," he says as he ruffles her ears. She scrunches up her eyes and lets out a soft giggle. "And Mister Harry Potter sir? Can Pip do anything to makes him feels better?"

"No, that’s quite alright, Pip," Harry says and stands back up. Before he’s out of the room he turns back around. "On second thought," he says and sees Pip already starting to nod, making him smile. The eager house-elf she is, she’s always trying to find ways to make her owners feel at home. Or well, employers, that should be, as Pip is always wearing clothes of the most expensive brands and highest couture, Draco would see to that. Right now she’s wearing a soft yellow and white ruffled dress with a big bow around her neck, tied in front. Harry had laughed the first time Draco had showed it to him, convinced he’d just robbed a doll shop from the eighteen hundreds, but Pip had fallen in love with it at first sight. This meant that, technically, she was a free elf, even when she wasn’t accepting any payment other than pretty dresses, ruffled socks and shoes so polished Harry could almost use them as a mirror.

"I’ll do the dishes tonight." He sees her look at him in confusion. "It’ll give me something to keep me distracted with for now."

*

Harry jumps as the clock strikes midnight. After the dishes he’d laid down on the big sofa in the library and had closed his eyes for just a minute, which had turned out to be closer to a few hours. He blinks and stretches, looking around for Pip or Draco. When neither of them seem to be around he calls for the house-elf.

"Did anybody Floo in while I was sleeping?" he asks her when she pops into the room.

Pip shakes her head, making her ears flop around. "No. Was sir expecting somebody?"

Harry looks back at the clock, checking the time again. It really is midnight. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to think. "I," he starts but pauses and looks back at the elf. "Yes, but it’s okay." He smiles at her. "I’ll be going to bed now, Pip, can you take care of the candles?"

"Of course, Mister Harry Potter sir!" she happily squeaks. "Good night!"

"Good night, Pip."

When Harry enters the bedroom Draco is already in bed with the lights turned off. When he carefully lifts the covers and gets, into the bed Harry feels Draco’s body stiffen next to him. He waits for him to turn and say something, but when nothing happens, Harry decides to leave him be for now.

He places a soft kiss on Draco’s shoulder as he lies down and closes his eyes, deciding he’ll Floo Godwin in the morning.

*

When Harry opens his eyes the next morning he notices that the other half of the bed is already empty. He stretches, tiredly rubs his hands over his face and gets out of bed. Tying his dressing gown on the way down, he hears somebody rummage in the library. He takes a few steps towards the sound before he hears Draco curse loudly. That convinces him it’s probably a better idea to leave the library alone right now and turns to go make them a nice cup of hot tea before trying.

Entering the library, now with a tray containing a big teapot filled with cinnamon-apple tea and two cups, he notices Draco propped up against one of the many bookshelves, reading a big, dusty, leather-bound book. As the light of the morning sun comes in through one of the bigger windows it hits Draco, revealing the odd shimmer that is the spell. Harry notes to himself that, however ironic it might be, it looks rather beautiful.

"Hey," he says as he sits down in front of Draco and hands him one of the cups.

Draco looks up at him and gives Harry a small smile as he accepts the tea. "Hi."

"Wait," Harry says as he sees Draco carefully raise the cup to his lips. Taking out his wand, he casts a soft cooling charm on it, just enough to make it drinkable, getting a soft ‘thank you’ from Draco.

"So what are you reading?" Harry tries, happy that Draco has apparently calmed down enough to not feel the urge to start yelling at him again.

Draco shrugs. "Just some magic things," he says as he pushes the book away from Harry, who reaches over and grabs it anyway. Draco lets his head fall back against the bookcase and closes his eyes with a sigh.

"You make it very hard for me not to strangle you," he mumbles, and Harry laughs softly in response.

However, that laugh quickly disappears as he looks down at the title and reads Squibs and Magic: How, What and Why? by Elina Burstrow. Harry swallows audibly and puts the book back where Draco had pushed it to.

"It’ll be alright," he says softly, and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s talking to Draco or himself.

Draco doesn’t seem to notice and opens his eyes again. "You think?" he asks and, not waiting for an answer, continues, "I don’t exactly have a lot of faith in your Godwin friend."

Harry takes a sip from his tea before answering. "You just don’t like him," he says. "And you’re not exactly keeping an open mind towards him."

"It’s not him, Harry," Draco says. "Well, maybe a bit." Harry smiles into his cup. "But let’s face it: I might be Harry Potter’s husband, but above anything else I am and will always be a Malfoy in the eyes of the Ministry."

"Draco," Harry begins but hesitates, not sure what to say.

"Let’s not argue. At least not for today," Draco says and Harry nods. "What did he say?"

"He didn’t show," Harry says and, when Draco cocks an eyebrow at him quickly adds, "I was on my way to Floo him when I heard you in here."

"I wonder what kind of excuse he’ll have," Draco muses as he picks his book back up.

"I’m not sure," Harry says and puts his hand on the book’s cover, preventing Draco from opening it. "But I’m sure it’ll be valid." He pushes his hand down firmer when he feels Draco trying to open it anyway. "I trust him Draco," he continues. "And I suggest you try to do the same. Now, don’t read things you shouldn’t be reading and I’ll be right back."

"Hmf," is the only response Harry gets as he gives him a quick kiss on the forehead before getting up and leaving the room.

Roughly ten minutes later, Harry sits back on his heels and closes the Floo with a swish of his hand. As the green flames turn back into their red and orangy state he sighs, letting his head hang for a while. Neither Godwin nor his house-elf are answering his calls. Worry is slowly creeping up on him; what could’ve caused his sudden absence?

"He didn’t answer," he says as he sees Draco look up hopefully when he re-enters the library. He closes the double doors behind him softly as Draco rakes a hand through his hair, and then another, turning towards the window. Immediately the curse around his neck starts to shimmer again. Harry walks towards him and, kneeling down, softly strokes the line with his fingers.

"It really is quite beautiful, you know," he says, giving his husband a small smile.

"Beautiful?!" Draco says. "Well, lucky me, then. I might not have my magic anymore, but at least I’m beautiful. Thank you Harry." He closes his book and Harry notices the tremor in his hands.

"Since when are you hands shaking?" Harry asks and drops his own.

"Huh?" Draco says before looking down. "Oh." He shakes his head quickly. "It’s nothing, they’ve been like that for a couple of days now. Probably just the stress."

Harry scowls but says nothing.

"I’m going to see Hermione for a bit, care to join me?" he asks after a while.

"No, thanks," Draco answers, clenching his hands in a futile attempt to make the shaking appear a little less.

"You’ll be okay on your own then?"

Draco nods and stares out of the window again, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

"Okay then," Harry says and after softly squeezing Draco’s shoulder, gets up and leaves.

When he closes the library doors behind him once more, he pretends he doesn’t hear a heavy book being slammed against one of the bookshelves.



PART 2

Title: Follow Your Dreams - Part 1
Author: lordes
Character(s): George Weasley, Fred Weasley
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Canonical character death, non-canonical character death, dealing with the loss of a twin, strong emotions, depression, implied suicidal thoughts.
Wordcount: 12300
Summary: After Fred’s death, George loses his will to live. Nothing seems important anymore until he has a dream. A dream about Fred. They start ‘meeting’ more frequently and George seems to have come back from the dead. Until a worse fate befalls him.
AO3: FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS
Author’s notes: Without masterde this piece would’ve never been written. He was my bunny, even though he might not have realised it. So thank you for that, Pup. Also, thanks to queeniemab for all her patience with me and for lordhellebore for the fantastic beta read. ♥

This piece was originally written for hp_darkarts' Shadow of the Season fest and originally posted HERE.

[Follow Your Dreams]

Loud banging on the door violently wakes George up. In his hurry to get out of bed to open his front door he gets stuck in his duvet, trips and falls flat on his face, arms still too busy trying to get rid of the blankets around his feet. He groans just as he hears a familiar voice yell at him.

"George! George, are you okay?"

"M’fine," George manages to yell back at Bill, whom he can now hear walking through his living room towards his bedroom. The door opens just as George manages to sit up.

"What?" he asks, annoyed at the sudden interruption of his dream, if that is what you could call last night. He rubs his hands over his face, combs one of them through his hair a couple of times and gets up, throwing the blankets back onto his bed.

"What?" Bill repeats. "It’s 11am and Wheezes is still closed, that’s what."

George grunts once and makes his way to the door and grabs the keys to the shop. By doing so he notices the reflection of a very recognisable redhead following him, making him sigh in relief. Fred is still there.

"Here," he says as he throws the keys at Bill. "Open the shop for me, will you? I’ll be down in a minute, I just want to take a quick shower."

Not giving his brother enough time to think of some sort of smart reply, George rushes through the bathroom door and closes it behind him. He turns on the shower and while the steam of the warm water fills the small room, he sees Fred appear in the mirror on the far end wall.

"You know," he starts, "for a minute there I was worried you wouldn’t be here anymore." He takes his shirt off and throws it on the pile next to the sink. It is starting to grow bigger than it, and he admits it is probably time to do his laundry soon. Sometimes he wishes he was still living at home, if only for the convenience of freshly washed clothes every single Sunday.

"It’s silly, of course," he continues as he takes his bottoms off, too. "There is no reason you would disappear now, not after last night."

George pauses for a moment, naked, holding the shorts he just took off in his hand. He smiles a quick smile before throwing them, too, on the pile, adding just enough for it to slowly topple over and spread over his floor.

"Great," George mumbles as he kicks his dirty clothing back together until he decides the pile looks pile-ish enough again.

He jumps into the shower and grabs the bottle of shampoo before realising something. "Where do you go, anyway, when I’m not around to provide you with a reflection?" He sticks his head out of the shower curtain again, not looking directly at the mirror but still noticing Fred in it. "Do you just disappear for a while, or don’t you need me at all?" he says as he smiles again. "Maybe I’m just imagining things." He slowly combs his hands through his now shampooed hair. "Maybe you’re never truly gone." George pauses, staring at the wall in front of him for a while, lost in thought. Shrugging the odd sensation off, he continues the thorough cleaning of his hair.

"You know," he calls out a little louder than is maybe necessary. "I actually thought I was crazy for the first five minutes I saw you." He pauses as if giving Fred the chance to reply, but when nothing comes, he continues. "I’m happy I know now I’m not."

*

He finds Bill behind the registry, taking an order of an elderly man for what sounds like his grandson’s birthday party, and decides to give them both some space while he does his round through the shop. Bill is obviously capable enough to handle it himself. He makes his way through the crowd, shaking hands here and there, waving at the always familiar person and is about to walk up the flight of stairs leading to the second floor when he notices his mother waving at him from behind a group of people forming an impenetrable wall.

"Excuse me," he hears her say. "Yes, yes, excuse me, dear. Thank you. Yes, thank you." George notices her arms are filled with stuff, making him chuckle. His dear old mother will probably never change.

As she reaches him she hands him every single lotion, Puff and potion that she is carrying and gives him three solid kisses on his cheeks before planting one on his forehead. "It’s so good to see you again," she says. "It’s been too long already."

George laughs loudly this time. "Mum, I think Bill would like me to relieve him now, he’s been here since 11."

"As have I," she says as she tries to wipe an invisible smudge off his nose. "He’ll be fine. Now, I think it’s time to buy your mother a nice cup of hot tea."

*

"I’ll have you know we were all so very worried," his mother says as she takes a small sip from her cup. They have settled in one of the cozy tea rooms in Diagon Alley, not too far from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The interior is a soft pink, strangely reminding him of Umbridge and leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth every time he drinks from his tea.

"And obviously everybody grieves in their own way, we all had to, too," she continues. "But you…" She pauses and puts her hand over his . He notices how old it looks. Sometimes he still sees her in the same way she looked like when he and Fred were young children. She would bounce around the house, make sure they were well fed and dressed warmly enough, and often sing along horribly with old radio songs. He smiles at the memory of her, and of him and Fred. Fred…

"I can’t take much credit, though," George says before his mother is able to continue her story. "It’s mostly been Fred. Without him I’d still be hiding away in my flat." He looks up at her and sees her blinking away at her tears.

"Sweetheart," his mother starts off carefully. She pets his hand twice before softly squeezing it. "You know Fred is gone, right?"

"Oh, but he isn’t," he says, smiling a big toothy grin, and this time it is his turn to squeeze his mother’s hand reassuringly. "He’s here, mum, right here. He always is."

For a minute they are both silent. George does not understand. Why is his mother not happy? He would have jumped at the opportunity if somebody had told him they had a way for him to be reunited with his brother.

"We all carry him in our hearths with us, Georgie," she says after a while. "And… and I’m happy that’s given you the strength you needed to move on."

*

As George enters his flat the first thing he notices is the reflection following him from the corner of his eye. He takes off his jacket and angrily throws it on the dark auburn couch as the memory of his mother’s words rings through his head.

"Fine, then she doesn’t understand." He huffs as he lets himself fall back on the same couch he threw his jacket on and lets his head fall back onto the backrest. "See if I care." It comes out in a mumble.

As the light slowly moves through his room and Diagon Alley grows quiet once more, he sits back up and rakes a shaking hand through his hair.

"I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. It’ll just be our secret."

He waits, knowing Fred will not answer but still hoping, deep down inside, that he might. It has happened before, and so it could happen again.

"It’s just the two of us, now."

*

The sound of a vaguely familiar song ushers George to open his eyes and when he does, he notices he is back on the red-bricked road. For a minute he stands still and closes his eyes again, taking in the melody of the song, but it just doesn’t click. He sighs and turns, expecting to see Fred, but finding an empty road instead.

"Fred?" he calls out insecurely as he skims the houses around him. They are all just as dark as the night before. One by one he looks them over, almost expecting to see somebody move through one, a light going on or a door creaking in its hinges, opening to let his brother through.

"You were always the impatient one."

George, not unlike last time, spins so fast towards the sound of the voice he feels a little dizzy.

"Calm now, brother," Fred says. "I’m not going anywhere just yet."

"Yet?" George repeats in a small voice. Is he leaving already? So soon?

"It is nothing to worry about for now." Fred smiles at him and sits down. "Don’t you recognise the song?"

George looks over his shoulder into the direction of the café before looking back at Fred, following his lead and sitting down, the stones surprisingly comfortable. He sits there for a while, the soft and distant tune of the flute giving him goosebumps. Shaking his head he looks back up at his brother. He had not noticed it before, but Fred is wearing the old Weasley Christmas jumper. It is a dark red with a big yellow ‘F’ knitted into it. There are loose threads hanging from his sleeves and his jeans look two sizes too big on him. He does not look anything like the Fred whom he had to say goodbye to not too long ago. No, he looks like the old Fred. His Fred. The Fred from his memories.

"It’ll come to you," Fred says. "You’ll remember."

*

The air feels unusually cold when George awakes. Getting up he grabs his morning robe and wraps it tightly around himself. He shivers, opens the thick, long dark blue curtains keeping out the light from his bedroom and notices the snow. The whole of Diagon Alley is wrapped in a perfectly unblemished white blanket. Not one roof has been missed and the streets, still empty, giving a spectacular view.

As he walks into his living room and lits his fireplace with a flick of his wand, he thinks of what he will be doing for Christmas for the first time that year. Normally he and Fred would make sure their whole family would be well provided with nice food, a tree and presents for everybody.

"Maybe this year we could celebrate it together, just the two of us?" George asks and realises that right now, he would do anything to be able to touch him again even for just a brief moment. He thinks back to Harry and Ginny holding hands and balls his hand into a fist. If only he could hold his hand!

He decides he should ask Fred tonight. What had he said again? Something about the Universe and them not being able to touch yet. Always with the yet. He wants to know what it means already. Shaking off the feeling of uncomfortableness he stretches his back, greets the familiar move of Fred’s reflection in the mirror and makes his way to the bathroom for his morning shower while his flat slowly warms up through the hot flames of the freshly lit fire.

*

As George walks up to Fred and sits down as usual he notices the song is still playing in the background. The tune soothes him and by the time he is on the ground facing Fred, he has completely forgotten about his original question. Instead he notices another rather peculiar thing about the road they are on. It is so alike Diagon Alley, but so unlike it at the same time. Something is missing.

"There’s no snow," he points out and wonders if the place where he is now is really that much different from the place at home.

"Do you want it to snow?" Fred asks as the first snowflake softly lands on George’s nose. He looks up. The normally clear sky and stars have been replaced by dark clouds and one by one, more snowflakes start to appear around them. George holds out one of his hands and catches another flake before slowly closing his fingers around it. It melts almost instantly, yet George feels no cold.

"Only you can answer your question, brother," Fred says as he takes a strand of his hair between his fingers and pulls out one of the white crystals. "They are quite beautiful, if I may say so myself."

George is too mesmerised by the snow to answer right away. He should feel cold, he should feel wet, but neither of those things could be less true. He is just as comfortable and warm as he was before this world too turned as white as the highest mountain peak.

"Ah," he hears his brother say. "It appears we have run out of time already."

Soft orange and yellow shades appear on Fred’s face, making his already warm brown eyes look even warmer in the early morning light of the rising sun.

"It is time to wake up."

*

"How am I supposed to answer my own questions?" George lets out a frustrated groan as he takes another futile attempt at straightening his bedding. Giving up, he throws his pillows carelessly on there - not that it matters right now anyway, the bed already looks messy enough as it is - and leaves his bedroom.

"You know, as happy as I am having you back, I am as upset with you as I’ve ever been." He grabs the keys to the shop and is about to leave when he stops. Something is not right. The same uncomfortable feeling he got the day before overtakes him instantly and he turns, wand at the ready. As a shiver runs down his back; he moves through the living room, bedroom and pushes open the door to the bathroom. It’s empty.

It’s empty…

He takes another few steps towards the mirror, but nothing changes. The reflection he sees is still only his own.

*

"Where were you yesterday? And the day before?" George asks the moment he sees Fred appear. His feet left prints from where he opened his eyes to where he walked, but apart from that the snow is as white and untouched as when the sun came up the last time he had been there.

"Right here," Fred says. "Right where you want me to be."

"Do I?" George asks him, still frustrated and now also a little bit disappointed. The realisation of Fred no longer following him around had felt like a slap in the face. Lost and alone, he had not been able to open the shop, had ignored the floos from his worried friends and family and had hid in his room, waiting for night to fall.

"I am only where you imagine me being, brother." Fred moves a bit closer and sits down, expecting George to do the same, who refuses. "If that is in your reflection, watching over you, it is where I’ll be. If that is here," he spreads his arms as to make clear where exactly ‘here’ is, "this is where I’ll be waiting."

"Can’t you be in two places?" George notices how his voice almost sounds like a whine and shuts himself up immediately. Thorn between gratefulness and wanting more he starts pacing, no longer caring about keeping the blanket of snow pure. He does not know what he would want more anymore: having his time with Fred at night, talking, but having to spend his days in solitude, or having Fred by his side forever, never once being alone, but no longer being able to speak with him. Not that it matters, Fred is not exactly answering many of his questions.

"Do you want me to be in both places?"

There he goes again. George angrily kicks at the snow, but sees it has completely disappeared. Not sure if he should ask the futile question of where the snow has disappeared to or tell Fred he has had enough of him answering his questions with more questions, he sees the sun appear on the horizon. He looks at Fred, who smiles at him. While his gaze wanders back to the warm morning sky he wonders why the nights seem to grow shorter and shorter every single time he visits.

He turns to ask, but Fred has already gone. George sighs, hiding his hands in his pockets and poking at the road with the tip of his shoe before closing his eyes. It is time to wake up.

*

It is a Sunday, so the shop stays closed today. Stretching out in his bed he sighs contently, enjoying the warmth of his blankets and many pillows for just a little bit longer. When the sound of the owl delivering the Sunday Prophet appears, he decides it is time to get up.

He gives the owl a Knut and a quick treat before sending it back off into the cold weather. It is snowing again, and the sky is grey with thick, heavy clouds. One of the flakes lands on his nose and when he wrinkles it automatically in response to the cold, he smiles. It is a true smile, a smile of pure happiness and contentment. Of the memory of a precious moment with Fred.

With a happy sigh he closes the window and shuts the curtains again. There is no need for the day to begin just yet, so he walks over to his living room, lights a fire and sits down in his most comfortable chair. Being a little wet from the snow, the paper crunches loudly when he opens it, and so drowns out the crackling the fire makes when the head of his mother appears in it.

"And a very good morning to you too."

George nearly jumps out of his chair. "Mum, I hadn’t heard you… arrive," he says, folding the paper back up. He will be saving that for later, as he does not have any plans for the day anyway.

"I was wondering about your plans for Christmas, and if we’ll be seeing you this year," his mother says carefully.

George chokes. He knows exactly why she is being so careful. This will be their first Christmas without Fred.

"We’ll see, mum," he starts, "but I can’t make any promises." He smiles uncomfortably, swallows past the lump in his throat and nervously rakes a hand through his hair. "I erm… we’ll see, okay?"

"Of course dear," Molly quickly says. "It’s all fine."

When the floo disconnects Fred lets out a breath he had not even realised he had been holding. Christmas at the Weasleys will be one big couple fest, and George is not sure if he is quite ready for that. To watch them together, love, touch, hold hands. He really only wants to take Fred, hold his hand; even just thinking about a possible plus one makes him feel nauseous with betrayal. He could not possibly take anybody else than Fred, could he?

*

Fred is not there yet when he opens his eyes, but it is okay. George came here with a mission today: he wants answers. First and foremostly to the question of why they cannot touch. It does not even need to be a real hug. Just hands, just for a little while.

There was no snow when he left, and there still is none when he returns. The mysteriousness of the place appeals to him in a way that he wants to peel off its layers one by one and discover all its well hidden secrets. He has always had a knack for that.

A loud thud and the breaking of glass coming from the café startles George to the point that when Fred arrives next to him, he has, once more, forgotten the one question he set out to ask.

As his brother halts besides him, not even a mere metre away, he copies George’s stand. Hands in the pockets of his trousers, legs spread just a little bit, staring off into the distance.

"I’ve been wondering about that place," George says, and Fred hums in approval. "It’s the only lit place around here."

Fred says nothing, just stands there next to him with that goofy, all-telling smile.

"I always think of going there, but whenever I take a step or two, you seem to appear." George pauses as another loud burst of sound comes from the open door of the place.

"Can we go there?" he finally decides to ask.

"Can we?" Fred answers in return.

"Can’t we?" George says.

Fred gives no answer and they stand together in total silence for a while until, somehow, George gets the uncomfortable feeling of morning approaching and decides it is time to press for one.

"How come you’re never answering any of my questions?" he asks, gaze firmly locked onto the lit house instead of brother. He does not want to know if Fred is smiling, or if that mysterious smile he loves as much as he hates it has disappeared by now. When he finally gets an answer it is one he was expecting, yet still finds himself oddly disappointed.

"I only have the answers you have, brother."

George huffs. However much he would like to start a discussion with Fred right now, he knows his efforts would be futile. Questions would be evaded, answers vague and untelling, and the whole thing would only lead to more frustration and bitterness on his part.

Maybe he should, though. Maybe he should just start that argument. Or at least try to. If that is the only way to make Fred realise how much George really needs him right now and how little he is giving, no matter how much of that little he already is giving.

His thoughts lead him, and before he knows it he sees the sun come up, the lights in the café go out and the familiar voice of his brother next to him telling him it is time to wake up.

*

George goes through the same routine he goes through each and every single morning. He wakes up, stares at the ceiling for a while trying to make sure he will never forget his times with Fred, as precious as they are now, lifts himself out of bed, makes his bed, showers, eats and spends his day working at the shop looking for reflections of himself that are just that little bit off, indicating he is not alone.

It is so very tiring, especially with Fred being the way he is now. He just wants to be with him, feel normal again, feel alive. Hold his hand as they talk about times past and futures that will never be, and the only thing Fred does is avoid questions.

It is all he does.

*

The song starts playing again and even though George is conscious, he refrains from opening his eyes just yet. It calms him greatly, the soft tones of the flute making small shivers run down his spine. He remembers Fred telling him he is supposed to know this song, but once again keeps drawing blanks. Not that it matters; it is a nice enough song to enjoy, no matter if he should recognise it or not, however familiar it may sound.

After a while of just lying on the somewhat too comfortable stones he starts to worry. Fred would have normally showed up by now. The sun is long gone, the café is once again full of life and the cold air makes his breath come out in tiny, white clouds. As he sits up his back gives a satisfied pop; he really must have been lyying there a while.

Minutes pass and by the time another hour has gone by George gets scared. Where is Fred? He stands up and looks around himself. The houses near him are all as dark and locked up as they have ever been and the road heading away from the café ends in nothingness.

"Fred?" he tries carefully, voice raised only a little, but when nobody answers, he raises it fully.

"FRED!"

Nothing. Fred is not there.

George’s breathing quickens. Fred cannot be gone. Not now, not after everything. He has to come, he has to be here. He turns, looks around him, sees nothing, turns again and looks more. As he slowly loses himself in a desperate attempt to stay calm and find his brother, a loud crash, followed by a loud laughing that almost sounds melodious to George’s ears, sounds from the café.

The café! George thinks of their conversation from the other night and recalls the answers he got from Fred.

"Yes," he says, "why can’t we?"

The laughing stops and as the song grows loud in the deserted street he starts walking. Eyes set on the house at the end of the road, he put his hands in his pockets and a firm determination in his step; he shall reach that café. For a minute he wonders if there will be others there, long lost family members, friends. His mind lingers on Severus Snape for a second and he shivers. What would he do if he were to walk into that man? What would he even say? Thank you for being an ass? He smiles to himself as he imagines the look on the face of his old professor. Not that it matters, really. All that matters is that Fred is there.

Hopefully.

Letting out a shaky breath George has to admit that the café does not look that much closer than it did when he started walking. Of course, it is hard to estimate a distance when it is dark, but an odd kind of worry creeps up George’s spine and will not let go. He quickens his pace, which is now close to jogging, but the strange sensation of something not being right does not go away.

He finally starts sprinting when he sees the first ray of light slowly peek over the horizon. It hits his eyes, forcing him to avert them and making him trip. He catches himself with his hands, does not waste time and pushes back up again, never losing speed. George is not sure what the café holds in store for him, he does not know if he will like it, hell! he does not even know if Fred will really be there, but for some unknown reason reaching that house before morning is the only thing on his mind.

The sun gets brighter, and by the time it has completely risen above the horizon George stops running. He rests his hands on his thighs and hangs his head, trying to calm his breathing. The longer he stands there and the higher the sun gets the harder it is for him to keep his eyes open. George yawns and stretches before rubbing one of his eyes with his palm. The café is clearly visible down the road. George blinks heavily. Down the road?

Before his eyes close a last time he looks down, and sees he has not moved forward by a single stone yet again.

*

George is silent when he wakes up. He does not talk to Fred, does not even look if he is there. When he opens the shop and his customers start flooding in, he keeps to the background. Today is not the day for small talk.

With the day staying relatively uneventful, he manages to call it an early night and closes Wheezes back up before the sun has even set. As he quietly walks up to and through the old door to his flat he hangs the keys next to the frame on the little iron hook, takes off his shirt, shoes, trousers and socks and crawls back into bed.

That night, George does not dream.

*

Days go by, and without dreams or Fred to keep George sane he slowly falls back into his old rhythm. Dishes stack, food goes left uneaten, and the only reason George still opens his shop every morning is because he does not want to let a last chance to see Fred again slip through his fingers. Maybe one day Fred will come back, and when he will, George knows it will be in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The last ones to leave at the end of another day of forced smiles and faked enthusiasm are a man and a woman. As George wishes them a safe journey home, holding open the door for them, he sees the man grab the woman’s hand and squeeze it softly before smiling at her with a look that speaks of moments shared and love lived. It takes every bit of willpower George still has left in his body not to slam the door of the shop in their faces.

"Would it really have been that hard to just reach out once, brother?"

They are the first words George has spoken to Fred since his disappearance. He hates himself for giving in, knowing full well he is merely talking to the empty walls and filled shelves of his shop. He had told himself not to talk to his brother for a while, not after what he did, but now that the words have started flowing it is as if he cannot stop anymore.

"Would it really have been that disastrous? Would it really have killed you to just hold my bloody hand?" He is screaming the words now, voice raw with regret and magic bouncing all over the place, making many a window of the shop shimmer and vibrate with tension.

"Why can’t you, Fred? Why can’t you just hold my hand?!"

"You tell me."

The voice comes as unexpectedly as it had the first time Fred had talked to him. George gasps. "Because of the Universe. It doesn’t… You said it was impossible."

"In your sleep, yes," Fred says.

George does not answer. So they cannot touch in his sleep, but during the day he cannot even look Fred in the eye without having him disappear, so what…

His eyes go wide as a breeze on the first floor has one of the curtains wave erratically, casting odd shadows on the floor.

"The veil," George whispers.

*

One would expect the Ministry of Magic to increase their security levels right after a war, but sadly, nothing is less true.

The perks of being a war-hero, George thinks as he makes his way from Kingsley's office back to one of the big fireplaces in the atrium of the Ministry.

It had not taken him long to convince Minister Shacklebolt to give him access to the Department of Mysteries. In fact, it had taken him no time at all. The Minister had agreed as soon as George had thrown the question on the table, or well, in this case Kingsley’s desk.

Not that George is complaining in any way, but he could almost smell the pity in his older friend’s answer and that does not sit well with him at all. He does not need pity, from anybody. Not even from Fred.

Just a little longer, brother, he thinks while he speaks the words to his flat and green flames take him away. Just a few more nights.

*

He wraps his jacket a little tighter around himself as he snuggles into the fur-lined collar. There is a young boy on the corner of the street selling the newspaper of the day as owls scoop down and, dropping a Knut or two, grab one from his hands. George tosses him a Knut himself and as he accepts the paper the boy hands him he hears him say: "A very Merry Christmas to you, Sir."

George smiles. It has been too long since the world felt anything like close to normal, and even though it still does not, Christmas has a way of lifting everyone's spirits up a notch or two.

"Happy Christmas to you too, kid," he answers, winking. He sticks the newspaper between his arm and body, puts his gloved hands back into his pockets and makes his way over to one of the many decorated shops on Diagon Alley. There are three things on his ‘to-do’ list today. First he will make sure he buys all the right presents for the right people, including Fred. Then he will pay his brother a quick visit, and last but not least he will attend his family’s Christmas dinner later that day. When he had told his mother he would be coming over she had pretended not to be surprised, but to George the relief in her voice had been obvious.

This Christmas might not be so bad at all.

*

The Ministry is mostly empty when George enters. There is still the random Ministry worker, unlucky enough to have caught the Christmas shift here and there, but for the rest it is completely deserted.

He walks up to the hallway leading to the lifts and names the department he wants to go to. The doors of the lift make the loudest screeching noise, amplified by the echo of the hollow atrium, forcing George to cover his ears. When his father would take him to the Ministry on the odd Christmas night when he had to work when George was younger, it had always felt magical to him. Now, it feels rather creepy, as if the Ministry of Magic itself is in a deep slumber somehow.

As he steps out of the lift he remembers Kingsley’s directions and walks towards the door at the end of the hallway, waits until the room has stopped spinning and takes the third door to his right.

The first thing George notices when he pushes the door open is the absolute silence of the room. Not a single sound penetrates the thick stone walls, and even when he lets the door fall back into its lock it sounds muted, as if somebody had covered it with a thick pillow.

In the middle of the room stands the arch, giant and majestic, with a thick, almost smoke-like curtain hanging from it. An invisible wind is slowly moving it back and forth, leaving small vapours of the veil hanging absolutely still in the air before slowly evaporating into nothingness. George’s breath hitches as he moves closer and hears a very familiar tune coming from inside the arch. A shiver runs down his spine as it gets louder and is now joined by a few very familiar yet unknown voices.

"Fred?" he tries, but gets no answer.

The murmuring stops the moment George steps onto the plateau in the middle of the room, leaving only the sad tones of the flute as his lonely company. He stands in front of the misty curtain, currents of steam and wind gently touching his face. He closes his eyes as a breeze combs through his hair, making goosebumps stand up all over his neck and arms.

"Fred!" His heart skips a beat as he finally sees the face of his brother appear in the ghostly substance of the veil. It is only a shimmer, parts of a broken image, vague and incomplete, but he would recognise his brother anywhere. Fred gives him a cheeky grin and waves, going in and out of focus, parts of him disappearing and recurring as the curtain moves back and forth.

George shakes his head in frustration and angrily wipes at the tears running down his cheeks as he sees his brother stretch out his hand towards him. For a moment he takes a step back, emotional, grateful and a little overwhelmed. He is almost disbelieving of what is really happening, almost expecting that it is all a joke, a figment of his imagination, but when he sees Fred, sees his smile, his outstretched hand and familiar brown eyes, his doubts wash away completely.

He tries to talk, but chokes on his words, and reaches for his brother. Their fingers link and as George steps behind the curtain, the music stops.

*

The world is dark. There is no light, no music, no road leading to nowhere surrounded by dark houses. There is no chattering, no café, no cheerful singing in the dead of the night, no beautiful sunrise, no Fred.

George is alone, and as he thinks back to his reflections, his conversations, his nights, he realises that he never followed his brother. He followed a dream.

~Fin

Title: Follow Your Dreams
Author: lordes
Character(s): George Weasley, Fred Weasley
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Canonical character death, non-canonical character death, dealing with the loss of a twin, strong emotions, depression, implied suicidal thoughts.
Wordcount: 12300
Summary: After Fred’s death, George loses his will to live. Nothing seems important anymore until he has a dream. A dream about Fred. They start ‘meeting’ more frequently and George seems to have come back from the dead. Until a worse fate befalls him.
AO3: FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS
Author’s notes: Without masterde this piece would’ve never been written. He was my bunny, even though he might not have realised it. So thank you for that, Pup. Also, thanks to queeniemab for all her patience with me and for lordhellebore for the fantastic beta read. ♥

This piece was originally written for hp_darkarts' Shadow of the Season fest and originally posted HERE.

[Follow Your Dreams]

George feels as if he is dreaming.

People are moving around him: searching for loved ones, cleaning up the rubble to make way for more, carrying bodies or seeking comfort in the arms of others. George needs none of those things. He has already found what he was looking for, what he had been fearing, lying on the cold, hard floor of the Great Hall, surrounded by his family. He has found it in the now empty brown eyes of his brother.

His mother grabs one of Fred’s hands and presses it against her cheek. He sees her cry. His father is draped around her back, also crying, trying to comfort her. George looks at his other siblings and notices they are all equally devastated. Charlie is softly petting Fred’s head, Ron and Ginny are hugging each other tightly, looking down at their older brother. Bill is standing on the opposite side of him, shaking his head as Percy grabs his hand and squeezes it softly.

George carefully touches his own cheek. It is dry. He reaches up with his other hand and touches the other and moves up to his eyes; he is not crying. He wonders if he should be. The soft wailing of his mother has him drop his hands again. She says something, first to Fred and then to his father. As Bill crouches down in front of her, he sees her say something to him too.

He looks around. In the middle of the hall Remus and Tonks are lying on the ground, further down there is a student he recognises from his own year, but whose name he cannot remember. Like with Fred, his family is draped around him. He cannot see if any of them is crying or not, but he assumes they are. After all; his family is, too. There is some tumult behind him. He turns around and sees Harry angrily talking to Professor Mcgonagall; behind him, the limp body of Severus Snape is hovering in the air.

He smiles. There is no doubt about it, he really must be dreaming. After all, there is no way his twin brother is dead. He simply cannot be.

He shakes off the hand that grabs his wrist as he is about to walk away, not even bothering to look who it is, and makes his way out of the Great Hall. As he turns the corner towards the staircase, he is vaguely aware of Bill calling after him.

*

Kingsley’s face is drawn, his frown lines more prominent than before as he talks to them. George hears him say that he is very sorry for their loss, but that it is no reason for them to let their guard down. George wonders how anybody could have named him the new Minister of Magic, as he is obviously unable to tell the living from the dead. They have lost nobody, and any moment now the door to the Burrow will open and Fred will walk in with the same goofy smile on his face he always has, and life will continue as it has always been. Nothing has changed.

However, George is very willing to believe that the war is not over yet, so at least Kingsley is right about one thing: they should be careful. What if somebody were to die? That would be horrible.

After Kingsley explained everything and is done talking, George takes it upon himself to stand up and thank him for his time. After all, it is the polite thing to do. Kingsley has come all this way just to tell them to be careful. He is a good man. As George is shaking the Minister's hand, he sees the strange looks he is getting from his family. His parents seem confused, Charlie's face is scrunched up in anger. He turns back to Kingsley and notices the shocked expression on his face, too. George does not understand, what is wrong? Bill comes over and lays his big hands on George’s smaller shoulders and guides him away, apologising to their friend while he does so. George lets Bill lead him away, too confused to ask anything. He sits when his brother tells him to, and stares after him as he walks off, back into the kitchen.

He looks around. Bill guided him into the Burrow’s sitting room, a room he should be very familiar with, but one he barely recognises anymore. The clock indicating where every member of the family is is still hanging on the wall, but it seems to be broken. Since the last time he was here the pointers have not moved from their place, letting them all know they were in mortal danger. However, Fred’s seems to be missing. He gets up and moves towards the clock to give it a closer look. How odd. It feels smooth as he traces his own pointer with his finger and slowly pulls it away from the rest, lets it go and watches as it rotates back. He moves the other pointers around, doing the same with every single one of them, but Fred’s does not appear.

*

His mother has sent him to his and Fred’s place to pick up some clothes. He had not understood her when she had told him what kind of clothes she was expecting him to bring back, but apparently and according to her, right now he does not need to.

Their place seems awfully quiet as he walks through their rooms, looking for the things he needs to pack. Bill is following him closely, something else he does not quite understand yet. He had tried asking him why he had come, after all his house was only a floo away, and Bill had answered that it was for safety precautions. Something tells George his brother is not being honest with him, but he waves that feeling off for now.

They had decided that it would be for the best if nobody were to live alone for now, and with Fred still missing George had agreed on temporarily moving back in with his parents. He agreed with them on the topic of safety, and wandering around in a Death Eater infested world has never been a good idea.

The clock chimes three times as he packs his last pair of jeans and an extra jacket, and he is about to make his way over to the Floo when he remembers something. He puts down his bag again and tells Bill he needs to check on Weasley Wizard Wheezes, since Fred might be there. His brother gives him a look of pure pain, walks over and engulfs George in one of the tightest hugs anybody has ever given him. He goes with it, as Bill obviously needs it. When tears start to wet his shirt he hugs his big brother back and waits for it to pass.

*

George finds it strange that nobody is bringing up Fred, nor his absence. Is nobody missing him, then? He has been at his parents’ place for about a week now, and every single time he tries bringing up the topic of searching for his twin brother, people give him a pained or confused look. Sometimes they start crying, other times they will shoot him an angry stare and in very rare cases, George will get hugged.

He is also strangely excused from any Order work. A very odd occurance, as the members mainly gather in his parents’ house. Whenever he will try and help, somebody will usually tell him there is nothing to help with, yet new members are gathered each day. George is getting desperate. So far, there has been no sign of Fred, and he is starting to get really worried. Nobody is talking to him about it, and because he is not included in any Order meetings anymore, he is not getting any wiser. He wants to know what is going on, and he wants to know it now.

He manages to corner his mother in the kitchen, who, up until then and for some unknown reason, has been unwilling to talk to him, and who is busy making dinner, probably for all the Order members that will be coming over tonight. However, instead of giving him the answers he is looking for, she simply cups his face and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his forehead. She says his name, tells him dinner will be ready in a bit and sends him off again.

There are no Order members that evening, only his mother, his father, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and him, all gathered around the table, all eating in complete silence. George has the nagging feeling something is not right, but does not dare to ask in case he gets another angry glare or disapproving comment. Instead, he eats his food without speaking a single word, like the rest of them, and when he is finished, he gets up and leaves.

He gets halfway up the stairs when he realises there is nothing for him up there and decides to go for a walk. The outside May air is warm but fresh, a single breeze softly moving through his hair and clothes. He walks around the house and finds a comfortable spot to sit and wait for the stars to come out. They had done that a lot when they were younger, Fred and he, and again he wonders where his brother could possibly be. Maybe he will turn up tomorrow; his mother has been talking about this big event coming up they all have to attend. Maybe that is why they are all so sad. Maybe they do not want to go without Fred.

*

George is gasping for air, his legs feel like jelly and his chest like it were about to explode. He lets himself fall to his knees, wrenches off his tie, trying to let more air through. This cannot be happening, this cannot be true! However, even as he is thinking it, memories from the Great Hall come flooding back in. He starts shaking his head, the tears wetting his face and shirt as he begins sobbing uncontrollably. Everything makes sense now: his parents’ behaviour, his friends, the speech Minister Shacklebolt had given, why they had not wanted him to be alone, Fred’s absence.

The chest he saw his other half lie in is now slowly being lowered into the ground by two Aurors. It is made of a dark mahogany with a rounded top, decorated with the engraving of a tree. Its branches glow in the light of the setting sun, magic shimmering off them in green, purple and orange colours. George wants to yell at them, tell them to stop, tell them it was all a big mistake, but he cannot. He can no longer deny what happened. Fred is gone.

Two strong arms embrace him in a tight hug and slowly lift him off the ground, giving him the chance to get his legs under himself again, and walk him away from the scene. He looks up and through his tears sees Bill. Good old Bill, always there for him to catch him when he will fall, always there to pick him back up. George throws his arms around his big brother and hugs him back, crying as if his life depended on it, and maybe it does. His heart feels as if it was beating a beat too many and yet too few at the same time. He feels sick, he feels like he is about to throw up, but the only thing that he is able to do is cry. Still clinging to his brother, he feels himself being picked up from the floor and, as he wraps his legs around Bill, carried away.

He is not able to hear the people who try to talk to him, the only sound in his ears being the beating of his heart and a persistent ringing. He feels dizzy. Bill had sat him down on a couch in the living room of the Burrow and had made him tea; tea that has now gone cold in the cup in his hands. He looks down at it, the brown liquid oddly fascinating. Or maybe it is just his brain, incapable of comprehending what is really happening.

A hand settles on his shoulder and he raises his head to see Harry stare down at him, a worried look on his face. He sees Harry speak, but the words do not register. He shakes his head to get rid of the ringing sound, which Harry seems to take as an answer as he nods, pats him on the shoulder twice and walks away.

George does not care.

*

People are fussing over him and he does not like it; he wants to be alone. Whenever he will move through the house and walks into a room already inhabited by others, he will turn around and find a spot to himself. People mean talking, talking means listening, and listening is something he simply cannot do right now. He does not care. He does not care for others, their pains or their losses. All he cares for right now is his.

His mother is fussing over him, too, telling him he needs to eat and sleep properly, but George does not care about that, either. He cannot sleep even if he wanted to, which he does not, the nightmares of him failing to save his brother forever haunting him at night. So he stays awake, but when he does sleep, they are short naps that George suspects to be more like blackouts. Dreamless, short and relieving.

That, and with the constant pressure of his family looming over him, George decides to move back into their flat, the flat that is now only his. He should probably just sell it. Why would he want to live in an place filled with things that remind him of the one thing he wants, but cannot have? However, selling it seems impossible. Every attempt he makes fails, and George realises that deep down inside he does not want to get rid of the place after all. So he gets comfortable again, unpacks all his things once more and stacks them away neatly.

He looks around and smiles. It is not a full smile and it certainly does not reach his eyes, but it is a smile nonetheless. The flat is tidy, and Fred’s things are neatly stashed away in a box on the attic. He misses his brother, but he is ready to move on.

Until he sees his brother smile back at him. Until he sees himself in the mirror.

*

June hits, and as the days get longer, so do his nights. Sleep turns into a rare occurrence, and except for the occasional blackout he has, he does not get much rest at all. Dragging himself out of bed after another sleepless night, George shuffles slowly into the kitchen. It is a mess. There are cups stacked so high the window is barely even visible anymore. He reaches out and grabs one of the used ones, sniffs it, wrinkles his nose at the smell and gives it a quick rinse. As he turns the kettle on for some tea, he notices the lack of plates on the counter and wonders if he should eat something. Or shave. He lets his fingers trace where his chin once was, but there is only a big bush of hair. However, as shaving means being bothered with his looks and as he is not bothered by it at all, he will leave it be. The less of a resemblance he bears to his brother, the better.

As he sits and sips his tea from the scalding cup, he wonders what the day will have in store for him, or rather, whom. Not a day goes by without somebody visiting him, always using a different excuse, always lying. They really must think him senile if they think he is believing their words. He scoffs and puts his cup down to look at the newly formed blister on his hand. He wonders where he could have got it, then remembers the kettle he picked up from the stove earlier. The soft armchair he is sitting in gives a squeak as he leans back and sighs.

The world outside is bright and busy, people hurrying past each other in order to get to their destinations, not sparing each other as much as a second look. It has its perks, living above a shop in Diagon Alley, but right now it is only bothersome. George does not want any of those people outside, he does not need them. He does not need to see them, he does not need to hear them, he does not need anything from them. Angry, he gets up to close his curtains and knocks the side table, with his cup of tea on it, over in the process, burning his leg. He looks at it, astonished and frozen, and observes how the colour of his skin slowly turns from a pale pink into a bright red. The pain registers, but George does not act on it right away. He lets go of the curtain first, still firmly clenched in his fist, and lets himself softly fall on the ground before stretching out the burnt leg. When he hovers his hand above the burnt spot he winces, the warmth that is radiating off his hand irritating to the sensitive skin. He chokes back a sob as a single tear rolls down his cheek. Wiping it in frustration, George takes a deep breath and slaps his hand down as hard as he can.

Eyes wide and back arched, George screams. He screams until there is no air left in his lungs and even then he does not stop. He lets himself fall back on the ground, his leg bent, his hand still on the burn, nails digging in harder and deeper. His face scrunches up in pain as he feels his skin break and a trickle of blood run down his leg. He has no more energy to scream, but that is okay. As much as it hurts, George basks in it. He breathes in and out heavily a couple of times, relaxing his hand a bit before biting back another scream as he rakes his nails down over the burn once again.

His skin broken and hand bloody, and with him still lying on the ground, George finally relaxes his hand and lets it rest next to his face. As he does so a choked sob escapes his throat, then another. He tries to keep them back, hold it in. He does not want to feel it, not now, not today, not yet, but he cannot. When the tears start flowing, George can no longer hold on and gives in to sobbing.

*

The fabric of his pyjamas clings to the blood on his leg as George makes his way down the stairs. He is limping and tries to be careful, but cannot prevent himself from tripping once he pushes the door that leads into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes open. Managing to land on his undamaged knee, he grabs the corner of the counter and pulls himself back up.

The shop is dark and dusty, almost unrecognisably so. Shelf after shelf are either emptied or grey, covered in cobwebs and dust bunnies. George walks over to one of them and picks up one of the long forgotten Love Potions. As he slowly pulls off the many webs and wipes away the dust, the liquid contents of the bottle slowly start shining again. He holds it closer to his face, examining what feels like an old friend, the pink light from deep within reflecting off his face. He puts the now warm bottle back down, and as it clinks and touches the bottle next to it, that one starts shining, too, creating a domino effect. Soon the whole shop is shining, buzzing and twirling once again.

George turns and finds his reflection in the mirror look back at him. Beard rough, hair long and messy, tangled at the ends and greasy on top, pyjamas dirty with blood and other filth, dressing gown open at the seams where the stitches have given out. He sighs and walks over to the mirror, realising he and the shop are not that different at all.

*

He shakily rakes his hand through his hair before picking up the shaving blade. The metal feels odd in his hand, and he wonders if shaving is a skill one can forget how to practise. With his beard foamed up with shaving cream, George puts the sharp edge of the blade on his cheek and slides it down.
One stroke after another, George's face starts appearing again and when he is done, he carefully tries a smile. It is watery and does not quite resemble him just yet. He decides he should probably get a haircut as well.
*
With his leg properly bandaged, the walk down into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a lot easier. He manages to get down the stairs and into the shop without tripping, and even though there is a firm limp present, he is no longer in danger of falling unexpectedly.
When George opens the back door he takes a deep breath. Even below the thick layer of dust the old scent of the shop is still very pertinent, filling him with long forgotten memories and unexpected feelings of nostalgia. He rolls up his sleeves, whips out his wand and starts cleaning.
The dust proves to be harder to get rid of than George initially anticipated, and by the time most of it has disappeared off the shelves, it has instead appeared on George.
"Can you believe it, Fred," he asks, mostly to himself, and shakes his head in amusement, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is actually starting to look like a shop again."
The bottle he was holding breaks as it drops to the floor, splinters of glass flying across the room, the green liquid in it slowly soaking George's shoes as a familiar voice answers him.
"I can't believe you let it get this dirty in the first place, brother dear."
George does not dare turn. He does not dare look, afraid that he is dreaming, afraid that nothing will be there, afraid he is imagining it.

The eerie silence that follows is so maddening that George finally turns and looks around - nothing. He walks up one of the stairs and checks the upper level of the shop which also turns out to be empty. A sigh escapes him and his shoulders slump a little. He folds the cloth he had been cleaning with and puts it on the balustrade in front of him. As he rests both hands on it, one on the cloth, he drops his head and just stands there for a while, breathing in the fresh smell of citrus and lime. The answer he got, so obviously in the voice of his brother, so familiar to his ears, had it merely been his imagination?

"Fred…" His voice is soft, almost like a moan.

His shoulders go stiff and he scrunches his eyes shut, waiting, expecting his brother to answer him once again, but nothing comes. Angry with sorrow and regret, he fists the cloth and throws it over the balustrade. The sound it makes when it hits the floor is almost too soft to notice, but still too loud in the deadly silence of the shop. George screams. He screams as loud and as long as his lungs enable him to. Turning around, he slides his arms over the freshly cleaned shelves, clearing it of every single item on it. The glass crunches under his feet while several now unidentifiable liquids soak his shoes and socks. After the first shelf is completely empty he moves to a second, and then a third. Magical birds start flying around the shop in panic, while fumes move and float around, forming one random shape after the other before evaporating into thin air. George jumps to reach a higher shelf and pulls it, including its bottles, bowls and spheres, down on himself. He does not want to see it anymore, does not want to smell it, does not even want to remember it exists.

As he turns around frantically, looking for more shelves to pull down and clear and bottles to break, he spots an untouched sphere on the top step of the stairs. Letting himself fall onto his knees he crawls towards it, not even noticing the cuts the broken glass is leaving on his legs and palms. He reaches out for the sphere, purple, green and orange magic softly floating around inside of it, and closes his hand around it. The one thing that reminds him so harshly of what he can no longer have, no matter how hard he tries to imagine, no matter how much he wishes, no matter what he does. He raises his arm, ready to smash it back down and break the last still unbroken Weasley product within his reach, but he catches a glimpse of himself in the long and elegant mirror on the wall before he is able to bring his arm down completely. The mirror is tall, at least twice the size of the average wizard, if not more, and at least five feet wide.

The colours of the sphere still in his hand take turns, appearing on a somewhat too familiar face, reflecting in the dark brown eyes and off the pale skin. Purple, green, and orange; the colours of the funeral, the colours of Fred. George’s breath hitches as the eyes in the mirror stare back at him, surprise as evident in them as they are probably in his own. He tries to crawl over to the mirror, slipping and sliding on the wet floor as he does, but to no avail. The moment he gets close enough to touch the cold, hard surface he sees nobody but himself.

"No. No," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, no, no, no, no. You were just here. You were just here!"

George starts clawing at the mirror, panic rising in his throat. He had seen him. He had seen his brother. He knows he was right. "I saw you! I SAW YOU! You can’t be gone now. Fred. Fred! Come on, come back!"

As he lets his hand slide down, he looks at his mirror image. His clothes are a mess, and hair is standing up on one side while on the other there is something blue dripping from the ends of his hair on his shoulder. He looks at it in the mirror and moves his hand through it; it feels warm, somehow, and a little bit sticky. He wonders what it could have been, or which potions have mixed together to have made this odd substance. He shakes his head and, focussing his attention back on the rest of him, he notices the state of the shop in the background. He turns and groans. If this is what Fred saw earlier, it is no miracle he has left. He must have been so very disappointed.

Look at it. He thinks. Look at yourself for Merlin’s sake. He groans, sits back against the thick wooden frame of the mirror and rubs his hands roughly over his face a few times. What had he done?

*

June turns into July, summer into fall, and by the time the first snowflakes start falling George is a changed man. The shelves in Weasleys Wizard Wheezes have been restocked and the shop has been reopened. Once again every corner in the place is filled with people and buzzing with life. George leans over the somewhat too familiar balustrade on the first floor and looks down in content at the aura of happiness that is emitted by the crowd down below. This is how it is supposed to be, this is how Fred had wanted it. This is where he is needed most. As he stretches his back with a satisfied smile, he glances at the mirror he had first seen his brother appear in. Fred is there, smiling back at him, which fills his heart with joy.

After the first encounter, George had started seeing Fred in most mirror images, windows and reflections. Never able to come close, it had driven him insane, resulting in many a smashed surface. But after a while filled with clawing, smashing, more screaming and destruction, George had been too tired to keep on fighting and had decided to accept what was given to him instead of struggling to get more. It had brought him peace, because wherever he goes these days, he can count on Fred being there with him. He is no longer alone, no longer feels the need to hide. So he had decided, on a gloomy autumn afternoon, to pick up the pieces that was his shop and start living his life again.

Because with Fred at his side, anything is possible.

He sees his brother wave at him from the mirror and waves back. Or maybe it was him who started waving and Fred who waved back. It does not matter to George. They are together now, two pieces of one soul, reunited once more.

It is no lie that even George has accepted the way they have been brought together; the urge to run to his other half has not subsided in the least. Not a day goes by without the yearning to talk, to see, to touch ripping his heart into pieces. It is a fate of the damned, yet a fate of the blessed, to be able to see what they want most, yet unable to truly have it back. It is temptation at its finest, torture of the highest degree, but he wouldn’t trade for the world.

As George turns to make his way downstairs he sees Fred wink once before he, too, turns and disappears from the mirror. It is time to socialise, talk to his customers and maybe even sell an extra love potion or two. As important it is in times like these to keep a watchful eye, it is as important not to forget the power of love and the warmth that it brings, as George has experienced first hand these past months. Even through something as small as a watchful eye. He moves down the stairs and his twin moves with him in the reflection of the windows adorning the eastern wall of the shop. The steps creak under his feet and the yearning to look grows, but he knows he is too close for it to work. He knows, might he look, there would only be himself. An odd reflection of a version of a person he thinks he knows, but who is not quite right. He will get lost in his own eyes, waiting for them to change into the ever loving ones of his brother, knowing they never will, but hopeful that if only he were to wait long enough, Fred would come back.

A black messy mop of hair moves in the corner of his eye, followed closely by a fiery red ponytail. He knows without looking who they are, glued to each other’s side since the demise of Voldemort, inseparable. George understands, he understands like no other, having the other half of your soul so close, yet feeling they are so vulnerable you never want to let go of them, never want to lose sight of their being. Yes, George knows this feeling all too well. As he looks he sees them admiring one of the Pigmy Puffs. Ginny always loved those, even when they had just opened the shop. Even now she is happily picking up one after the other, letting it hop from hand to finger and back before picking up another one in an even brighter colour. As his eyes move from her to Harry he notices their hands and fingers are tightly entwined, knuckles almost white.

George’s heart clenches painfully at the sight. The desperation in their grip is evident, the support they give each other only assumable. What he would not give to have that feeling once again. He squeezes his own hand tightly into a fist as the jealousy soars through him. It is not fair. It has never been fair. He turns and leaves, bitterness obvious in his frown.

*

The first thing he sees as he opens his eyes are the bricks he is standing on. They are a dark red, tanned by the sun, rough and rounded at the edges. Not one stone is the same as the other and, as he looks up, they seem to go on forever. He is standing on a road with dark houses on each side of it, except for a single lit house all the way at the end. A loud chattering and singing is coming out of it, and it seems to give off a warm and welcoming aura. As he starts walking towards the brightly lit house, which George can only assume is some sort of café, judging by the sounds that it is emitting, he feels his stomach do a backflip. Something is missing. He turns and notices his reflection in one of the dark windows and realises what it is he is missing. The reflection staring back at him is no other than himself. Sadness washes over him as he takes a couple of steps in the direction of the window. Over the past months he has got so used to his brother being there with him that not having him makes him feel like he has lost Fred all over again.

"I’m right here, brother," a familiar voice sounds from behind.

George turns, spinning so fast he feels a bit dizzy for a second or two. But there he stands, right in front of him: Fred. George gapes - his brother is really there, wherever there might be. He shakes his head once, opens his eyes and, when he sees Fred still standing right in front of him, shakes it again.

"Fred…" His voice is nothing more than a soft whimper as he starts walking towards him. It does not take long for his steps to turn into running, and before he knows it George is sprinting towards his long lost half.

"Brother, brother stop," Fred insists, and when George finally complies he notices he has not moved forward by a single stone on the road.

"Wha-"

"The rules of the Universe," Fred says, "dictate we can meet, but not yet touch." He spreads his arms slowly. "But this, isn’t this enough?"

George does not answer. He does not know what he could even reply with. Doubt fogs his mind just as the hope of no longer being alone fills his heart, making him feel dizzy. He wants to scream at Fred for leaving him, wants to beg for forgiveness for not being there for him when he needed him most, wants to curl around him and never let go. He wants all of those things, all of them at the same time. For a minute George grows insecure; is this really better than not having Fred at all? Having him but not really having him?

"I’ve missed you, you know," Fred says then, interrupting his thoughts. "It’s not the same without having you around."

All he can do is stare. It really is not the same, he agrees, but does he really need to tell his brother this? They both know it. And acknowledging this would only…

"Is this real?" he manages to choke out.

Fred only smiles. It is a kind and warm smile, but there is more to it. Pity, maybe, George cannot tell for sure. "You’re not the first person to ask," Fred says, "but does it really matter?"



PART 2

What do people do with their lives after finishing "Turn"?

I wonder...

That love meme! I don't know who you are or who put me on there but I'm just sitting here, staring at my screen, being all baffled. ♥ Thank you!

Also, TURN is eating my life. I cannot do anything else but read all its 1129 pages. I'm on 360 now. Damn.

I blame mab