[FANFICTION] Star Crossed Ch. 3

[ran-mouri.livejournal.com]

Title: Star Crossed
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG - 13 I would guess.
Summary: As a desperated attempt to get his family back, Harry decides to go to therapy with Scorpius Malfoy himself. There he will begin a journy to a better understanding of his psyche and the obsession that has marked his life and the ones before this one.
Author's Notes: Sorry, no prompt for this chapter. I was terribly inspired and in a dark mood. I'm sorry though, that it took so long.

Chapter 03

“I love you so much,” whimpered the old man, his balding head soaked with sweat. Jean stared up the ceiling, his eyes dull, a smile curling his lips as the other man thrust into him with abandon.

“Do you love me?” the man asked, his pudgy hands caressing his thighs.

Jean smiled happily.

“Of course I love you, your eminence,” he moaned, wrapping both arms around the man’s neck, bringing his sweaty body closer. The man gave him a wide smile and planted sloppy kisses down his neck before arching his back precariously and filling Jean with his warm seed.

“You are so beautiful, my lovely, so very beautiful,” whispered the man as he stood.

“I’m not worthy of your praise, sire,” Jean whispered back, coyly. The old man laughed and reached for his clothing for some coins. Jean stood immediately, his eyes determined.

“Sire, if I might presume,” he said softly, kissing the man’s shoulders tenderly. “Remember the ring?”

The man turned, a smile on his face.

“That’s right, you did say you wanted to play with my ring,” he mused, taking off the heavy singlet. “Take it while I get washed and dressed.”

Jean let out a delighted squeal as he slipped the singlet on. The man cleaned his skin with a wet rag sprinkled with perfume, before starting to dress. The boy laughed and ran around the room, letting the ring catch different angles of light, enjoying the colors.

Little did the man know, the boy had pressed the singlet in several blank papers while playing. Papers that would be filled later on.

As the old man finished fixing his red robes, he wrapped his arms around the boy’s slim waist and kissed his pouty lips.

“Will I see you tomorrow night?” he said longingly. Jean grinned and nodded.

“Of course you will, your eminence,” he answered, nuzzling the man’s fat cheek.

Cardinal Orssini left the little room with a wide smile on his face and a skip on his steps. Jean watched from his window, waving. He saw Marcel from the corner of his eye, ready to follow the disgusting old man and finally finish him off.

Marcel’s deep blue eyes met his own cold brown ones.

He nodded.

His partner nodded back and speeds off after Cardinal Orssini.

The man would be dead by dawn.

Jean sighed and sat down to write on his newly signed parchments. He needed to make sure they reached the king next week and by then the ink must look old enough. Of course everyone knew of Cardinal Orssini’s fascination with him, he made sure the last six months to let everyone in court of his presence around the Italian. Some courtesans hated his guts, he was nothing but a street rat climbing his way up from bed to bed.

Jean knew they might be right, but he would also be someone by the end of the month. With a swirl of his quill, the same one the good old Cardinal used when he wrote, he finished his letter addressed to the King himself.

By the end of the month, Jean Francois L’Molliere would be recognized as the Marquee of Montespan, the last living child of the late Madame Francoise Athenais D’Montespan and her unfortunate husband.

His smile widened as he stared at his finished product.

It was Cardinal Orssini’s fault, really. The pig thought that teaching his little songbird how to write was such a pious idea.

----

Xavier sighed over and over again as the ladies from court batted their eyelashes at him. He knew he was the definition of ‘fresh meat’ by Versailles standards, just returning from his studies abroad, but court would be quite surprised when they realized that by no means Count D’ Mont Fellix is a child to be played with.

He had shared enough passion during his travels to rival that of the King himself. And while his riches amounted a considerable sum for any young lady in age of marriage, he was not about to go his way pampering any spoiled little girl into his bed.

Honoré, his best friend, elbowed his side with a wide grin as their mutual friend, Antoin disappeared in the crowd of eager ladies.

They both rolled their eyes and laughed to one another.

“That man needs to learn how to keep his pants on,” Honoré laughed, sipping his Champaign, green eyes alit with mirth. Xavier nodded his agreement, his own blue eyes sweeping over the crowd in search of something to catch his interest.

Many girls were there just for him, and their eager poses told him so. Yet they were all dull, blank and boring to his growing impatience.

Then, he saw him.

“Who is that?” he asked Honoré, who always knew who is who in Versailles.

His friend blinked, confused, then his eyes landed too on the richly dressed young man standing by a corner surrounded by older, important men.

“Oh, him,” Honoré said, rather disappointedly. “That’s the new Marquee D’Montespan.”

Xavier raised a golden eyebrow, obviously interested.

“Some say the late Cardinal Orssini picked him up from the streets, a common whore you see,” Honoré explained. “Then he found out his little bed-warmer was none other than the Marquee D’Montespan’s child. He wrote to the King immediately.”

Xavier grinned, clearly amused.

“I don’t see Cardinal Orssini anywhere,” he whispered to his friend, his eyes searching for the old pig’s face among the crowd. Honoré shook his head.

“You won’t, he was assassinated half a year ago, some say it was a buglar, others say Monsieur D’Monstespan did it, or someone who didn’t want the new Marquee to be found.”

“I can imagine what a gossip it must be,” Xavier grinned, letting his eyes slowly explore the young Marquee’s body. He was a sight to behold indeed. “Is he currently… in company?”

Xavier had expected many different reactions from his friend, but not the sudden eye-widening paleness of his face and uncomfortable biting on his lips.

“Listen, Xavier, my friend, that is one dangerous man if I’ve ever seen one. I think he’s from the other side, the devil’s side,” Honoré whispered furiously, his eyes hard. “Many men had shared his bed this past months, they all love him, they all die.”

Xavier knew his friend wanted to protect him, he knew he thought him weak. But the enchanting creature was smiling and holding Monsieur Aunai’s hand and he couldn’t wait to feel those slender fingers against his own and maybe taste them with his tongue.

“Introduce me, my friend,” he asked simply, not taking his eyes from the new Marquee’s piercing brown eyes.

Honoré groaned out loud.

“You are signing your death warrant,” he snorted. “And I will not be the one to take you to it.” Without another word, the other man shook his head and stalked away angrily. Xavier shrugged, unconcerned. Honoré needed a partner of his own.

With confident strides he approached the other man, his intention clear as he placed a cautious hand on his slim shoulder.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced, your grace,” he whispered on the small ear. The other man shivered lightly, almost coyly, before turning his molten eyes on him.

“Indeed, sire,” he answered, his tone light and sweet. Xavier took the Marquee’s hand in his own and kissed its back softly.

“Xavier…” he began, but was interrupted by a slight giggle.

“I know who you are Count, I’ve heard stories of your heroics,” the young Marquee said. Xavier grinned, feeling more interested in the man-boy before him than he thought it was possible.

“Then, your grace, I believe we are even, for I have heard the most amazing things about you,” he answered, his eyes glinting with all his intentions. “Maybe you would like to accompany me and my friends to my house after this party? I’m sure you’d enjoy yourself there.”

The Marquee smiled gently, indulgently. He looked like a painting of the virgin herself at that moment.

“I’d be honored, your grace,” he whispered back. Xavier shivered this time, out of excitement or dread, he wasn’t sure.

“Then I’ll be seeing you if a few hours, Marquee,” he said.

“Jean Luke,” corrected the other man.

“Jean Luke,” repeated the Count. “Then I must insist you call me Xavier.”

Jean nodded lightly, his head already turning to regard his other admirers.

“Xavier then, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

----

Stumbling into bed together had been fairly easy for them. Some verbal foreplay during dinner and innocent brushing of their hands while reaching for glasses of champagne was all they needed to inflame passion on the other and retire early for bed.

Xavier entertained himself by marking Jean Luke’s soft skin, biting and scratching and making sure that each and every lover his little Marquee might have in the future would know he was there first.

Jean Luke arched and responded like a professional, his only aim in drawing the young Count into himself, maybe holding him in his embrace until he was not able to leave. Both of them thought the match was even. And maybe it was meant to be that way. Maybe God all merciful had brought them together as an unmistakable form of evening delight in this world.

They grinned at eachother under the covers, their cheeks red and breathing uneven.

Jean’s hands caressed Xavier’s skin hesitantly, shy.

Xavier devoured Jean’s fingers then they approached his face.

Their eyes met.

They were satisfied.

Of course having Jean Luke stay at his side like a faithful consort was the only logical step to take for the young Count.

Outside the rumors ran like water. The Marquee was in need, as his ancient house needed to be repaired and his friend, the Count provided shelter for him.

The Marquee had chosen his next target and it would only be months before the Black Widow hit again. The Count had his days counted.

The Marquee had used the devil’s arts on the Count to drive him to the road of sin.

The Count was one of the devil’s people and had summoned a personal concubine out of hell, that had taken the form of the Marquee. The real Marquee, of course, was buried under the stables at the Count’s villa.

The truth would never be clear, as it usually happened with such scandal.

“I met with Monsieur Vittorino last night,” Jean said that afternoon, snuggling into Xavier’s naked body, enjoying the way his warm hands caressed his back. “He has the most beautiful Arabian stallion. I wish I could own a horse like that.”

Xavier laughed and bit on Jean’s milky shoulder playfully.

“If you want it I’ll buy it for you,” he mumbled against the skin before sinking his teeth once more.

“You wouldn’t mind? The King’s still processing my inheritance from my late father,” the Marquee smirked, peppering Xavier’s arm with small kisses and kittenish licks.

“Not at all, in fact, why don’t you get a mare and a stallion? You’ll have fun breeding them.”

Jean’s chocolate colored eyes locked onto Xavier’s cold-blue ones.

“You are so good to me,” he said softly. “Are you in love with me?”

Xavier smirked.

“Not at all,” he answered honestly. “We have fun. Why spoil it with ridiculous emotions?”

Jean Luke seemed to twitch at such declaration, but his smile was still in place when he captured his lover’s lips with his own and he proceeded to claim them with all the passion he had.

“My thoughts exactly.”

----

Marcel stared as Jean Luke passed around the room. His eyes hard and lips curling in annoyance. He knew his best friend like he knew himself, and Jean was not annoyed, nor was he trying to calm his frazzled nerves. He was trying to get as much distance between himself and the other noble as possible without demonstrating his distaste.

“He’s hard to get through,” Jean sighed, running a hand through his hair and conspicuously glaring at the other man through his fingers. “And very blunt. Quite a savage.”

“You said you could make him lose his head,” the other noble hissed, his green eyes narrowed. “You’ve done it before to Cardinal Orssini and to Viscount Cardenas.”

“Those two were foreigners,” Jean defended himself. “Xavier is used to the French ways.”

Marcel watched silently as always, ready to strike should Jean be harmed.

Honoré grabbed Jean Luke by the shoulders and pushed him against a wall.

“I don’t care if you have to get pregnant somehow, my sweet,” he hissed. “But you will make that bastard love you, you will drive him mad like all the others and he will be out of my way by the time the King’s birthday party comes.”

Marcel stood, his hands clenched, but Jean Luke only smiled.

“Do you love me, Honoré?” he asked sweetly.

The older man leered, suddenly claiming the Marquee’s pouty mouth.

“How could I love a whore like you?” he snapped, licking the skin of Jean’s neck and hissing in pleasure when a pale hand slipped inside his trousers to fondle his erection.

“I don’t know, your grace,” Jean moaned softly, delivering soft nips on Honoré’s ear. “I guess you are smarter than that.”

“One month, Jean Luke,” Honoré growled, latching his teeth onto the pale shoulder, just where Xavier had bitten before, maybe precisely because of that. “If you fail I’ll lock you up in my castle, and you will be forced to service only me until you die.”

Jean locked his eyes with Marcel’s and rolled them playfully as Honoré tensed and came forcefully, soiling Jean’s silken robe.

“I’ll have him in a month, Honore, my love,” he answered, kissing his lips one last time. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Honoré narrowed his eyes and nodded before hastily tucking himself back into his trousers and leaving the room.

Jean watched him go with narrowed eyes and a wide grin on his face.

“He’s a goner already,” he said, taking off his robe to clean himself. “I’ll give him two more weeks.”

Marcel sighed and retrieved a wet towel from a table and helped his best friend clean his soiled thighs. He had been invited some weeks ago to the Count D’ Mont Fellix’s house as one of Jean Luke’s whims. Sometimes his friend teased the Count about the nature of their relationship, but Count Xavier D’ Mont Fellix only grinned and stated that if Marcel was indeed Jean Luke’s brother or best friend or lover, he couldn’t care less.

“You shouldn’t let him treat you this way,” he muttered as Jean raised a pale leg and he had access to his abused anus. “You are bleeding.”

Jean shook his head.

“He is protecting me from investigation,” he stated softly. “If we want to get our revenge we will need his protection.”

Marcel nodded, his eyes downcast. He felt like a monster and couldn’t actually face his little brother properly because of it. Because it had been his idea that Jean used his beauty to their advantage that first time. He had introduced Jean to Cardinal Orssini and now his little brother was a whore.

One that was playing with fire.

“What are you going to do about Mont Fellix?” he asked, cleaning the smaller man’s feet.

“I don’t know,” Jean admitted. “He is a whore’s dream come true. He buys me everything I ask for, doesn’t get jealous if I have sex with someone else, and only wants to fuck every two days whenever and ifever he gets time.”

“Yet you want his heart,” Marcel sighed, drying Jean’s knees.

“Exactly. His heart has to be mine, just like all the others before him, but specially his.”

The taller man stared at his little brother for a moment, wondering when had his little Jean Luke turned into this monster twisted and blind to anything but their plan of revenge.

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around Jean Luke. “And I fear that bastard is going to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” Jean soothed. “Honoré is a brute, but practically harmless. I’ll have him jumping into the river in a week.”

Marcel nodded and hid his face on his brother’s hair.

They both knew he didn’t mean Honoré.

But they both chose to remain silent.

----

The night had been long, and alcohol had been plentiful. Many of that evening’s guest were staying at the mansion while others stumbled away towards their carriages. Jean thought it was hilarious that Honoré pretended to be disgusted by his presence the whole night until he was too drunk and started pawning at his clothes shamelessly.

Xavier had laughed a little, then bodily removed his best friend and escorted him towards a guestroom. He drank quite a lot that particular evening, and Jean was intrigued.

“Anything you want to talk about, Xavier?” he asked as he returned, a hand patting the place besides him by the fire.

Xavier stumbled towards him, wrapping a comfortable arm around his shoulders.

“Today is a sad day,” he slurred. “Sad, sad day. Father disappeared today and mother soon after. I don’t like to think today.”

Jean nodded understandingly, his left hand running over Xavier’s hair. He had abandonment issues, of course, first the death of his father and then the obvious neglect of his mother. Jean had his first taste of them the moment he had asked for an extended vacation without a return date. Xavier had been adamant. He could go wherever he pleased but only if he stated exactly when he would return, and of course any delay would be interpreted as the end of their arrangement.

“If you want to go, go. But if you don’t return in time, you’d better not return at all,” Xavier had whispered on Jean’s ear, his eyes hard.

Jean had, of course, returned at the appointed time always. Except for the time he had made Marcel trash his clothes and injure his leg. He had limped back home through the forest on purpose, if only to claim he had been attacked on the way back.

It was, if possible, the only time he had seen Xavier’s eyes show something more that indifference of passion. As he carefully cradled Jean’s bruised body against himself and hid his face on the black and blue shoulder, he whispered over and over that he was going to kill whoever had marred his skin without permission.

And Jean Luke felt a twinge of guilt for the first time in his life.

He hadn’t tried another stunt after that one.

“Tell me about your father?” Xavier asked suddenly, nuzzling Jean’s hair.

“Monsieur Guille?” he asked surprised. He had told Xavier extensely about the man who had adopted him when he was a child. Marcel’s father. “Well, he was a baker, a very honest and caring man. He took me in without thinking twice and taught me…”

“No, no!” Xavier whined. “Not the one that adopted you, your real father. The one that abandoned you.”

Jean Luke spent a few minutes staring at Xavier’s face. He was swaying lightly as he leaned over Jean’s frame, his cheeks were red and his eyes unfocused. He really had too much to drink.

“I don’t really know much about him, my mother, the Marquise, however,” he started, but Xavier placed a sloppy hand over his lips.

“Liar liar… we both know your mother was not the Marquise,” he laughed, resuming his nuzzling. “My father was a friend of hers, and he told me a liiittle secret when I was young.”

Jean Luke’s face paled, his hands trembling.

“Secret?” he asked, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah. He said Madame Francoise Athenais had been left barren after giving birth to the last of the King’s children. That was forty years ago and you, my dear, are not that old. So, I guess the Marquise didn’t give birth to you, right?”

Jean felt the world narrow before his eyes, where was Marcel? He needed his stoic presence, he needed to breathe. He felt faint.

All his hard work, his schemes and sacrifices…

… all for naught.

“But don’t worry, pretty thing,” Xavier slurred. “I’ll keep your secret. I want you here.”

Blue and brown eyes met as they usually did.

“My mother was a servant of the house, the master took a fondness for her and took her to his bed,” he began his tale. “When I was born Madame kicked us out of the house. She said we were a sin and should not exist. That God would make sure we stayed away from her family.”

“Then Monsieur Guille adopted you,” Xavier commented, a little puzzled. All that rant about god and sin didn’t seem like the infamous Marquise D’Montespan.

Jean nodded.

“He was in love with my mother, but mother was ill. She died soon after my third birthday,” he mumbled, maybe the alcohol was getting to him too. “But that’s ok. One day I’ll drag that woman’s beloved into sin as well. She’ll understand my feelings then.”

“No wonder you are angry,” Xavier sighed, showering Jean’s neck with sloppy kissed. “If that had happened to me I would hate all nobles too.” The other man frowned.

“What makes you think I hate nobles?” he asked sweetly, taking Xavier’s face with both hands and forcing him to look at him in the eye.

“Well, the way you look at me and at Honoré and Antoin. And most nobles really. As if you want to kill us,” he answered softly. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

It was that moment when Jean felt he had control back. He pasted a sweet smile on his face, full of longing and tenderness, before kissing his lover’s nose.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I wanted to, Xavier,” he said. “I love you. Do you love me?”

Xavier, maybe because of the alcohol or despite it, grinned widely and nodded.

“I love you, Jean, I love you so much.”

Something cold and sharp stabbed the smaller man, but he shook his head quickly and continued to smile.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he urged, standing.

“I want to make love to you,” the Count slurred. “I want you to be mine.”

“And I will, Xavier. Always.”

----

Xavier was woken the following morning by Marcel’s frantic screams and his mother’s shrill voice. Instantly his hand reached for Jean Luke, but his side of the bed was empty and the sheets cold. He hadn’t been there for a long time.

Slowly he slipped into a robe and dashed to the garden where his mother had obviously returned from her convent.

He had always hated the woman who thought nursing ill bastards and nuns was more important than her own lonely son.

“Mother,” he snapped, staring at her torn and muddy black dress and frizzled blonde hair, her eyes were wide with rage and her skin reddened considerably. Her bony fingers were curled into claws that she pointed viciously at a worried Marcel. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You brought sin to our house, Xavier!” she hissed. “You brought these spawns of the devil to our sacred home!! YOU DEFILED OUR HOUSE!!”

“What do you mean, you old bat? Stop harassing that man,” he snapped. “He is a guest in our home.”

“That bastard is no guest of ours!” Madame D’Mont Fellix shrieked. “HIM AND HIS BASTARD OF A BROTHER SHOULD BE DEAD!”

Marcel clenched his hands, his eyes narrowed.

Xavier mirrored his pose, and realized, maybe for the first time, how alike they looked.

“You are insulting the Marquee D’Montespan’s servant, mother,” he hissed as viciously. The last thing he wanted was the old woman’s stupidity to reach Jean Luke, who adored Marcel like his own brother kind.

Madame’s eyes widened.

“Marquee D’Montespan?!” she growled. “These brats are not the Marquee’s, Xavier, they are the spawns of their hell-hound of a mother who drove your father to the road of sin!! THIS ARE YOUR FATHER’S SINFUL SPAWNS!!”

It was as if the floor from under Xavier’s feet had disappeared and his stomach pummeled down with it.

Jean Luke always called Monsieur Guille by his name, and always said he was Marcel’s father. But he had never said that they weren’t related.

Marcel and Jean Luke were similar, their blond hair and pale skin for once, but while Jean Luke’s eyes were honey and chocolate, Marcel’s were cold blue…

Just like his own.

… like his father’s.

Suddenly he felt sick.

“We did it, brother!” laughed Jean Luke suddenly, making all three of them turn around to look for the victorious imp.

“JEAN LUKE!” screamed Marcel, his eyes upwards. Xavier turned to and lost all color.

Jean Luke was standing on the ledge of his window, the highest of all the mansion. His naked skin shining under the morning sun as much as the white silk robe he had thrown over his shoulders.

Madame D’Mont Fellix shrieked in rage, staring at the kiss marks and bites on the young man’s skin.

“XAVIER!” she cried.

“Suffer, you witch!” laughed Jean, his arms spread wide. “He’s slept with his own baby brother! He’s a sinner just like us!! You might have given birth to him, but he’s mine now!”

“Jean, that’s great!” yelled Marcel, his hands shaking. “But please come down. “We’ll go far away where no one can hurt us, baby. Come on.”

It suddenly dawned on Xavier that Jean was standing dangerously close to the ledge, and his bare feet were taking him further out.

“JEAN!” he screamed. “GET DOWN!”

The young man stared at them both, a tender smile on his beautiful face.

“I can’t,” he said. “I swore on mother’s grave that my heart would only be for her. I broke my promise, Xavier. You took my heart as I took yours and that makes me broken, like all the others!”

Marcel was starting to panic, Xavier noted, and he wasn’t doing any better.

So what if he had shared his own brother’s bed?

He could easily burn in hell if it meant going there with the beautiful chocolate-eyed imp.

“Jean, get down here, I love you!” he pleaded.

Jean giggled childishly, his eyes full of tears.

“I love you too, Xavier,” he answered. “Catch me!”

Marcel’s frantic screams and Madame D’Mont Fellix’s cries went unheard by Xavier who immediately launched to greet his beloved, his little tease, his brother, in his arms. The brief warmth of their hands touching spread through his body.

Then the force of Jean Luke’s fall brought him down.

Something hit the back of his head.

Then…

He felt nothing.

----------

When Harry came to this time, it was to the sound of retching. He glanced up and saw, much to his surprise, Hermione on her knees, emptying the content of her stomach. Ron was by her side, caressing her back gently and holding her long hair from her face.

Harry crawled weakly towards them.

“’Mione?” he asked hoarsely. She turned slowly towards him, her eyes full of tears.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I was a monster, I’m sorry!” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her best friend and hiding her face on his chest. Harry returned the embrace and tried to sooth her as best as he could, this last experience had shaken him, obviously.

“Honoré was the one to plan your death,” Ron whispered, kneeling by his wife’s side.

“I thought that they people around Jean Luke died because they went insane, I thought he was a wizard that used Imperio on them,” she sobbed. “I wanted him to kill you too. I paid him to seduce you.”

Harry sighed, resting his head on top of hers.

“He would have seduced me anyway, with or without your prompting, Hermione,” he said softly. “He wanted his revenge.”

Hesitantly, he met Ron’s eyes.

“So, I guess this time we were brothers too, huh?” he asked. Ron blinked.

“Um, not really,” he answered. “I was busy partying around, sleeping with the ladies. I found out what happened when Honoré appeared murdered in his house.”

Hermione and Harry both looked up.

“So, you were not Marcel?” she asked weakly. “He was the one to murder me.”

Ron shook his head.

“Then there is a fifth coincidence with our lives,” she muttered, her eyes narrowed. “That person has been with us more than once.”

“Well, she was Harry’s wife last time, in Japan,” Ron said simply. “Enough reason to get a relation and want him dead still.”

Harry sighed.

“And I guess your hate for me was a residue because I killed Etsuji-kun,”

“And most likely next time you won’t be very fond of me because I pretended Jean Luke too,” Hermione sighed back, snuggling into his embrace.

“And whoever that Marcel was, will hate you both,” Ron said suddenly.

“How did I die?” Harry asked suddenly. “I remember I was happy, insanely so, and then nothing.”

“Jean Luke fell on top of you, the force of the blow threw you backwards and you broke your neck on the ground at the same time that he split his head open.”

“Ouch,” Ron shuddered.

Harry and Hermione snorted.

“Dad, are you ok?” Albus asked softly, he sounded shaken.

“I’m fine, son,” Harry smiled. “It must be harder for you, I mean. You see us as ourselves.”

“I guess… I mean, yes. I’m fine.”

“I’m proud of you, Albus.”

“Thanks, Dad…” Albus said nervously. “Are you guys ready for the next… life? That one is intense. Please remember that I love you and I won’t judge you?”

“What do you mean by that?” Ron asked.

“It means you have seen us before,” Hermione surmised. “You treated HIM!”

“Shit!” Albus cursed. “Have fun, love you!”

“ALBUS WAIT!” screamed Harry, but darkness enveloped him before he could say anymore.

To Be Continued.

.

Comments

[darkestnight12.livejournal.com]

This fic is ADDICTIVE. Who's Marcel!? More soon please~!

más, más, más

[(Anonymous)]

Hola, le historia esta genial, gracias por compartirla,
la verdad estoy super emocionada por como se esta desarrollando,
¿cuando aparecera draco?
Besos

[tarajw.livejournal.com]

Aaagghhhh!!!! More!

[corpsereader.livejournal.com]

Oh dear...
Who's Marcel?! Dude, I'm loving this...
Great story, and awesome past lifes... Although horrid and traumatizing...

Pleae, finish it. I adore your writing, and this has a really good plot.