Hawke's mind was completely defenseless as he lay upon the table, walls destroyed in his escape, leaving him drifting amidst a sea of memories and his darkest fears. Body still full of adrenaline from hours of torture, his subconscious was anything but silent behind closed lids. Of course, in every setting his shoulder ached as if on fire, but Hawke was yet unable to make a connection, to resurface from the realm of sleep and bind the physical pain with that of his subconscious. In fact, he hadn't even the slightest idea he wasn't alert, each scene as real as if he were standing within them.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>Avada Kedavra! </i></span>His father's fresh corpse collapsed at his feet once more, the image replaying within his mind as he stood on the lawn of his childhood home, flames devouring every splinter, every hair, of the man who'd tried his best to suppress the only thing Hawke had ever loved about himself. His magic. That he wasn't a helpless<i>muggle</i>.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">I'm nothing like you!</span></i>No, his magic made him so much better. The man he'd grown up hating was dead at last. And it felt<i> good.</i>A grin spread across his features as the flames and heat dissipated, taking the form of a much calmer memory.<br/><br/>His mother's smile, her beautiful blonde locks pouring over her shoulder as she drifted lazily next to him in the swing set. His toes barely reached the dirt at his feet as he kicked at it, fingers fidgeting nervously with the chains holding him up.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Am I in trouble?</span></i>She laughed, and Hawke missed that sound . . . so much.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ffff">No, not at all, Baby. That was magic, and I can do it too. I'm a witch, and you're my son, which makes you a wizard. See? </span></i>As if to prove her point, she fished a polished stick from her pocket, vines engraved up its length. She then bent and picked a pebble from their feet and, with strange words Hyperion had never heard before, she closed her fist around the stone . . . and left him in awe as she opened her palm to reveal a monarch butterfly. They watched it float away in the breeze together.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ffff"><i>Wow! Can you teach me? What about Dad, and Theo? Can they do that too?</i> </span>His mother's face fell.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ffff">Your father is what we call a muggle, people with no magic.</span></i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>Oh . . . </i></span>Even at such a young age, Hawke remembered feeling sad for his father, that he couldn't do such amazing things.<br/><br/>The Great Hall of Hogwarts, he sat among his few close friends at a long table beneath a crimson banner. Hands wrung in his lap, his eyes were glued to the sorting hat as the new first years awaited the sorting.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Theodoras Hawke!"</span>He watched as the hat was placed upon his brother's golden head, barely touching him for an instant before<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"HUFFLEPUFF!"</span>echoed through the hall. He'd really hoped they might be together . . . easier to keep an eye on Theo that way.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">I don't need you to look after me! </span></i>They always seemed to argue about this.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>Oh really? Is that why your hair's been purple for three days? It's definitely not because Mindy McClagin cornered you outside charms, I'll bet.</i></span>Even then he'd perfected sarcasm.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">You don't understand, Hyp! They do this to me because you're my brother. Because you're perfect and the best keeper Gryffindor has ever seen and I can't even keep a broom still long enough to sit on it!</span></i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000"><i>And you only make it worse when you . . . </i></span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>When I what, Theo? Go on, finish it! </i></span><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">When you go and cause a scene because you can't control yourself!</span></i>They were silent, then, Hawke knowing Theo was right.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I'm not perfect. Far from it. </span></i>Controlling his angered outbursts was something he'd been trying so hard to get right.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">I'm sorry. It's just . . . I forget I don't have to protect you from HIM here. Now come on, purple's a horrible color on you. </span></i><br/><br/>The graduation ceremony. Hawke stood among his peers, a brand new set of Aurors' robes draped over his frame, his scruff more sparse as Rufus Scimegoeur pinned a golden crest to his chest. Applause reached his ears, his mother's gaze at his back as he shook the Minister's hand. The ceremony was over before he knew it and he'd descended to mingle, shook more hands than he could count.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">Mr. Hawke, or, excuse me, Auror Hawke. So how does it feel to be an officer of magical law?</span>He turned to find the bluest eyes he'd ever seen boring into his soul, heart skipping.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">I . . . it's what I've dreamed of. It feels great to finally be here.</span></i>Before he knew what he was doing his hand had darted forward.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Abram McNiel, right?</span></i>He'd seen this man around before, and heard plenty about him. He was well-known for his work with rogue werewolves, having placed more behind bars than any Auror in history. He wasn't hard to look at either, dark hair peppered with gray, a permanent five-o-clock shadow. And those robes didn't do much to conceal a finely sculpted frame. They shook hands.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">I'll be honest, I didn't come over here to make small talk. I'm wondering if you've chosen a mentor yet?</span></i>No . . . actually he hadn't. His mother would have been his first choice, but she already had an apprentice from last year's group. His silence must have been answer enough.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><i>Well, the position's open, if you'll have me.</i> </span>Hawke wondered if he was the only one who'd heard more in those words than implied.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>I'd be honored. </i></span>McNiel was, after all, a veteran of the craft.<br/><br/>Hawk loved the feel of soft sheets smoothing over his bare skin. He loved the feel of plush lips encasing his cock even more, rough stubble scratching between his thighs and eliciting mewling sounds from his throat he'd only recently discovered he could make. At this rate, his eyes glued to the sight of himself disappearing into that accommodating mouth, hot and wet, it wouldn't be long before he reached the edge. He brushed his fingers through peppered hair, murmuring encouragement as that tongue stroked him in ways that had his hips arching above the mattress.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">I'm gonna . . . ! </span></i>His warning wasn't quick enough, but he knew Abram didn't mind. He cried out as his orgasm ripped through him, the base of his cock tightening and filling that skilled mouth with every drop he had to offer. As he collapsed in his afterglow, he found that mouth latched onto his own, tasting himself as their tongues danced. It was things like this that he loved.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">You want me to ride you, hmm?</span></i>His hand went to his lover's cock . . . only to discover he was still flaccid. Confused, Hawke parted their kiss.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">You're not even hard.</span></i>The older man buried his face in his neck.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><i>I've had a lot on my mind. Actually, there's something you should know.</i> </span>Hawke was left feeling empty as Abram disappeared from the bed, back to him as he spoke now.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><i>I'm leaving the force. And . . . I'm leaving Britain. And I'm not coming back.</i></span>Hawke sat up, brow furrowed.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Just like that? But why?</span></i>Ice ran in his veins, somehow fearing this day would come, somehow knowing that what he and his mentor had would never last. Somehow knowing these feelings of his had been completely one-sided.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">So, what? You thought you'd sugar coat this with some good head?</span>The beginnings of anger brewed within him, feeling used.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">You met someone else in Austria, didn't you? Of fucking course . . . </span></i>Hawke made to stand, but Abram's lips were on his before he could move from the bed, hungry and desperate. The older man pulled back, holding Hawke's face in his hands.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">No, it's not that at all. Please don't think that. </span></i>Hawke pushed him away.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(179, 0, 0)">Then why the fuck are you leaving?  </span></i>Maintaining eye contact, Hawke searched beyond those blue windows, but Abram's mind was the only one he'd never been able to penetrate. A true master at his art.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">Don't,</span></i>Abram was stern this time.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">I have my reasons, I swear to you. I'm doing this because of you . . . I'm leaving because I love you. </span></i>Hawke was stunned, unable to process the mixed signals in this moment.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">No. You're not allowed to say that. You're not allowed to tell me that and just disappear without telling me why! If you're telling the truth, you'll stay. </span></i>His fists clenched in the sheets, but not out of ecstasy this time.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff">Well I can't tell you why. Only that . . .  </span></i>As Abram moved to touch him, Hawke dodged his embrace, hurt, anger and confusion battling for dominance inside him. He shut down, went on the defensive.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Then go. Leave. Please. And don't ever contact me again.</span></i><br/><br/>Back in the present, Hawke's fingers twitched at his sides, gold eyes snapping open from a dream he'd never wanted to revisit, wounds reopened as he blinked slowly at a figure standing above him. He felt the touch at his temple, burning him like fire in this moment when he wanted nothing more than to be alone. How much had the Death Eater seen? He'd been completely out of it. Panic filled him as that presence continued to invade his mind.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"> "Get out,"</span>he whispered, voice barely functional from the abuse he'd suffered at Analiese's wand. He shoved against the link with everything he had, irritated.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Why does he persist?</span></i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"My dreams are my own. They mean nothing to you, whatever you hope to garner from digging around,"</span>He growled, realizing his wand was nowhere in sight. Perhaps in his robes, wherever they were. Still, exhausted as he was, it didn't take him long to realize the pain in his shoulder had lessened somewhat. And the only other individual in the room was a man he was sure would had left him to die.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"> "You're the worst Death Eater I've ever met,"</span>he accused, moving to sit up with a groan, taking in his surroundings. The sparse furniture, the clippings of stitches scattered across the table he sat upon.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Don't you know you're supposed to kill Aurors, not sew them up?" </span>Granted, he supposed that made him the worst Auror he'd ever met.