Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable from the original tale of Harry Potter. He and his tale is the product of J.K. Rowling's imagination.

A/N: This is supposedly Deathly Hallows compliant (not including the epilogue). I have not read anything more than halfway into book four, the rest of the story I gather from fanfictions and the Harry Potter Wiki. Forgive me for any mistakes, but this is an Alternate-Universe Harry to begin with.

Warnings: There will be Slash of the Male/Male and Female/Female nature. Slow (or not slow depending on the reader) moving romance. There will be no top/bottoms of any pairings, they will always be equal in any and all of my stories. Current pairing with Harry is undecided.

Slash. Alternate-Universe-Travel. A dash of Time-Travel. Some OCs (Original Characters). Not currently Beta-ed.

Closet Freak

Chapter 1: Place I Know Not

by The Sheep's Dream

–

Harry wasn't sure if he was going to catch up.

The black cloaked thing ("Bloody hell, it's a demon!") had gone too far ahead and he was so far behind. He tried to pump some more magic into his legs for a short burst of speed, but his already magically overdosed legs would take no more.

Suddenly, though, the thing seem to slow down slightly. He tried to mentally push himself to run faster as to not let this opportunity slip, but whatever hope he had of capturing the thing was quickly crushed as something ahead started to appear.

A door. ("Sometimes there are doorways we were never meant to cross, Harry.")

It was large, black embroider with gold. There were no handles on the door, nor signs as to where it leads. And he got the strange feeling that it was cold. That something was pushing him away from it ever so slightly. But he ignored it, he had to catch that thing!

He saw the black cloak disappeared into the door followed by some strange rune-like drawings that seem to appear in thin air after it. Not long after, a small flash of light seemed to signal a casted spell before the door started to close again. Not wanting to give up the chase just yet, Harry leaped for all he was worth through the disappearing entryway. To where, the man knows not, but he silently prayed that this wasn't a stupid mistake and that all his efforts in the last year will end in the capture of this thing.

But for some reason, it was just so cold. ("Harry, please... Don't you leave me too.")

–

Harry had came tumbling out of the fireplace in his hurry and came closely to smashing into an expensive looking china vase. Not that it wouldn't be repairable, but he didn't want to cause a scene in St. Mungo. Being as discrete as he possibly can being who he is, which is not very as a few were starting to notice him and point, he walked briskly to his destination.

"Harry!" A familiar red-head ran to him as he approached, eyes puffy red and nose running. Ginevra Weasley, his best friend's little sister, a previous girlfriend, and a dear friend all on her own.

"Ginny." Harry gather the crying girl, no woman, into his arms. He haven't seen her for quite a while after she had moved in with her lover. Their separation had been on mutual terms when Ginny found herself to be increasingly attracted to the female gender. Harry, while he himself still felt something for her, was content to just watch her from afar.

As long as she's happy, he reasoned to himself.

At the moment, though, she was anything but. He had only minutes earlier, received a message that Lulu Andrew, Ginny's muggle lover, had been assaulted on her way home. Dropping whatever he had been doing, he came rushing to the hospital. The attacker, currently unnamed and unknown, was definitely magical if the strange screaming from the other room was any indication.

Wait, screaming? Harry head snapped up to look at the closed door a few feet away. Surely enough, there was screaming.

"PLEASE, NO! OH, GOD-" And the scream cut itself off.

Harry recognized the voice to be that of Lulu's. And if the yelled words were any hint, she sounded as if she was being gutted alive. Or something close. A choked sound came from near Harry's chest and he remembered who he held in his arms.

"Gin-" He began, his brain working in overload thinking what to say to the crying woman.

"Ginny!" And it seemed as if he didn't have to say much as a worried Molly Weasley came rushing over, followed by Arthur. The teary eyed mother gather he wet faced daughter into her arms.

Another scream sounded from the other room, this time a near inhuman screech of pain. Arthur gave a pained look at the closed door before sitting down across from his sobbing daughter.

–

The pain, it felt like it burned! From the smallest veins in his toes to his beating heart, what is this feeling of something burning him? He tried to gasp out in pain as he felt something cut him open from inside, but there was no air.

Or was it because his lungs was mush melting out of him at this very moment?

And like ash that disperse in the wind, he felt himself... fly away.

("...where are you, Harry?")

–

A month later, Lulu Andrew was pronounced dead. Cause and what she was afflicted with that day she was assaulted was unknown. And the same could be said for the dozens of victims who turned up not long after. The attacker(s) remain unknown as none of the victims, muggle or magical, ever came to their senses enough to speak anything that is not screams of pain. There were never any witnesses... not screaming.

Lulu's passing greatly affected Ginny. A day after Lulu's funeral, Ginny turned from Quidditch and became an Auror, much to her parent's horror as news of this mysterious 'murderer' became widespread. Ron, an Auror himself, admitted to Harry over a couple of glasses of Firewhiskey that though he was proud of his younger sister's courage, he scared shitless of what could happen to Ginny should she meet those responsible for her lover's death.

Harry, who found a strange interest in writing muggle children years after the war, was scared for both of them. For everyone, actually. Though he believe himself to be a simple children book author after the war with Voldemort, he couldn't help but want to head out into the battlefield again just to protect. He blamed it on his hero-complex.

So not one week after Ron's confession, Harry put away his story writing quill.

–

Harry James Potter stared blankly up at the gray skies, his body horizontally placed on the ground as one would do to a dead man. His emerald eyes unseeing with no light reflecting upon the surface, was unmoving. His hands, still clutching his holly wand, was cold and motionless. And his ever beating heart that was a symbol of his strong hold onto life itself, was frozen and dead.

That is until a drop of blood colored rain fell on the body. And Harry James Potter jolted awake as if from a nightmare. Where was he? He stood up shakily, his muscles burned as if demanding not to be moved.

His eyes, which were years ago 'fixed', quickly scanned his surrounding, looking for the black-cloaked-thing. But there was nothing but barely green grass all around him for miles and miles. Harry tried to take a step, but his legs wouldn't allow it as he came tumbling down.

"Who are you?" A voice came from above him. It was child like, a bit curious but guarded.

Harry struggle to roll on his back with a grunt. When he had succeeded he came face to face with a teenager no more than sixteen on the floor next to him. Male, definitely. Hazel brown eyes with flaming red hair. There was something about the face above his that gives off a feeling of familiarity. But he couldn't quite remember where he had seen this teen before.

The face above studied Harry for a few seconds before the hazel eyes widened a bit. The male got to his feet and stumbled back.

Harry's brow knitted with confusion, why was the teen scared? Harry tried to look at his body to check for any blood or organs hanging out of his body. There was none, though he wasn't in the same outfit he was in before the chase. Harry was pulled from his self-observation as he heard a choked sound come from the teen. He looked up in time to see the boy's tears leak down his face. He immediately feel an uneasy feeling in his gut.

No matter how many times he was faced with tears, recently it was a common thing as he would speak with the victim's families, he still felt strange. Harry wanted to ask what was the matter but the gray clouds above sounded with a resounding crack and started to fade.

The sun was fighting its' way through the dusty gray clouds.

The teen's body flickered like a light about to go out.

"No wait, don't go!" It wasn't Harry's voice that said that, it was the teen's. The hazel eyed boy reached his hands out for Harry before his body gave one huge flicker and disappeared.

Harry had the sudden urge to retort with, "But I'm not the one leaving." He laughed silently to himself before remembering that he didn't know anything about his current situation. Where was he?

Harry laid silently with his back on the grass as he stared at the now blue skies above him as the gray-rain clouds disappeared. His finger lightly rubbed the tip of his wand as that boy's face appeared in his mind.

Why does he look like someone I should know?

–

It's something about the eyes, Harry decided as he looked the teen in the face once more. He had been lying there in the grass for what could have been hours, but he found that his mind drift off too often to matter. It was only a minute ago when the boy he had seen earlier 'flickered' back on in front of him like a television. And it was only two before the gray clouds overhead appeared again to shut out the sun. Harry probably thought it weird, but perhaps he had walked through something similar to the Veil?

After a few more minutes of continued silence and blatant staring from the Boy-Whom-Harry-Probably-Knows, the gray clouds reformed up ahead gave a rumble. Lightning seem to flash overhead within the gray clouds. And it was with the rumbling sound that brought the staring teen back into the present with a jolt.

"Are you real?" He asked, looking like he wouldn't believe Harry even if he said yes.

Harry wanted to shrug, but he found pain in the movement there like everywhere else in his body.

Instead, he opened his mouth and replied, "Probably." It was the truth, he didn't know if he was even in the world of living anymore. Dreams don't last this long, do they? Or was he in the same screaming coma state as were many of the victims?

Despite his earlier disbelieving-but-sad look, the boy's face fell even more. He simply replied, "Oh." He stared at the sole of his shoes for a second before moving to sit near Harry's immobile body.

Now that Harry had a closer look at the teen's attire, he found that it looked like the boy was from some prestigious muggle school somewhere. He had seen pictures of such uniforms during one of his research-before-writing days.

"What school do you go to?" Harry asked. Perhaps he had read about the school during his research. Though the knowledge of the teen's school would help him none, he had little confidence he was alive, so what would be the point to ask where he was. His consciousness reasoned to itself in the back of his mind that it would be best at the moment not to know that he was in the 'Land of the Dead'.

"Hogwarts School for the Gifted, a school for those of extremely high intellegence, exceedingly skilled, and/or exceptional in any area of almost anything!" The teen spoke out proudly, his earlier depressing air dispersing. "Almost anything because being extraordinary lazy does not count!" He smiled down at Harry.

Harry smiled back, but quickly replaced it with a frown as the words sank in. Hogwarts? He never heard of another Hogwarts other than the school he went to. Wouldn't such a school with the same name have caught his attention in his research? Harry felt something in the back of his mind tingle with something, as if it was trying to tell him that something is off.

Was it Hogwarts? Or this teen? Harry didn't know, but something felt so off. And the feeling became stronger after the next set of words left the teen's mouth.

"But you should know that, cause you go there too."

He does?

–

This person was a muggle, of that Harry is sure. After the teen informed Harry that he had attended Hogwarts School for the Gifted, which Harry knows is not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had been in silent shock. The teen then took this as a sign to talk. And talk. And talk.

...and talk.

"..and then Principal McGonagall gave us detention! Mum was..."

He did know quite a few muggles, introduced to him by Hermione, though mostly those who had taught him where to start with his sudden urge to write children's stories. And thanks to some of those few muggles, he was able to write a great many popular children's without the fame finding him in person. But that has was not here.

Here, he was lost. In pain and immobile. And confused as to why this teen seems to believe he and Harry are...

"...brothers! Anyways, I bet even Fred and George..."

Harry, though he had received countless damage to his head since birth, was certain that he did NOT have a brother. But looking at the teen's face, that familiarity nagged at him again. Hazel eyes. Red, fiery hair...

Didn't his mother have red hair? Yes, she does. But the Hazel eyes.

His father's.

"...then there was that vacation... I..."

Harry felt so out of it after his last realization that it took a few minutes to realize that the teen had stop talking. Harry's eyes snapped to the teen's to find them watery.

"What is it?" His throat felt hoarse. A little dry, but not desert-dusty dry as to bring upon the coughing fits.

"I'm sorry, Harry, for what I did! I-It was stupid- and I- and you-!" And then there were tears from the teen again after his rushed words.

Harry felt uneasy again. Though because of a natural reaction to people crying in front of you, or because this was supposedly his brother.

Little brother.

Harry felt his hand twitch, and that dull jolt of pain. Harry ignored it and pushed himself to lift up his hand. Shakily, he rested his palm on the red hair of his maybe-brother.

Said brother had pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face behind small, fragile hands.

And the tears continued.

–

The clouds were shoved aside again, by the sun. And once more, the only other person in this strange place flickered out of view.

Harry felt strangely alone.

–

With a grunt of pain, Harry managed to haul himself off the ground and on his unsteady feet. It had took many tries and truckloads of pain, but he can finally stand again. As he slowly placed one foot in front of the other, in an effort to move somewhere, he idly thought about why his body was in pain.

His legs, he could understand, as he had pumped an extremely large amount of magic into it just to run as fast as he could after the cloaked-thing. But not that it did much help, seeing as the thing is no where in sight. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone through the door?

No, he had to. He was sure that the thing he had been chasing was the one, or one of many, that had been attacking those victims. Because before he had began the chase, it got Ron.

Oh god, Ron!

Harry saw, more than felt, his face-first fall onto the ground. But he didn't care, he was panicking. The memories of that thing latching onto his best friend's body, the blood-curdling scream of Ron's and his own, the sick-feeling that had plagued his gut on the sight. Harry prayed silently to any and all deities that Ron would be okay, that he would be fine.

The feeling that had plagued his guts earlier came back and told him otherwise. Ron was still screaming bloody murder when Harry gave chase to the retreating thing. Harry would have stayed by Ron's side, he really would. But to let that monster get away!

The only solace that Harry could offer himself was that he knew Ginny was right behind him, just a few minutes behind, and would have stop to bring her brother to St. Mungo's.

Ron...

–

The gray clouds came again, and with it, the rain and his 'brother'.

"Mum found the things. She was beyond pissed. And a bit scared." Without wasting a second, the teen spoke as soon as his body stopped flickering. "But I don't care. She can take away all that witchraft stuff and throws it wherever she wants. I already got the results I want."

What? Harry turned to give a questioning gaze, Ron's screaming still in the back of his mind. He looked at the teen, both their body soaked, and Harry felt wet. Wet, but strangely not cold. He doubt the pouty face in front of him felt any heat, or lack of.

As if sensing his older brother's question, the teen smiled a bright one. "It brought you back."

Brought him back... Did Harry go somewhere? Yes, yes he did. He went chasing the thing through a door. A very mysterious door. But Harry doubt that his answers match what his 'brother' was talking about.

Again, the teen spoke as if reading Harry's thoughts. "It brought you back from the dead, Harry."

"You should not mess with the dead." It was an automatic reply from Harry's lips. Though it were not his own words, it was words that were drilled into his head repeatedly by Hermione.

Hypocrite. A voice sneered at Harry from his mind. An eerily familiar voice that he refuse to name. Harry, though, will admit that he had spent a lot of his free time 'looking' at the veil. A childish wish that was birth from no reason wishes that perhaps, even if he can't bring back the other, the at least Sirius.

The only problem was the veil.

But after he almost fell into the veil by accident, in front of Hermione and Ron, they had forbade him from further visits to the Department of Mysteries. Harry had often thought about going and just looking at it in secret for a little while, but it was Hermione's tears and Ron's look of fear that kept him from going anywhere near that Department again.

"But it was my fault..." The teen's voice drew Harry from his memories. Harry stared at the Hazel eyes that shown great regret and guilt.

Much like my own. Harry wanted to ask the teen more about what he tried. But something hit him like a brick to the head as he recall what the teen said earlier. "Witchcraft... You can do magic?" I died?

"Huh?" The teen brought his hands to his chin in thought. "Well, of course. The book said anyone can do magic, just that they need practice. It's a witchcraft book, your's, actually. One you bought off of a friend who was moving." Then the teen seem to grimace, "Mum took it. Think she threw it away. Sorry, Harry."

Despite the pain, Harry shrugged. The teen stared at Harry as if in thought before he laid down next to Harry. "How come you always seem to be laying down on the ground? Can you not move or something?"

Harry looked at his 'brother'. "It hurts to move. Sort of like I was body slammed by a giant."

The teen hmmed.

"Anyways, um," Harry started. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he knew he had to get somewhere. Something was still off and it was nagging at him again. Now before they get off topic, "What's your name?"

"What?" The teen got on his elbows and peered at Harry through droopy red hair. There was a frown and his eyebrows drew together in concentration. "It's Jeffery." His face leaned closer to Harry's as if looking to see if Harry was joking. "You really don't remember?"

Harry looked away. It wasn't that he don't remember, but he had a feeling that he wasn't Jeffery's Harry. This was weird. Where did that door bring him? This was like some sort of strange alternate universe in which a teen believes Harry to be his supposedly dead older brother.

Wait, alternate universe.

That could make sense. And a good plot, the artistic part of his mind noted. He had a feeling that once he gets back home and is once more sitting in his customary writing desk, he'd be writing like no tomorrow with the idea.

"Jeffery." Harry looked back at the teen, Jeffery, maybe-brother. The name felt so foreign on his tongue, too foreign for a face that gives a sense of familiarity. "I'm not who you think I am." How can he say this?

Why is he saying this? Oh yes, he can't stay here. If this teenager really summoned him here, he needed to go back. He had things to do.

"I am not your Harry." He watch the teen's eyebrows rise up into his hairline before coming down again to form a confused expression. "I need you to send me back."

Jeffery became still a moment. He then looked from Harry's eyes to the rest of Harry's body before returning once again to Harry's eyes. "Yes you are." Jeffery shook his head, as if to reassure himself. "You are Harry, my Harry. We got the same uniform. There's those patches on your favorite shoe that Mum sowed up because I accidentally drove a drill through it." He motioned to patched up shoe Harry don't remember putting on.

Jeffery continued, "There's your weird bracelet that Looney-" Luna, Harry's brain supplied, "-gave you before she moved to the States. You know, the friend who sold you the witchcraft book?" Jeffery motioned to the green and brown beaded bracelet that was on Harry's right hand, there were inscriptions of some sort of language that Harry does not know.

"And then you are wearing your cool red-eye contact lens that dad introduced you to after that git Draco kicked a soccer ball to your face and broke your glasses." Jeffery pointed to Harry eyes. Harry dragged his hand, his muscle not hurting as much now, to his face.

He never noticed, but he was no longer wearing glasses. Not that he would notice the lack of glasses as he had his eyes 'fixed'. But if Jeffery was right about the contact lens, then his eyes would be red. Harry gave a frown as he remembered Voldemort.

As Harry moved a finger to touch his iris, Jeffery slapped his hand away.

"Don't mess it up, Harry. Those are special ones that have to be removed by the doctor, remember? You got annoyed that you have to keep poking your eyes out just to wash the lens." Jeffery scolded Harry. The same small part of Harry's brain that thinks Jeffery familiar, gave off a sense of nostalgia.

Harry thinks he knows why. And he have a pretty good guess as to why he looked like Jeffery's Harry.

"You bloody put me in your brother's body." Harry meant it as a thought, but it came out in an angry whisper. Harry closed his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. Breathe in, breathe out.

But there were still puzzle pieces missing. What was that door?

"What do you mean?" Jeffery asked, his voice sprinkled with apprehension as if Harry was about to reveal some horrible secret, and one Jeffery didn't want to know about.

"I don't know what 'witchcraft' you did, but you've brought back the wrong Harry." Harry wanted to put it bluntly, but he wasn't sure on how clear he was. "I am Harry James Potter, twenty-five, half-blood wizard, children novelist, and temporary Auror." He also wanted to add, 'Boy-Who-Lived and Savior of the whole Wizarding World' but thought better of it. It wouldn't do to make things more complicated. "And last I checked, I was pretty much alive." But perhaps no longer.

Something seem to dawn on Jeffery as his hazel eyes widened. A hand came up to cover his open-in-shock mouth. "Oh. Oh. I-I'm sorry!" He jumped to his feet, his eyes wide, fearful, and sad looked everywhere but Harry. "Oh, god. No... No!" He began pacing. "No, no, no. What do I do now?"

Jeffery kept pacing and Harry didn't know what to say to calm the teen down. He thought it best that the teen calmed down himself, and once he was, they'll talk. Harry picked at his wet clothing.

The sun came again.

–

"I can't find the book, Harry." The gray clouds had came back, this time with no rain. Jeffery was once again sitting before Harry. "I think Mum tossed it, I can't find it anywhere. And the garbage truck came today." Jeffery ducked his head down to stare at his own sneakers.

"I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "It's fine." He slowly moved himself into a sitting position. The pain, though numb, seem to affect his muscles whether he himself felt anything. "Can't you get another one at a book store?"

Jeffery shook his head. "Har-. My brother said that Looney told him it was one of a kind or something. Besides, it looked very old. I don't even think any store out there sells the same book." Jeffery folded his arms across his chest, "but I could try a different book. Perhaps another witchcraft book. But I need to make sure Mum doesn't know..."

"Why this place?" The question was out of Harry's mouth before he knew it. He was wondering for a while, but thought that it was perhaps a personal reason.

Jeffery answered without pause, "Why I tried to bring my brother back to here?" Harry nodded. "Oh, well, wouldn't it be a tad strange if some family member you know is...gone... shows up around the house? I'd entertain the thought of bringing my brother back and keeping him in the attic, but... it's a very unpleasant place." Jeffery grimaced at his next words, "And to bring him back into the physical world, I would need his body." His eyes watered, filled with many emotions not of the bright variety.

Harry wanted to ask what happened, but would that be too personal. Instead, he placed a hand on top of Jeffery's head, giving it a gentle rub. Better ask something less personal.

"Where is this place?"

A grin appeared on the teen's face. "My dream world, the witchcraft book called it. If one doesn't have the body of the person you wanted to bring back, you can bring their soul into your dreams." Jeffery looked around and nodded his head in appreciation. "Beautiful, huh?"

Harry looked to the green grass beneath him, they were cold and life-less looking regardless of the color. He looked up. Gray clouds cover the skies as the eyes could see. Nothing in the distance but more gray and green. "Yes. A beauty." Sarcasm wasn't usually his thing, but Harry couldn't help himself on this one. "A... lively place you got here."

Jeffery's grin wider, his teeth showed. "I'm not that good at controlling my dreams, so this is what you would get for a while. Until I'm better, there would be no ferris wheels or movie theaters."

"I'd prefer a desk, some good pen, and packets of papers." Harry stated to Jeffery. At Jeffery's questioning look, Harry added, "Children's novelist. I enjoy writing books for children. Sometimes pre-teens, teens, and occasionally adults." Harry thought back to his desk full of story notes and ideas, "A author basically. Though I know I can write stories for any age, I prefer light hearted tales for young children."

"Har-, my brother liked writing stories too, but they were always on adventures and fighting." Jeffery started. "But he hadn't written for a long while before his... death." He swallowed and continued, "He started to become interested in sports. Though dad is a football, er- soccer, fanatic, brother liked tennis the best." There was now a slight smile on his face.

Harry looked at the small smile and he began to wonder. About that world, about the other Harry, his family. He wonder about the differences between Jeffery's world and his own. And a small, strange yearning was born in a tiny part of his heart he hadn't realize was there.

Or perhaps it was the part of his heart that he had long forgotten was there.

–

Long moments in which Harry took to be about a day came and pass. The sun had made its' way out of the dusty clouds and graced Harry with its' warmth. This was perhaps his fifth, sixth?, day in this dream world. Nothing's changed about the scenery, but Harry found himself not really caring about that.

Till now, face flat on the ground yet again.

"Ow." His mumbled voice floated from beneath the mess that was his black hair. The pain that had married his muscles only days before seem to fade into nothing more than a dull, numbing feeling. His body feels like it was wrapped around with a huge, fluffy blanket, but it was anything but warm.

Instead, it was a cold feeling.

He had tried walking after he found his muscles more agreeable, but the grass beneath his feet were rebellious. It showed as he made a small error in footing and ended up with a mouth full of grass. Though they looked lifeless gray-green, the grass was actually quite slippery. He wondered why he didn't notice before.

Harry rolled onto his back and stared into the bright blue sky.

Time for a small daydream break. He had story ideas to work out.

–

"Harry, you wouldn't believe what was on the news today!" The words rushed out of Jeffery's mouth before he even completely stop flickering.

Harry, on his feet, turned to Jeffery who gave him a shock look before grinning.

"Hey, you can stand!" Jeffery exclaimed like it was some great feat. And in Harry's mind, a face full of grass is a great feat. "Anyways, back to my original topic." Jeffery's hands were waving about as he spoke, "It was so cool! Well, not cool for those poor people in the hospitals and perhaps the rest of us, but it was definitely interesting!" Here, he began bouncing on his feet while Harry idly note that Jeffery is very animated.

"They say there's some sort of guy going around and attacking people at random."

Harry froze at those words. There was a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Some woman manage to capture the guy on film attacking another before she was also attacked. The guy was wearing some weird black cloak thing." Jeffery laughed. "Guess he can't wait for Halloween, huh?"

Harry paled. No... He felt sick. "The victims?" Harry choked out. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

"They didn't give the details on what the guy did to the victims, but there was a lot of screaming in the background of that video." Despite the news, Jeffery seemed excited and without a care in the world.

Harry slowly lowered himself onto his knees. "Oh, Jeffery." Harry spoke in a whisper loaded with despair, " What have you done?"

Not only did he bring Harry into this corner of the universe.

He brought it.

–

End of First Chapter.

Note: Looking for a volunteer Beta-Reader. I'm too shy to ask anyone, really.