Disclaimer: None of the Harry Potter characters are mine. I do own Beatrice
though.
Chapter 1: The Wife of His Youth
The ceiling was barely visible past the haze of light, shrinking into the darkness that night brought. The stone floor was freezing, the cold seeping through Ginny's robes, adding to her pain and discomfort. She closed her eyes almost as soon as she had opened the, willing her body to stop aching.
The books in her bag were digging into her back; it felt like the corner of one was separating the vertebrae of her spine. The ground to her right was covered with shattered with glass and it felt like she was laying in some of it- that would explain the liquid oozing down the back of her neck. Her head was throbbing and her eyes blurring, bringing her to reason through her dizziness that she probably had a concussion. But the thing that brought her attention the most was the enormous pressure on her entire left side; she was hoping against all odds that it wasn't what she thought it was.
Trying to sit up, or at the very least roll over, she found she couldn't, the body on top of hers was too heavy. Ginny turned her head, through much strain, to see Draco Malfoy's shoulder. He was on his stomach, rather than his back as she was, and his face was towards her, a small cut on his forehead, and knocked out cold. Other than that, though, he was relatively unscathed. She almost snorted in fury and disgust. Every part of her was screaming out in pain, especially the side he was laying on, and he wasn't harmed at all, despite this- whatever this was- being his fault.
She reached up a dirty, bleeding hand very slowly and tried to shake him awake. He wasn't responding. She would have taken him for dead, had his body not been so warm against hers.
Instead of trying to get him off of her, she switched tactics and prepared herself to try to pull out from under him. She counted to three mentally and shoved herself away with all her strength, only to let out a scream from the immense pain. Her leg was trapped and her side was completely crushed, it felt like she- or he, rather- had broken a rib.
At the noise, Malfoy had opened his eyes and was now looking at her, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. "Get… off," she said through gritted teeth. He moved his arm, which had been slightly over her waist, as if to push up, but seemed to think better of it and rolled on to his back, a soft thud resonating through the room. Ginny winced again; the removal of his weight had hurt more than if he had stayed where he was, and the ceiling started to spin slightly, but she was, nonetheless, thankful for the distance.
She didn't turn her head to see, but she could hear him scramble into a sitting position next to her. "What just happened?" he croaked, his tone scared. She had never wanted to throttle him more in her life. If she lived, she would kill him, first chance she got.
She tried to sit up again, only to sink back down with a cry. Tears formed at the side of her eyes and she almost didn't notice Malfoy lifting her shoulder and taking her bag out from under her- a step in the right direction, though he was rather clumsy and awkward. He even went so far as to turn her head slightly to check the cut on her neck, though he couldn't see it much from his position on the other side of her. She finally realized how serious it was by the look on his face when he pulled away and the slight shaking of his hands.
"Get- Madam- Pomfrey," Ginny told him.
He still made no move.
"If I die," she said, very solemnly, trying to scare him, "it'll be your fault. You'll be in for murder." He was halfway to the door before she had gotten out the last word, but stopped suddenly.
Ginny couldn't see much from her place behind the big wooden desk, only Malfoy's feet and ankles in the small space between the floor and the wood, but she then saw that there were more pairs of feet than there should be. There was another person there- multiple persons.
"Can I help you?" asked a confused voice. A wave of relief washed over her and she relaxed onto the floor certain that everything would be ok now. That was Dumbledore speaking, Dumbledore's feet she saw.
"Who are you, young man?" It was a different voice this time, but still one Ginny had heard before. She couldn't place it; it was like hearing a song and trying to remember who sings it, when you've only ever heard it once or twice before. This voice was frail, old, nervous. "What are you doing here?"
"Pro… Professor Dumbledore?" Malfoy asked, bewildered.
"Do I know you?" he asked, sounding a little wary.
"Come Albus," said the unrecognized voice. "What all this about? Do you know this boy?"
"Holy shit," Malfoy breathed, and Ginny froze at hearing him say something like that in front of Dumbledore. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she saw his feet move across the room to the window she had been looking out earlier. She could see the top of his head over the desk, but his face was still obstructed.
"Now see here," said the old wizard, walking over to Malfoy. "We don't tolerate-"
"It's snowing," Malfoy interrupted, turning away from the window. He didn't seem to be talking to Dumbledore or the other man, and Ginny was suddenly struck by what his observation meant. It hadn't been snowing before; it had been raining, heavily. In fact, it had been an unusually warm winter thus far- everyone was disappointed that there would be no snow anytime soon.
She clenched her teeth and pulled herself upwards slightly, taking in a sharp breath as the glass scraped into her skin, so her head was just around the desk and she could see what was going on. The noise she made pulled the attention of the others in the room and no one said anything, each in a similar state of disbelief.
The room was spinning again, but this time, one thing stayed in place, one thing was unmistakably solid. There was a man standing still in the middle of the room with long auburn hair, a beard to match, small half-moon glasses, and robes of a deep blue with gold stars scattered on them.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she whispered, almost forgetting to breathe. The eyes were unmistakable, the same brilliant blue they always were, though now, brighter somehow, less tired.
What scared Ginny the most, though, was the realization that she had seen him like this before. This wasn't her first glimpse of the younger version of her headmaster; she knew where she had seen him like this, and she prayed it wasn't where, or when, rather, she thought it was. Suddenly, she shared Malfoy's sentiments exactly: Holy shit.
He walked over to her, this younger Dumbledore, and gently knelt beside her, examining her wounds in a much more careful and deliberate manner than Malfoy had, brow wrinkled in concern.
"Where did all this glass come from?" he muttered, brushing some away to get a better look at her neck. "You've got a nasty cut here." He ran his wand over her, stopping it when it glowed a red over her left side, were Malfoy had fallen. "You're side's pretty bad as well. I suppose walking to the hospital wing is out of the question, isn't it?"
Ginny managed a slight nod, grateful that this man still retained all the calming and authoritative qualities the Dumbledore she knew had. The older wizard from before had now reached them, and Draco stood looking on from the window, forgotten and silent.
"Who are you and how did you get here?" the old man asked, as Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and levitated it in mid-air.
"This might hurt a little," he whispered kindly, ignoring the man's questions. "I'll try to be as gentle as I can, though. Mobilicorpus."
Ginny's arms legs floated up and she braced herself as the rest of her body followed, allowing her head to loll to the side, until she reached the stretcher. Dumbledore placed an arm gently around her middle and guided her onto it, still aiming his wand with his right hand, so she was lying on the padded bed, seeming to be a cloud after the hard, stone floor.
"There we go," he said softly. "That wasn't so bad."
With much care, he maneuvered around the desk and walked her across the room towards the door and out to the hall. She could hear Malfoy following them, and the other man as well.
"Now," Dumbledore said in a friendly tone. "I need to ask you some questions, ok? What's you're name?"
"Virginia Leigh Weasley," she answered, amazing herself at being able to remember. Dumbledore's brow wrinkled for a moment and he pursed his lips in thought.
"Who is that man?" Ginny asked, tilting her head up the slightest bit and rolling her eyes up as far as they would go to indicate the wizard behind them. She had finally realized who he was, but was hoping she was wrong. 'Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it,' she chanted in her head, waiting for the response.
"Professor Dippet," he answered. "He's the Headmaster." Ginny sank a little lower, feeling her whole being deflate. Professor Dippet- the Headmaster 50 some years ago, when Tom Riddle went to school. She had seen him in one of Tom's many memories, as she had seen a young Dumbledore, too.
She was about to ask him what year it was, disregarding how mad she might have sounded, when he came to an abrupt halt, and with him, the stretcher. Ginny slid forward a bit and the ceiling began to spin again as she was jostled- she was beginning to feel she might be sick to her stomach if this didn't stop.
There were people in front of them, blocking their view and passage, chattering excitedly in hushed tones. Ginny didn't bother to try to get a good look at them; she was suddenly feeling very tired.
"Hello, Albus," said one, a female voice. "Have you seen- Drummond! There you are! We've all been looking for you. Do you know what's happened? We all just heard the most awful crash-" The words washed over Ginny in her sudden drowsiness and she let her eyelids droop slowly, her eyelashes shading the world from view until she couldn't see anything anymore.
"Madge," Dippet finally stopped her, "all of you, go to my office, we'll meet there as soon as I've straightened some things out. There's no need to worry; everything's under control."
From somewhere that seemed far off, Ginny could hear Malfoy snort in disgust, but the black around her was closing in, and she was sinking. Someone was shaking her, though, gently but firmly. Dumbledore had his hand on her cheek and was trying to jostle her back awake without hurting her more.
"No, no, no. Don't fall asleep. Come on, wake up," then to Dippet, "We need to get her to Beatrice- now."
Reluctantly, Ginny opened her eyes again as Dippet made the other people- professors, presumably- clear away.
"Keep talking," Dumbledore told her. "Tell me how you got here."
Ginny thought for a moment, then slowly, "Malfoy had my wand I grabbed it. But he was looking at something and said a spell, I think. And then it was white, and then everything was spinning and- I don't know what happened." He nodded and turned to look at Malfoy over his shoulder.
"I'm assuming you're Malfoy?"
"Draco Malfoy, yeah." He turned back to look down at Ginny, pondering something.
"Here we are," announced Dippet as he held the door open before them. Ginny hadn't noticed he had gotten in front of them.
"Bea!" Dumbledore called, a new note of urgency in his voice. "Bea, we need you, there's an emergency."
"Albus?" called a woman's voice, as she came into the room. Ginny still couldn't see her; it was becoming frustrating, not being able to see anything, having to guess at everything that was going on. "What's the- Oh my," she gasped as she came over to the stretcher.
Ginny could see her face now, shoulder length brown hair falling around her face, her hand on her throat, big, brown, kind eyes that were shining with concern at the moment, and she seemed around her mother's age. For a brief second, she looked up at Dumbledore with a lost expression on her face, but when she turned back down to look at the girl, her face became an example of the utmost concentration and determination. Putting her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, she went into action as Dumbledore explained how he had found the girl, and had thought it best not to do anything when she could do it better. She ran her wand over Ginny's body in the same way Dumbledore had, watching as it turned red in different spots.
"Everyone, out. Darling," she spoke to Ginny, "I'm going to have to tear your shirt to get to this side. I'll be able to fix it again after everything's done, so don't worry. The robes we'll be able to get off rather easily though. Albus, lead everyone out and get that boy to the other room. You can fix his head well enough and know what to look for if anything else is wrong."
She lifted Ginny up with her wand slightly to take off her robe, which did come off easily, and whispered "Nimen," a numbing spell. She guided Ginny over to the nearest bed and Ginny almost smiled, the weight of her pain replaced by a cool sensation, like submerging into a bath.
"This cut on you neck is pretty bad," the woman- Beatrice, apparently- said, bustling around, gather supplies. She reminded Ginny much of Madam Pomfrey, only less… aggressive. "But none of this should be much of a problem."
"Come on." Dumbledore had his arm around Malfoy's shoulders, trying to guide him out of the room. The boy was looking on, with obvious, transfixed horror. His face had the slightest tint of green, and Ginny thought he might be sick at any moment. "She's going to be fine."
Draco opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly shut it, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face. He lurched a little, suddenly looking unsteady, ready to fall.
"Get him out of here," Beatrice said, motioning with her hand. She walked over to a cabinet with glass doors and filled with bottles, all shapes, colors, and sizes, and pulled out a large pink one, as well as a spoon. She poured the shimmering liquid, careful not to spill it, and sat on the edge of Ginny's bed to prop her head up and feed it to her, careful not to force it.
Ginny sank back down, darkness closing in around her eyes. She felt her mind being pulled back into unconsciousness, and remembering what had happened in the hallway, struggled against it, willing herself to stay awake.
"Shh, it's ok," Beatrice cooed, placing a calming hand on her shoulder, in a move that made Ginny think of her mother. "It's ok. You can sleep now."
For a moment longer, Ginny fought, afraid of what might happen if she stopped, but the darkness was overwhelming and for the second time that night she fell comatose.
~*~*~*~
There were hushed voices coming from her right.
"Have you talked to the boy?" It was Beatrice.
"He won't say much of anything." Dumbledore. "Seemed almost faint when I brought him out, but wouldn't take the potion I gave him. He dumped it when he thought I wasn't looking. I didn't say anything, though."
"Who do you think they are?"
"I'm not sure. Apparently, Draco Malfoy and Virginia Weasley, but that doesn't help much, but that's all I know; my first priority was to make sure they were ok."
"You were right on that. Malfoy and Weasley, though- that's odd"
There was silence then, and Ginny decided to let them know she was awake.
"Hello?" she asked in a thick voice, opening her eyes slowly and trying not to yawn.
"Ah, you're up!" Beatrice came over, smiling down at her. She had small bags under her eyes and her clothes were now wrinkled, but she was still energetic in her movements as she folded the clothes Ginny had been wearing on the end of the bed. "They've been mended and washed," she explained as Ginny watched, "but it's better if you stay in the hospital gown for now." Dumbledore excused himself, saying he needed to alert Dippet on Ginny's awakening and would be right back.
"What time is it?" Ginny asked, pleased to see she could sit up now.
"Nearly 1:30." Beatrice told her. "You had a fractured rib, a concussion, a bad cut on your neck, and scratches all over, but you're healing very well. It won't be long before you're as good as new." Ginny grimaced.
"I actually broke my wrist yesterday, too."
"Hmm, not a good 48 hours for you, I suppose."
"It's not looking like it's getting better anytime soon." Ginny turned her head to look out the nearest window. It was frosted and snow was built up in the corners, so different from the one she had looked out of in the Defense classroom earlier that evening. 'Has it really only been a few hours?' Ginny thought. 'It seems like forever ago.'
Dumbledore came back then, Dippet and Mafoy in tow. The former had obviously been asleep; though he still wore the robes he had earlier and was smiling eagerly, his eyes were puffy and dilated and he kept fighting not to yawn. The latter, however, was looking down at the ground, hands in his pockets and posture slouched, and when he finally did look at her, Ginny saw his eyes were hollow and lifeless, showing his lack of rest.
"Dumbledore," said Dippet, "you don't mind stepping out with Beatrice in the hall do you? I think I need to speak with these… our… guests alone."
They were about to oblige, though Beatrice was giving Ginny a worried glance, when Malfoy stopped them.
"Oh, no!" he said, his loud voice suddenly making up for his earlier silence. "I don't know what's going on, but he stays." Dippet made to protest, but Ginny interrupted.
"Please," she said softly, trying her best to look sick and desperate, something that was fairly easy, considering how weak she still felt. "Please, can he stay? Can they both stay?" she threw a pleading glance at Beatrice who smiled almost sadly at her in return. Dippet looked around, seeming confused and mildly offended, but finally narrowed his gaze on Mafoy.
"Will you answer every question?" he asked suspiciously. "And explain everything?"
Malfoy's eye unfocused for a quick moment, and Ginny was sure there was fear in them, though the smallest bit. She fought the urge to smirk; she knew what he was thinking- it was his fault. Whatever had happened, it was his fault.
"Yes," he said finally, regaining his composure. He seemed to be teetering between steely defiance and cool indifference. Ginny had never seen him squirm so much.
"All right," Dippet sighed, pulling two chairs around and offering one to Malfoy. Beatrice's smile grew and she took the chair next to Ginny's bed, placing a hand absentmindedly on hers, a move that Ginny found wonderfully comforting, again reminding her of her mother. Dumbledore came around to stand behind Beatrice, placing his hands on the chair back and putting his weight forward, watching, but not really part of everything, distancing himself. It was so odd to see Dumbledore not immediately in charge of a situation; odd, Ginny felt, and so incredibly wrong.
"I have asked you many times, and still, I have gotten no answer," Dippet began. "Who are you?" Malfoy rolled his eyes and Ginny frowned at him.
"I've told you," he said. "Draco Malfoy. I- am- Draco- Malfoy." Dippet shot him a glare, clearly losing his patience.
"Mr. Malfoy," he all but spat, "now I don't know where you go to school, but here at Hogwarts, we do not tolerate that type of disrespect, regardless."
"I- we go to Hogwarts," Ginny interrupted. If she kept talking, maybe Malfoy wouldn't have a chance to say something stupid again- though that was probably hoping too much. If he really wanted to get Dippet mad, he probably wouldn't let her stop him, no matter how bad an idea it was.
"I can assure you, if you did, I would know," Dippet protested politely, but firmly. "If you did, the castle would not have suddenly shook and you would not have suddenly appeared from no where in a classroom, especially in such bad shape." He glanced over Ginny's body, clad in the hospital gown and tucked under many blankets, appraisingly.
"What year," Dumbledore finally spoke up, "is it?" Ginny was silently glad that he had asked that question first.
"Well I thought it was 1997," Malfoy said heatedly. "But then again, I thought you were our Headmaster, and I thought you were about 50 years older-"
"And you thought that stupid spell wouldn't do anything, either, I'll bet," Ginny hissed at him, all her anger finally surfacing. 'He has some nerve,' she thought furiously. 'He caused this whole thing and he has the audacity to be nasty about it.'
"Hold on a minute," Dippet said, holding out a hand and leaning closer in his chair. "It's what year?"
"1997," Ginny said, already knowing what the response would be.
"It's 1943," Dumbledore said, pushing off the chair and leaning against the wall. "Almost 1944."
Malfoy looked around the room in disbelief for a moment but finally just shook his head. "I should be surprised, but I can't say I am."
"Well," said Dippet, "odder things have happened."
"I suppose. But can you explain this?" Dumbledore pulled something out of his robes and held it out to Ginny, who took it uncertainly.
It was easily recognizable as a snow globe, though there were tiny chunks missing in spots and it was void of any snow or scenery inside.
"That," he pointed, "was what formed out of the shattered glass you were laying in. We think there might have been a castle inside, from the other pieces left, but it was beyond repair. The interesting thing is though- turn it over."
Ginny did so, and found there was a magically engraved date on the bottom, which read "1949." She looked back up, trying to keep her hands from shaking and failing.
"It's 1943," she stated more than questioned. She let it sink in, realizing what that meant.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered patiently. She bit her lower lip, still uncertain how to react. The way he was looking at her, Ginny was certain he was waiting for something, what, though, she wasn't sure. She dropped the globe in her lap and ran her hands over her face, lifting her head slightly as her fingers swept from her nose across her cheeks and down, traveling along her jaw to meet under her chin, folding into each other. She bent her head back down, this time rubbing her cheek comfortingly against the back of her hand.
"1943," she repeated once more, hoping her voice would make it seem more real.
"God, Weasley!" Malfoy burst out. "Yes, we've accepted and moved on!"
Ginny almost hurled the snow globe at him, but realized she'd probably miss if she did, and it wasn't worth it if she would miss. Dippet began to reprimand Malfoy again, but Ginny ignored him.
'He doesn't understand,' she told herself. 'He doesn't know about… Tom. And you don't even know if he's here. Just don't think about it and maybe it won't come up.'
She realized this was a flimsy effort to avoid the possibility of a Hogwarts with Tom Riddle. If it really was 1943, he would be here, unless it was some sort of alternate reality, and she wasn't so sure she wanted that possibility either.
"Professor Dippet," Beatrice stood, preventing the tempers in the room from escalating any further. "I think everyone needs some rest right now. I know especially young Virginia here-"
"Ginny, please," she said.
"Ginny, then," Beatrice corrected before going on, "needs to get some sleep. She'll be here for at least another day or two, and it would be best if Draco- it is Draco?" he nodded, "-stayed here as well. I imagine it will be easier to straighten everything out once everyone is well rested and had time to sort out the day's events on their own."
"Beatrice, we don't know who these people are," Dippet protested, ignoring that the unknown people in question were sitting in the room. "With times as they are, anyone could come in here. Now if you're suggesting we all just leave it for now when they could be spies, or Grindlewald supporters under-"
"This is bloody ridiculous!" Malfoy shouted, standing to tower over the old wizard. "If anyone's got a right to be suspicious it's me! All of a sudden- " He didn't finish because Beatrice had gone over and grabbed his arm, though she only came up to his shoulder, and began pulling over to the next bed, drawing the curtain in front of him, despite his violent protests, and turned back to the rest of the group, who were watching with much respect and gratitude.
"Drummond, you had really better go now," she said, and this time he did, nodding slightly before sweeping through the door and closing it behind him. When he was gone, she went behind the curtain again. Before she could say anything, Malfoy began shouting incoherently and finally she took out her wand.
"I don't want to do a sleeping spell, but if I must, I will," she told him warningly.
"Who do you-"
"Morpheus Libi," she said, and instantly the boy fell silent, flopping onto the bed. Beatrice adjusted him, putting his feet up and pulling the covers over his long form. When she came back out, she looked at Ginny in astonishment.
"Is he always that… excited?" she asked.
"Is excited the word you would use?" Ginny returned. "I can think of a million better adjectives, none of them half so polite. Someone's needed to shut him up like that for years."
"Well, I didn't want to," Beatrice insisted, "but he didn't leave me much of a choice, and it was for his own good." She turned to look at Dumbledore, who had remained when Dippet left. "When I said everyone needs to get some sleep, I meant you too." He smiled wearily at her, but shook his head.
"Not if you're staying," he said. "I have some papers I can bring back here to grade."
"Albus," she said, leading him over to the door, "I'll be fine. You need sleep. You're no use to me tired."
He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a way that made Ginny think of Professor Lupin. "Bea, I'm…" he trailed off, looking down at her with a sad, lost expression on his face, making Ginny feel like an intruder, though she kept watching. She was beginning to wonder who this woman really was, the way she was acting with Dumbledore.
"It's alright," Beatrice cooed, opening the door and guiding him out. "Don't you dare come back before 9, at the very earliest." He nodded and put on his glasses again. Before he left, though, he gave her an affectionate kiss on the forehead and she gave his arm a small squeeze.
Ginny tried not to smile, and looked away to the wall. Her mind began filling with images of a young Dumbledore- well, middle aged- in a tragic romance, and in less than a second she began to see her Headmaster in a whole new light.
Beatrice came back to her bed to take away the snow globe and arrange everything- a talent Ginny supposed all nurses had was to be constantly arranging things, no matter how immaculate they might seem.
"Try not to sleep on your left side," she said. "That rib is still fragile."
"I won't." Ginny paused. "We aren't spies, you know." She said, feeling a need to make that clear.
"I didn't think you were." Ginny slid down under the covers, her hospital gown getting twisted around her legs in the process. She reached down to fix it, but couldn't get it right.
"Now I remember why I don't like nightgowns," she muttered angrily.
"Here, let me help." Beatrice pulled the covers back, and began rolling up the hem of the gown up till it was around her mid-thigh. "How's that?"
"Much better," Ginny smiled, pulling the covers back up.
"I don't need to give you a dreamless sleep potion, do I?" Beatrice asked. Ginny thought for a moment, considering the nightmares she could have, like the ones in her first year, but decided against it; she had refused to take the potion then and she wouldn't now, nightmares or not. It didn't help her fear much, and only left her with a sense of helplessness and self-loathing afterwards.
"I think I'll be ok. Er- do I call you Beatrice?" she asked, not sure how to address the woman.
"Beatrice is fine."
"Ok."
"Is that everything?" she asked before she left. "Are you all set?"
"Yes," Ginny said. "Everything's fine." Beatrice said goodnight, blowing out the lights, and had almost gone into her office when Ginny called to her. "Beatrice?" she paused, unsure on how to phrase this question, or even whether she should ask it. "With Professor Dumbledore… I mean… Do you and he…" She laughed, not seeming to be offended at all.
"It's alright," she said before she closed the door. "He's my husband."
And that, boys and girls, is the first official chapter. I'm so proud. A few things:
You will find out what Fior Ifreann means. It's part of the story. Be patient. And yes, Tom is coming. I screwed up on the math, I think, but when I planned this, Tom was a 7th year in fall, 1943 and winter '44, so a 7th year he shall stay. Let's just assume when they talk about the diary being 50 years old, it's ABOUT that, not precise, because that would be odd.
OK, thanks to the reviewers:
Yuki (thanks for reading my poem, too.), Jimi (yeah, I know. I read it after I posted it and cringed. I swear I'll go back and fix everything and then repost.), Alizee (thank you very much. 6th year? Aww, I'm screwed. I hate math!), j-belle (I know, I was impatient. But I've learned my lesson.), Gryffpam (It pleases me to no end when people say, "You're a great writer." That's the best thing you can ever say to me, so thanks.), SerenityBlack (I know, with WWII and everything. I'm working a lot of Tom vs. Hitler into this. I love history, too.), bosch (If I told you, it'd give it away. Have faith. Poe's awesome! I've had some people think it was weird, because of what the poem is about, but I think it's more of a tribute than anything.), ~*Crystal Lily*~, Mione G, Silverfish, augie (Yep!), FROM A-Z (Woah, very enthusiastic. Thanks.), and Fizzy-waterBaby (REAL WRITING? Oh, you don't know how happy that made me. It did help. Thanks.) Oh, and Allie, the coolest little sister ever. Long live goggle fashion.
Also, thanks to Viola, for being so cool about me writing this. If I hadn't asked her first, I would have been really uncomfortable about it all. Go read her story, "Dreamwalk Blue," if you haven't already. It's wonderful, really.
Chapter 1: The Wife of His Youth
The ceiling was barely visible past the haze of light, shrinking into the darkness that night brought. The stone floor was freezing, the cold seeping through Ginny's robes, adding to her pain and discomfort. She closed her eyes almost as soon as she had opened the, willing her body to stop aching.
The books in her bag were digging into her back; it felt like the corner of one was separating the vertebrae of her spine. The ground to her right was covered with shattered with glass and it felt like she was laying in some of it- that would explain the liquid oozing down the back of her neck. Her head was throbbing and her eyes blurring, bringing her to reason through her dizziness that she probably had a concussion. But the thing that brought her attention the most was the enormous pressure on her entire left side; she was hoping against all odds that it wasn't what she thought it was.
Trying to sit up, or at the very least roll over, she found she couldn't, the body on top of hers was too heavy. Ginny turned her head, through much strain, to see Draco Malfoy's shoulder. He was on his stomach, rather than his back as she was, and his face was towards her, a small cut on his forehead, and knocked out cold. Other than that, though, he was relatively unscathed. She almost snorted in fury and disgust. Every part of her was screaming out in pain, especially the side he was laying on, and he wasn't harmed at all, despite this- whatever this was- being his fault.
She reached up a dirty, bleeding hand very slowly and tried to shake him awake. He wasn't responding. She would have taken him for dead, had his body not been so warm against hers.
Instead of trying to get him off of her, she switched tactics and prepared herself to try to pull out from under him. She counted to three mentally and shoved herself away with all her strength, only to let out a scream from the immense pain. Her leg was trapped and her side was completely crushed, it felt like she- or he, rather- had broken a rib.
At the noise, Malfoy had opened his eyes and was now looking at her, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. "Get… off," she said through gritted teeth. He moved his arm, which had been slightly over her waist, as if to push up, but seemed to think better of it and rolled on to his back, a soft thud resonating through the room. Ginny winced again; the removal of his weight had hurt more than if he had stayed where he was, and the ceiling started to spin slightly, but she was, nonetheless, thankful for the distance.
She didn't turn her head to see, but she could hear him scramble into a sitting position next to her. "What just happened?" he croaked, his tone scared. She had never wanted to throttle him more in her life. If she lived, she would kill him, first chance she got.
She tried to sit up again, only to sink back down with a cry. Tears formed at the side of her eyes and she almost didn't notice Malfoy lifting her shoulder and taking her bag out from under her- a step in the right direction, though he was rather clumsy and awkward. He even went so far as to turn her head slightly to check the cut on her neck, though he couldn't see it much from his position on the other side of her. She finally realized how serious it was by the look on his face when he pulled away and the slight shaking of his hands.
"Get- Madam- Pomfrey," Ginny told him.
He still made no move.
"If I die," she said, very solemnly, trying to scare him, "it'll be your fault. You'll be in for murder." He was halfway to the door before she had gotten out the last word, but stopped suddenly.
Ginny couldn't see much from her place behind the big wooden desk, only Malfoy's feet and ankles in the small space between the floor and the wood, but she then saw that there were more pairs of feet than there should be. There was another person there- multiple persons.
"Can I help you?" asked a confused voice. A wave of relief washed over her and she relaxed onto the floor certain that everything would be ok now. That was Dumbledore speaking, Dumbledore's feet she saw.
"Who are you, young man?" It was a different voice this time, but still one Ginny had heard before. She couldn't place it; it was like hearing a song and trying to remember who sings it, when you've only ever heard it once or twice before. This voice was frail, old, nervous. "What are you doing here?"
"Pro… Professor Dumbledore?" Malfoy asked, bewildered.
"Do I know you?" he asked, sounding a little wary.
"Come Albus," said the unrecognized voice. "What all this about? Do you know this boy?"
"Holy shit," Malfoy breathed, and Ginny froze at hearing him say something like that in front of Dumbledore. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she saw his feet move across the room to the window she had been looking out earlier. She could see the top of his head over the desk, but his face was still obstructed.
"Now see here," said the old wizard, walking over to Malfoy. "We don't tolerate-"
"It's snowing," Malfoy interrupted, turning away from the window. He didn't seem to be talking to Dumbledore or the other man, and Ginny was suddenly struck by what his observation meant. It hadn't been snowing before; it had been raining, heavily. In fact, it had been an unusually warm winter thus far- everyone was disappointed that there would be no snow anytime soon.
She clenched her teeth and pulled herself upwards slightly, taking in a sharp breath as the glass scraped into her skin, so her head was just around the desk and she could see what was going on. The noise she made pulled the attention of the others in the room and no one said anything, each in a similar state of disbelief.
The room was spinning again, but this time, one thing stayed in place, one thing was unmistakably solid. There was a man standing still in the middle of the room with long auburn hair, a beard to match, small half-moon glasses, and robes of a deep blue with gold stars scattered on them.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she whispered, almost forgetting to breathe. The eyes were unmistakable, the same brilliant blue they always were, though now, brighter somehow, less tired.
What scared Ginny the most, though, was the realization that she had seen him like this before. This wasn't her first glimpse of the younger version of her headmaster; she knew where she had seen him like this, and she prayed it wasn't where, or when, rather, she thought it was. Suddenly, she shared Malfoy's sentiments exactly: Holy shit.
He walked over to her, this younger Dumbledore, and gently knelt beside her, examining her wounds in a much more careful and deliberate manner than Malfoy had, brow wrinkled in concern.
"Where did all this glass come from?" he muttered, brushing some away to get a better look at her neck. "You've got a nasty cut here." He ran his wand over her, stopping it when it glowed a red over her left side, were Malfoy had fallen. "You're side's pretty bad as well. I suppose walking to the hospital wing is out of the question, isn't it?"
Ginny managed a slight nod, grateful that this man still retained all the calming and authoritative qualities the Dumbledore she knew had. The older wizard from before had now reached them, and Draco stood looking on from the window, forgotten and silent.
"Who are you and how did you get here?" the old man asked, as Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and levitated it in mid-air.
"This might hurt a little," he whispered kindly, ignoring the man's questions. "I'll try to be as gentle as I can, though. Mobilicorpus."
Ginny's arms legs floated up and she braced herself as the rest of her body followed, allowing her head to loll to the side, until she reached the stretcher. Dumbledore placed an arm gently around her middle and guided her onto it, still aiming his wand with his right hand, so she was lying on the padded bed, seeming to be a cloud after the hard, stone floor.
"There we go," he said softly. "That wasn't so bad."
With much care, he maneuvered around the desk and walked her across the room towards the door and out to the hall. She could hear Malfoy following them, and the other man as well.
"Now," Dumbledore said in a friendly tone. "I need to ask you some questions, ok? What's you're name?"
"Virginia Leigh Weasley," she answered, amazing herself at being able to remember. Dumbledore's brow wrinkled for a moment and he pursed his lips in thought.
"Who is that man?" Ginny asked, tilting her head up the slightest bit and rolling her eyes up as far as they would go to indicate the wizard behind them. She had finally realized who he was, but was hoping she was wrong. 'Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it,' she chanted in her head, waiting for the response.
"Professor Dippet," he answered. "He's the Headmaster." Ginny sank a little lower, feeling her whole being deflate. Professor Dippet- the Headmaster 50 some years ago, when Tom Riddle went to school. She had seen him in one of Tom's many memories, as she had seen a young Dumbledore, too.
She was about to ask him what year it was, disregarding how mad she might have sounded, when he came to an abrupt halt, and with him, the stretcher. Ginny slid forward a bit and the ceiling began to spin again as she was jostled- she was beginning to feel she might be sick to her stomach if this didn't stop.
There were people in front of them, blocking their view and passage, chattering excitedly in hushed tones. Ginny didn't bother to try to get a good look at them; she was suddenly feeling very tired.
"Hello, Albus," said one, a female voice. "Have you seen- Drummond! There you are! We've all been looking for you. Do you know what's happened? We all just heard the most awful crash-" The words washed over Ginny in her sudden drowsiness and she let her eyelids droop slowly, her eyelashes shading the world from view until she couldn't see anything anymore.
"Madge," Dippet finally stopped her, "all of you, go to my office, we'll meet there as soon as I've straightened some things out. There's no need to worry; everything's under control."
From somewhere that seemed far off, Ginny could hear Malfoy snort in disgust, but the black around her was closing in, and she was sinking. Someone was shaking her, though, gently but firmly. Dumbledore had his hand on her cheek and was trying to jostle her back awake without hurting her more.
"No, no, no. Don't fall asleep. Come on, wake up," then to Dippet, "We need to get her to Beatrice- now."
Reluctantly, Ginny opened her eyes again as Dippet made the other people- professors, presumably- clear away.
"Keep talking," Dumbledore told her. "Tell me how you got here."
Ginny thought for a moment, then slowly, "Malfoy had my wand I grabbed it. But he was looking at something and said a spell, I think. And then it was white, and then everything was spinning and- I don't know what happened." He nodded and turned to look at Malfoy over his shoulder.
"I'm assuming you're Malfoy?"
"Draco Malfoy, yeah." He turned back to look down at Ginny, pondering something.
"Here we are," announced Dippet as he held the door open before them. Ginny hadn't noticed he had gotten in front of them.
"Bea!" Dumbledore called, a new note of urgency in his voice. "Bea, we need you, there's an emergency."
"Albus?" called a woman's voice, as she came into the room. Ginny still couldn't see her; it was becoming frustrating, not being able to see anything, having to guess at everything that was going on. "What's the- Oh my," she gasped as she came over to the stretcher.
Ginny could see her face now, shoulder length brown hair falling around her face, her hand on her throat, big, brown, kind eyes that were shining with concern at the moment, and she seemed around her mother's age. For a brief second, she looked up at Dumbledore with a lost expression on her face, but when she turned back down to look at the girl, her face became an example of the utmost concentration and determination. Putting her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, she went into action as Dumbledore explained how he had found the girl, and had thought it best not to do anything when she could do it better. She ran her wand over Ginny's body in the same way Dumbledore had, watching as it turned red in different spots.
"Everyone, out. Darling," she spoke to Ginny, "I'm going to have to tear your shirt to get to this side. I'll be able to fix it again after everything's done, so don't worry. The robes we'll be able to get off rather easily though. Albus, lead everyone out and get that boy to the other room. You can fix his head well enough and know what to look for if anything else is wrong."
She lifted Ginny up with her wand slightly to take off her robe, which did come off easily, and whispered "Nimen," a numbing spell. She guided Ginny over to the nearest bed and Ginny almost smiled, the weight of her pain replaced by a cool sensation, like submerging into a bath.
"This cut on you neck is pretty bad," the woman- Beatrice, apparently- said, bustling around, gather supplies. She reminded Ginny much of Madam Pomfrey, only less… aggressive. "But none of this should be much of a problem."
"Come on." Dumbledore had his arm around Malfoy's shoulders, trying to guide him out of the room. The boy was looking on, with obvious, transfixed horror. His face had the slightest tint of green, and Ginny thought he might be sick at any moment. "She's going to be fine."
Draco opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly shut it, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face. He lurched a little, suddenly looking unsteady, ready to fall.
"Get him out of here," Beatrice said, motioning with her hand. She walked over to a cabinet with glass doors and filled with bottles, all shapes, colors, and sizes, and pulled out a large pink one, as well as a spoon. She poured the shimmering liquid, careful not to spill it, and sat on the edge of Ginny's bed to prop her head up and feed it to her, careful not to force it.
Ginny sank back down, darkness closing in around her eyes. She felt her mind being pulled back into unconsciousness, and remembering what had happened in the hallway, struggled against it, willing herself to stay awake.
"Shh, it's ok," Beatrice cooed, placing a calming hand on her shoulder, in a move that made Ginny think of her mother. "It's ok. You can sleep now."
For a moment longer, Ginny fought, afraid of what might happen if she stopped, but the darkness was overwhelming and for the second time that night she fell comatose.
~*~*~*~
There were hushed voices coming from her right.
"Have you talked to the boy?" It was Beatrice.
"He won't say much of anything." Dumbledore. "Seemed almost faint when I brought him out, but wouldn't take the potion I gave him. He dumped it when he thought I wasn't looking. I didn't say anything, though."
"Who do you think they are?"
"I'm not sure. Apparently, Draco Malfoy and Virginia Weasley, but that doesn't help much, but that's all I know; my first priority was to make sure they were ok."
"You were right on that. Malfoy and Weasley, though- that's odd"
There was silence then, and Ginny decided to let them know she was awake.
"Hello?" she asked in a thick voice, opening her eyes slowly and trying not to yawn.
"Ah, you're up!" Beatrice came over, smiling down at her. She had small bags under her eyes and her clothes were now wrinkled, but she was still energetic in her movements as she folded the clothes Ginny had been wearing on the end of the bed. "They've been mended and washed," she explained as Ginny watched, "but it's better if you stay in the hospital gown for now." Dumbledore excused himself, saying he needed to alert Dippet on Ginny's awakening and would be right back.
"What time is it?" Ginny asked, pleased to see she could sit up now.
"Nearly 1:30." Beatrice told her. "You had a fractured rib, a concussion, a bad cut on your neck, and scratches all over, but you're healing very well. It won't be long before you're as good as new." Ginny grimaced.
"I actually broke my wrist yesterday, too."
"Hmm, not a good 48 hours for you, I suppose."
"It's not looking like it's getting better anytime soon." Ginny turned her head to look out the nearest window. It was frosted and snow was built up in the corners, so different from the one she had looked out of in the Defense classroom earlier that evening. 'Has it really only been a few hours?' Ginny thought. 'It seems like forever ago.'
Dumbledore came back then, Dippet and Mafoy in tow. The former had obviously been asleep; though he still wore the robes he had earlier and was smiling eagerly, his eyes were puffy and dilated and he kept fighting not to yawn. The latter, however, was looking down at the ground, hands in his pockets and posture slouched, and when he finally did look at her, Ginny saw his eyes were hollow and lifeless, showing his lack of rest.
"Dumbledore," said Dippet, "you don't mind stepping out with Beatrice in the hall do you? I think I need to speak with these… our… guests alone."
They were about to oblige, though Beatrice was giving Ginny a worried glance, when Malfoy stopped them.
"Oh, no!" he said, his loud voice suddenly making up for his earlier silence. "I don't know what's going on, but he stays." Dippet made to protest, but Ginny interrupted.
"Please," she said softly, trying her best to look sick and desperate, something that was fairly easy, considering how weak she still felt. "Please, can he stay? Can they both stay?" she threw a pleading glance at Beatrice who smiled almost sadly at her in return. Dippet looked around, seeming confused and mildly offended, but finally narrowed his gaze on Mafoy.
"Will you answer every question?" he asked suspiciously. "And explain everything?"
Malfoy's eye unfocused for a quick moment, and Ginny was sure there was fear in them, though the smallest bit. She fought the urge to smirk; she knew what he was thinking- it was his fault. Whatever had happened, it was his fault.
"Yes," he said finally, regaining his composure. He seemed to be teetering between steely defiance and cool indifference. Ginny had never seen him squirm so much.
"All right," Dippet sighed, pulling two chairs around and offering one to Malfoy. Beatrice's smile grew and she took the chair next to Ginny's bed, placing a hand absentmindedly on hers, a move that Ginny found wonderfully comforting, again reminding her of her mother. Dumbledore came around to stand behind Beatrice, placing his hands on the chair back and putting his weight forward, watching, but not really part of everything, distancing himself. It was so odd to see Dumbledore not immediately in charge of a situation; odd, Ginny felt, and so incredibly wrong.
"I have asked you many times, and still, I have gotten no answer," Dippet began. "Who are you?" Malfoy rolled his eyes and Ginny frowned at him.
"I've told you," he said. "Draco Malfoy. I- am- Draco- Malfoy." Dippet shot him a glare, clearly losing his patience.
"Mr. Malfoy," he all but spat, "now I don't know where you go to school, but here at Hogwarts, we do not tolerate that type of disrespect, regardless."
"I- we go to Hogwarts," Ginny interrupted. If she kept talking, maybe Malfoy wouldn't have a chance to say something stupid again- though that was probably hoping too much. If he really wanted to get Dippet mad, he probably wouldn't let her stop him, no matter how bad an idea it was.
"I can assure you, if you did, I would know," Dippet protested politely, but firmly. "If you did, the castle would not have suddenly shook and you would not have suddenly appeared from no where in a classroom, especially in such bad shape." He glanced over Ginny's body, clad in the hospital gown and tucked under many blankets, appraisingly.
"What year," Dumbledore finally spoke up, "is it?" Ginny was silently glad that he had asked that question first.
"Well I thought it was 1997," Malfoy said heatedly. "But then again, I thought you were our Headmaster, and I thought you were about 50 years older-"
"And you thought that stupid spell wouldn't do anything, either, I'll bet," Ginny hissed at him, all her anger finally surfacing. 'He has some nerve,' she thought furiously. 'He caused this whole thing and he has the audacity to be nasty about it.'
"Hold on a minute," Dippet said, holding out a hand and leaning closer in his chair. "It's what year?"
"1997," Ginny said, already knowing what the response would be.
"It's 1943," Dumbledore said, pushing off the chair and leaning against the wall. "Almost 1944."
Malfoy looked around the room in disbelief for a moment but finally just shook his head. "I should be surprised, but I can't say I am."
"Well," said Dippet, "odder things have happened."
"I suppose. But can you explain this?" Dumbledore pulled something out of his robes and held it out to Ginny, who took it uncertainly.
It was easily recognizable as a snow globe, though there were tiny chunks missing in spots and it was void of any snow or scenery inside.
"That," he pointed, "was what formed out of the shattered glass you were laying in. We think there might have been a castle inside, from the other pieces left, but it was beyond repair. The interesting thing is though- turn it over."
Ginny did so, and found there was a magically engraved date on the bottom, which read "1949." She looked back up, trying to keep her hands from shaking and failing.
"It's 1943," she stated more than questioned. She let it sink in, realizing what that meant.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered patiently. She bit her lower lip, still uncertain how to react. The way he was looking at her, Ginny was certain he was waiting for something, what, though, she wasn't sure. She dropped the globe in her lap and ran her hands over her face, lifting her head slightly as her fingers swept from her nose across her cheeks and down, traveling along her jaw to meet under her chin, folding into each other. She bent her head back down, this time rubbing her cheek comfortingly against the back of her hand.
"1943," she repeated once more, hoping her voice would make it seem more real.
"God, Weasley!" Malfoy burst out. "Yes, we've accepted and moved on!"
Ginny almost hurled the snow globe at him, but realized she'd probably miss if she did, and it wasn't worth it if she would miss. Dippet began to reprimand Malfoy again, but Ginny ignored him.
'He doesn't understand,' she told herself. 'He doesn't know about… Tom. And you don't even know if he's here. Just don't think about it and maybe it won't come up.'
She realized this was a flimsy effort to avoid the possibility of a Hogwarts with Tom Riddle. If it really was 1943, he would be here, unless it was some sort of alternate reality, and she wasn't so sure she wanted that possibility either.
"Professor Dippet," Beatrice stood, preventing the tempers in the room from escalating any further. "I think everyone needs some rest right now. I know especially young Virginia here-"
"Ginny, please," she said.
"Ginny, then," Beatrice corrected before going on, "needs to get some sleep. She'll be here for at least another day or two, and it would be best if Draco- it is Draco?" he nodded, "-stayed here as well. I imagine it will be easier to straighten everything out once everyone is well rested and had time to sort out the day's events on their own."
"Beatrice, we don't know who these people are," Dippet protested, ignoring that the unknown people in question were sitting in the room. "With times as they are, anyone could come in here. Now if you're suggesting we all just leave it for now when they could be spies, or Grindlewald supporters under-"
"This is bloody ridiculous!" Malfoy shouted, standing to tower over the old wizard. "If anyone's got a right to be suspicious it's me! All of a sudden- " He didn't finish because Beatrice had gone over and grabbed his arm, though she only came up to his shoulder, and began pulling over to the next bed, drawing the curtain in front of him, despite his violent protests, and turned back to the rest of the group, who were watching with much respect and gratitude.
"Drummond, you had really better go now," she said, and this time he did, nodding slightly before sweeping through the door and closing it behind him. When he was gone, she went behind the curtain again. Before she could say anything, Malfoy began shouting incoherently and finally she took out her wand.
"I don't want to do a sleeping spell, but if I must, I will," she told him warningly.
"Who do you-"
"Morpheus Libi," she said, and instantly the boy fell silent, flopping onto the bed. Beatrice adjusted him, putting his feet up and pulling the covers over his long form. When she came back out, she looked at Ginny in astonishment.
"Is he always that… excited?" she asked.
"Is excited the word you would use?" Ginny returned. "I can think of a million better adjectives, none of them half so polite. Someone's needed to shut him up like that for years."
"Well, I didn't want to," Beatrice insisted, "but he didn't leave me much of a choice, and it was for his own good." She turned to look at Dumbledore, who had remained when Dippet left. "When I said everyone needs to get some sleep, I meant you too." He smiled wearily at her, but shook his head.
"Not if you're staying," he said. "I have some papers I can bring back here to grade."
"Albus," she said, leading him over to the door, "I'll be fine. You need sleep. You're no use to me tired."
He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a way that made Ginny think of Professor Lupin. "Bea, I'm…" he trailed off, looking down at her with a sad, lost expression on his face, making Ginny feel like an intruder, though she kept watching. She was beginning to wonder who this woman really was, the way she was acting with Dumbledore.
"It's alright," Beatrice cooed, opening the door and guiding him out. "Don't you dare come back before 9, at the very earliest." He nodded and put on his glasses again. Before he left, though, he gave her an affectionate kiss on the forehead and she gave his arm a small squeeze.
Ginny tried not to smile, and looked away to the wall. Her mind began filling with images of a young Dumbledore- well, middle aged- in a tragic romance, and in less than a second she began to see her Headmaster in a whole new light.
Beatrice came back to her bed to take away the snow globe and arrange everything- a talent Ginny supposed all nurses had was to be constantly arranging things, no matter how immaculate they might seem.
"Try not to sleep on your left side," she said. "That rib is still fragile."
"I won't." Ginny paused. "We aren't spies, you know." She said, feeling a need to make that clear.
"I didn't think you were." Ginny slid down under the covers, her hospital gown getting twisted around her legs in the process. She reached down to fix it, but couldn't get it right.
"Now I remember why I don't like nightgowns," she muttered angrily.
"Here, let me help." Beatrice pulled the covers back, and began rolling up the hem of the gown up till it was around her mid-thigh. "How's that?"
"Much better," Ginny smiled, pulling the covers back up.
"I don't need to give you a dreamless sleep potion, do I?" Beatrice asked. Ginny thought for a moment, considering the nightmares she could have, like the ones in her first year, but decided against it; she had refused to take the potion then and she wouldn't now, nightmares or not. It didn't help her fear much, and only left her with a sense of helplessness and self-loathing afterwards.
"I think I'll be ok. Er- do I call you Beatrice?" she asked, not sure how to address the woman.
"Beatrice is fine."
"Ok."
"Is that everything?" she asked before she left. "Are you all set?"
"Yes," Ginny said. "Everything's fine." Beatrice said goodnight, blowing out the lights, and had almost gone into her office when Ginny called to her. "Beatrice?" she paused, unsure on how to phrase this question, or even whether she should ask it. "With Professor Dumbledore… I mean… Do you and he…" She laughed, not seeming to be offended at all.
"It's alright," she said before she closed the door. "He's my husband."
And that, boys and girls, is the first official chapter. I'm so proud. A few things:
You will find out what Fior Ifreann means. It's part of the story. Be patient. And yes, Tom is coming. I screwed up on the math, I think, but when I planned this, Tom was a 7th year in fall, 1943 and winter '44, so a 7th year he shall stay. Let's just assume when they talk about the diary being 50 years old, it's ABOUT that, not precise, because that would be odd.
OK, thanks to the reviewers:
Yuki (thanks for reading my poem, too.), Jimi (yeah, I know. I read it after I posted it and cringed. I swear I'll go back and fix everything and then repost.), Alizee (thank you very much. 6th year? Aww, I'm screwed. I hate math!), j-belle (I know, I was impatient. But I've learned my lesson.), Gryffpam (It pleases me to no end when people say, "You're a great writer." That's the best thing you can ever say to me, so thanks.), SerenityBlack (I know, with WWII and everything. I'm working a lot of Tom vs. Hitler into this. I love history, too.), bosch (If I told you, it'd give it away. Have faith. Poe's awesome! I've had some people think it was weird, because of what the poem is about, but I think it's more of a tribute than anything.), ~*Crystal Lily*~, Mione G, Silverfish, augie (Yep!), FROM A-Z (Woah, very enthusiastic. Thanks.), and Fizzy-waterBaby (REAL WRITING? Oh, you don't know how happy that made me. It did help. Thanks.) Oh, and Allie, the coolest little sister ever. Long live goggle fashion.
Also, thanks to Viola, for being so cool about me writing this. If I hadn't asked her first, I would have been really uncomfortable about it all. Go read her story, "Dreamwalk Blue," if you haven't already. It's wonderful, really.