Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: 'Destiny Couples' exist since the beginning of the world and are brought together by cupids. This is the memory of the cupid that brought Harry and Draco together with slightly desperate measures to safe the wizarding world.

A/N: Not that you wonder. Yes, I've posted this once before a long time ago and took it down after a while, because I was unhappy with it and didn't know how to go on. Just FYI, it's not finished this time either, but I've some new ideas and hope I'll make it this time, therefore I give it a second chance.

I hope you will like it, also it seems a bit rushed, but everything will hopefully make sense in the end.

This story is about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and will contain slash, better known as male-sex, gay-sex, man-on-man-action and every other terminology you can think of. Please refrain from reading, if you don't like such things or are underage. Thank you.
This chapter so far is not about Harry & Draco, but about someone who's the reason for everything, you'll understand while reading.

WARNINGS: NOT BETA'D – apart from that none so far

REVIEWS Very Much Appreciated
Flames Not

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DAY::ZERO::
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I don't know what the importance of my memories is, but this stupid idiot locked me up in a cell down his dungeon and wants me to write down everything I can remember of my life. This will take some time, if one considers that I'm 179years old, or in words, one hundred seventy nine.

I have to ask again. What's the importance of my memories? No one is interested in history. History is about the past, means it's time you can't influence anymore. Gone. Finished.
Besides, my mind, my thoughts, my experiences – do you notice the pattern? It's MY. My memories are my privacy, my business and not made for other people to read.

Do I have a choice? Apparently not. He said I would be down here until I finished my memoirs. I'm not even thinking about dying and he talks about memoirs - fucker.
I can't even remember how he caught me. Maybe I should just start writing, the sooner I start, the sooner I'm out of this.

I know if he will read this he wants to kick my arse, but I don't care. This young lad is still green and has to have some respect towards older and wiser people. It's impertinent to lock me up in a cold, musty, draughty cell. I'm 179, not 22.

And I'm forced to write on parchment with a quill. At least this miser could have gotten me a secretary, who I could dictate my recollection. And I tell you, the bed is shabby, the food is nasty and the room service is plain lousy. Don't even bother with asking about the entertainment program, there is none.

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Where should I start? First things first I would say. I was born 1984, on march 25th, referring to your time. For me, I have my own time. My mother blessed me with the name Sephyl Aestrion the third, my father and grandfather also had 'Aestrion' in their names – who would have thought it?

Senya Indarel, my mother, gave birth to me with 236. Don't wonder about her age, like I already said, we have our own time. Compared to your count, I would say she was 29years old. One year in the Gregorian-calendar (for the ignorant between you, that's the calendar you're counting in) are 8.13793103 years in our time. And if you would use your brain now, you would know…okay, okay get your pocket calculator…now, if you managed to use your calculator, you know that I'm 22years old for you.

I know, yes I know, I lied – twice. But no one needs to know. Actually I'm younger than this ugly git, which locked me up here, at least I think so. And yeah I know, I said I'm not 22, but one can see it from two sides. He looks like 407, in my time, but he's probably younger. He does look strained and used up. But that's no excuse to treat me inadequate. I'm wiser nevertheless. I'm getting of topic – Me.

I was an only child and they spoiled me rotten. 'They', were my mother, our servants and sometimes my father. I didn't see him often; he was always working around the whole world, but when he visited us, he treated me like I was the most precious in his whole world.

I got everything I wanted. Sometimes I thought everyone was able to read my mind, because there where moments I didn't need to mouth my demands and got everything nevertheless. I never learned to throw a tantrum over things I wanted, but didn't get. I never learned to know the feeling of missing something. And therefore this cage is unworthy and humiliating for everyone, but especially me. Is he even aware of whom he's locking up here?

Where did I stop? Oh yeah, my childhood. When I became one year, we had a huge party, at least my mother told me so; I was too young to remember. Have you realised that in the time you celebrate one birthday, I celebrate eight? That is eight times more presents for me.

My mother ke

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Can one imagine? He hit me across the face. This bastard. How dare he? Did I mention that he's a sick-minded, mad lunatic? No? Well he's a sick-minded, mad lunatic – and he's mean. He hit me. And he's dumb as a post.

Yesterday he came down here and yanked the parchment out of my hands, I was writing on. And then…this ill-minded fucker hit me, ME, across the face. I'm the son of the man, who brought him happiness and love. And. He. Hits. Me. I hate him.

He didn't even prove manners by telling me who the hell he is. At least he could give me something. I would be happy with his first-name. I just need something to make up better insults. It's boring referring to him always as arsehole. If someone will read this, except him. He's tall, has short platin-blond hair, wears expensive robes and is always walking around with a cane. His face is like a mask, it always looks the same. Maybe one knows him.

And he's a brainless block. I know I already said such thing, but you can't say such things often enough. He did want me to write my memoirs - with 22, first prove for being dumb. And now he doesn't. He read my first lines and screamed at me, bastard, about that he's not interested in my sorry life and no one wants to hear about my spoiled life and that I have gotten everything shoved up the arse. And that I can shove this piece of parchment behind.

He ranted and ranted and ranted. A lot of hot air did he produce. Oh my, was he angry, but not my bad. He told me to ramble about my life. In the end, he just wanted to know about my last 24.5 years or your 3years. Such a bastard, does he think that I was born with 154.5years?

I want my mommy! NOW! What did I do to him? I don't even know this man.

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°-°-°
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When I was 18years old (I think I will stay with your time-line, it's quite confusing for you the other way) my mother let me in on my fated job. It was my fate to follow my father, my grandfather, my grand grandfather, my… you get the hang of it, right? I was born into a family business.

She became my tutor and I was in apprentice to her for one year. She taught me everything to become another cjupyaloo (speak: kschupyalo-o) – a creature what rouses the love between two people. People who are already having feelings for each other, but suppress, repress and deny those feelings.

I was supposed to take my grand grandfather's place; he was old and wanted to retire. I think my kind is called cupid among humans, isn't it? Yes, we are a whole kind, not just one person. It would be too much for one to seed love between your kind.

When I turned 19 my father visited us again, after 5years, and assigned me my first mission. He told me that this mission was of high importance. The whole existence of the wizarding world was dependent on this pairing. They needed to fall in love, quickly, to combine their power. I got my instructions and went off to the school of wizardry of Great Britain – Hogwarts.

I was nervous as hell, after all it was my first mission and I wanted it to become a success. This was important and needed to be completed. My fright of failing made me become overenthusiastic and I hurried things with unusual tactics.

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Hogwarts was a paradise for a 19year old cupid, so many beautiful girls and boys. I wish I would be there now and not jailed in here. I'm a 22year old cupid, I have things to do. A lot of things. This sitting, waiting, writing makes me sick.

But back in Hogwarts I felt in heaven. All this repressed love was intoxicating and I absorbed it like a sponge.

But I had a mission and no one else was of importance at that moment. I had to ignore other 'destiny couples' and concentrate on those two boys. They were just two years younger than me and hated each other down to the bones, at least they thought so mind you.

In my apprenticeship, my mother had often taken me out to show me 'destiny couples' and how they felt for me, but those two… I never ever had felt so much repressed love before. You must know, I can smell and see feelings. 'Destiny couples' smell similar and have a coloured aura around them, with the same colour.

I didn't understand why my first mission was such a difficult one. I don't understand today either. Have you ever seen an aura? Probably not. Well, usually an aura has a simple colour, something like blue, yellow, red and of course every couple has a different shade. But those two had nothing like that, their aura was multicoloured.

Green blend into silver, blend into blue, blend into red, and back into green. The energy was unbelievable and made their aura pulsate. I've never seen such thing again, I'm just working for three years now, but my grandfather had assured me he had never seen such aura, either.

I watched them for three days to recognise a pattern in their behaviour towards each other; to come up with a plan. But there was none, no pattern. One minute they were screaming at each other, the next they were ignoring each other, to punch each others face in the following moment.

My father had sent me a mail - What? It was the year 2003, we know how to use your technique and love it. Humans did a good job there. And I wasn't fond of using owls as mail-deliverer. It's cruelty to birds. But I'm drifting of the topic. My dad had sent me a mail, telling me to hurry. Everything was on the brink and I had to succeed.

I admit, I panicked – just a little. Everything was depending on me. Everyone was expecting success. And I panicked. I put both under a spell and trapped them. I sent both to the same place, where I had put up a trap door, and they fell through it into a room. As I said, I had panicked.

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°-°-°
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Did I mention their names already? I'm not the person to remember insignificant details, but these two… I will never forget their names, not in thousand years, sorry I forgot to convert. I will never forget their names, not in 123 years.
Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy. I trapped them under ice, not literally. They needed to experience their love for each other.

I heard of a rumour that many people think we are cute little baby-boys, with nappies and using bow and arrow to shoot love into their hearts. Bollocks. When I heard it first time I nearly peed my pants, it was the best laugh I had for months.
We are more of invisible negotiators. We guide people of one 'destiny couple' into the right directions and show them the similarities to the other one. We give them time to realise and understand their feelings.

That's why I was so depressed about my first assignment. It was all wrong, but it needed to happen. It wasn't fair towards them and towards myself, but I had no choice. They needed to stay in this room until they knew and showed their affection for each other.

Not that someone can try suing me for tormenting and humiliating those two lads. The room was adequate and not such a hole I'm 'living' in right now. There was a bathroom linked to the room, with shower, bathtub and toiletry supplies. The living room itself contained everything needed to live in. A fire place with two cosy armchairs in front of it. A shelf stuffed with wizard and muggle literature; schoolbooks, too. I even had the generosity not to refuse them contact with their families and friends. I gave them an owl.

Of course it wasn't possible to allow Draco to write his father. My assignment had given away that he, Malfoy senior, was part of the menace and therefore also a menace for this mission. The owl just wouldn't deliver the letters to Lucius Adrian Malfoy, but me.

Every other letter landed in the hands of the righteous addressee.

Jeez, I tell you, THAT was a lot of work. I mean, their friends and family needed to know, and of course understand, where those two were and why this all needed to happen. Like I already had said, my first mission was my worst mission, till now. Maybe one day I will have another 'destiny couple' what will drive me insane.

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°-°-°
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I took on my human form and invited myself into Dumbledore's office. Luckily this man had knowledge about us cjupyaloos and I just needed to tell him, where Harry and Draco were and assure they were fine.

I swear I became dizzy of the crazy twinkling in his eyes. What is he doing that for? Does he try to send one a Morse code? But I could handle his mad twinkling, as long he told the others. And he did. He called for at least seven people or had it been eight? Wait, I try to recall their names.

A beautiful woman, Narcissa – I could tell from the moment I saw her that she was Draco's mother, the same beautiful eyes. A tall man with chin-long, black hair, who tried to soothe Mrs Malfoy, I think his name was Snape, Severus Snape. The third person was another man. Mrs Malfoy called him Moony, Mr Snape called him Lupin and two teens called him Remus. Remus 'Moony' Lupin looked slightly sick, pale and worn out.

The rest of the group were four youths, which were glaring at each other and looking helplessly at Dumbledore. Two girls and two boys. At that time I supposed them to be the best friends of Harry and Draco, I was right. And they would become companions and later friends.

Oh I nearly forgot their names. The two girls were Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger. The two boys were Ronald Weasley and Blaise Zabini.

Dumbledore told them what had happened and that Draco and Harry were supposed to become a 'Destiny couple'. I watched the whole scenery out of the shadows. It was a spectacle. They were outraged, horrified – a lot of cursing, accusations. Just three people stayed calm and composed.

Dumbledore, who had brought the news, Narcissa and Severus. Those two looked at each other like they wanted to say 'finally'.
I think it took about three hours until everyone understood the importance of the events and accepted the fact that Draco and Harry were indeed a 'destiny couple'. They promised not to free the Slytherin and Gryffindor out of their room and help them with letters to admit their feelings.

Their job was as hard as mine. Those two imbeciles were too stubborn and defiant to accept the things on hand. Okay I admit, I would call everyone retarded, crazy and brainless, too, who would tell me that I was already meant for my arch rival before I was born or even planned. They just needed some time, that's all, but time was exactly the one thing we hadn't had.

I wasn't allowed to put them under a curse, or their power wouldn't merge into each other. But I was allowed to give their brains the right 'direction', send them mental pictures of the other and dreams to awake their needs and wants. But it needed to happen slowly or insanity would be a result. Just imagine, one day you would hate a person, not just simply hate, but despise and on the next day you can't live without the same person, want to be loved, because your love is endless for the other. Everyone would end in insanity, no matter who it would be.

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This personified pain in the arse will be my downfall. He really expects me to be grateful. This morning he handed me a pensive, which is connected to a quill. I just need to put my memory into the pensive and the quill writes down what is happening as though it had been present.

And now this mangy old bugger demands my gratitude – moron. Just to clear up my standpoint, why I'm not thanking him for this nice little gadget – He. Locked. Me. Up. In. His. Bloody. Fucking. Damn. Dungeon.

I know you will read this, but I don't give a shit. You are a dick-headed, shit-faced cretin and I will not thank you for anything. You're the one who needs to be grateful, for being allowed to read my memories. The hell, actually you needed to crouch on your knees and kiss my feet, because I write down everything and don't refuse to do so.

Nevertheless this pensive comes quite handy. It will tell the story, like it would look at the scenery itself. I can lean back and watch it working for me. Maybe sometimes I can't hold back and need to comment some things.

Yet he's a moron still.
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