Author's notes: Dedicated to theWeasleyboys


The hour was late and she was alone in her bed. All her life Amber had been alone.

With her father's death, everything had changed. Old desires were long forgotten, replaced with even older feelings. Emotions once silenced by the numbing sensations of glow had reawakened to life.

Amber's thoughts told her to pack her things, to leave, runaway and start life all over again. They told her to remain, to embrace her dreams. Greatest of all they told her that what she really needed was him.

Her petite feet were in high heels, while her tiny body revealed itself in the svelte crimson nightgown. Teetering between desperation and determination, she stepped out into the night. She did not need to go far, he too was out seeking what she desired.

The hour was late and Graverobber was alone. He was always alone.

When GeneCo's founder died, everything changed. Old desires were placed to the wayside as older feelings long forgotten resurfaced through Amber's charity auction and the vast donation made. It was an unintentional, yet sincere gift.

Graverobber heard her voice over the holo-news. It was a brief glimpse from her latest performance. The opera was a resounding success. Her star was rising once more, like a phoenix, the announcers said, in the wake of her previous failed attempts to shine.

Amber was no Blind Mag, but her voice was powerful and haunting. The audience loved it and so did the Graverobber.

The emotions brought to life warred within him. The drug runner knew what he wanted to do, what he had to do, and what he would do. He needed her, that was all that mattered.

With heavy feet in big boots, a skinny body hidden behind flamboyant garbs Graverobber slipped off into the shadows. Torn between desperation and denial, he sought the fire that had consumed him long before he ever knew what it meant.

Graverobber did not get too far when he saw her. Amber's eyes, strange, yet so familiar, held the reflection of all he felt, and all he struggled to deny.

She did not bother with words, and neither did he.

Two steps forward, with one arm wrapped around the other, their gazes were caught and held. As their lips part and meet in a silent, passionate greeting, their worlds collide.

It was clear that nothing had really changed, nothing that truly mattered.

Calloused fingers slipped into manicured hands, and soon, heavy-petite footsteps found their way to her old bedchambers where new memories would be made.