Circle of Sin

He came to me in my direst need.

His name was never called, it was unnecessary. I knew him from my dreams and my vision in the Mirror of Erised. I knew him from my family albums, and from Remus and Sirius.

I never called his name, or his title, because I didn't have to and because he flinched every time I so much as formed the word 'Dad' on my mouth.

His raven hair felt like silk to my touch, and its unruliness was uncannily familiar to me. His face was my own reflection. If only he had green eyes, he would look just like me. But I loved his eyes. He had the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen. They were warm, but always had the hint of sadness and regret in them. He also possessed a pair of gentle hands, palms calloused from numerous Quidditch practices, rough but always gentle.

I imagined his smile would be different, more childish perhaps, and a bit more self-assured. But he smiled with bitterness, with pain, sardonic. I had always thought of his scent to be fatherly, something that would remind me of a house in summer, faint traces of cigarettes, freshly baked bread, or even coffee. He smelled of sandalwood, of fresh grass, of freedom, musky and aphrodisiac. I was compelled to breathe in deep every time we embraced, and felt slightly ditzy when he let go. He would smile at me, brushed a tuft of unruly hair from my face, and I would ask him to kiss me.

It was a tentative kiss on the cheek at first, then it was placed nearer and nearer to my lips, until finally he would completely devour my mouth. He was reluctant to go beyond that, so I made a point to seduce him. He was so cautious at first, but when he got use to the idea, he had never seemed to stop doing it or even tried to.

I once asked him if what we were doing was incestuous. He only laughed hollowly in respond, and I never asked him again. I knew it for what it was, and he knew that I knew, but we knew he would never stop this entanglement. Or that I would make him stop.

We had sinned, and I had never felt more loved in my entire life.

He always seemed reluctant to come inside me, but I insisted. It made me feel like we had joined, committed to each other in a twisted way. I loved the feeling of him inside me; it was a reminder of him, of our intimacy.

I had never questioned our relationship. Only that it inspired hope in me. Hope of being loved, and that was enough for me in this seemingly hopeless situation.

He never stayed long. Two or three hours at a time, just enough to ensure me that it was not some sick tricks of a Death Eater, and enough to ensue our relationship. Ron and Hermione didn't even notice him with me, locked in their own world of love as they were.

He helped me with my quest to find the Horcruxes, and his hints always brought fruitfulness. I suspected he had something to do with the mysterious R.A.B. I wouldn't ask him. I didn't even question his choice of initials. R.A.B. could stand for 'Royally Annoying Bastard', or he could have used all the alphabets as his initials for all I cared. I wouldn't dare ask him. In truth, I didn't want to know.

It was surprising, that with so many chances to discuss it, we never did bring up Lily Potter. Being with him, having him by my side, somehow made me refused to grasp the name and the thought of her as his wife or my mother. It seemed surreal for some reason.

We never brought up the topic of how he came to be with me either. Once said that it was fate, that we were destined to be. I did not believe him, but who was I to refuse his presence since he was the father I needed so much but was forced to live without?

I loved him and I told him so, but he replied grimly with 'I could never love you more than you could love yourself, Harry'. I did not understand him, but he bestowed me with affection and kindness and that was more than enough.

He prepared me for the final fight between Voldemort and I, which seemed fruitless when I came to think about it later on. I was a fool to think riding to combat armed with only his love and my bravery would bring me victorious. I paid a high price for my stupidity. The last encounter with Voldemort ripped me of something, or rather someone, I treasured most in my life. Dumbledore was right at some point that love would bring down Voldemort. Only it was not my love that defeated the Dark Lord, it was his love. It was his sacrifice. I wondered how many times someone would have to take the Killing Curse for me, but I realized that this would be the last time. Voldemort was no more, but my love was also gone, and I almost wished that Voldemort would be back so that I could kill him again, or be killed by him so I could join my love.

I still felt his presence inside my heart, my memories. He was gone, but the shadow of his love for me was there in every breath I took. And the warm feeling inside me grew. I knew that my father, my lover, my saviour, was watching over me, encouraged me to live on, to enjoy life.

That feeling never faded, until one day when I received a timed post from myself and inside the package were a pair of brown contact lenses, a set of muggle cosmetics, and a Time Turner.

I spent hours scrutinized them, knowing perfectly well what they implied.

And I realized what I had to do.

END