And the story begins! *cue music*
oooo
August, 2005
Hermione sighed into her drink, idly listening as Ron described his last Cannons game in great detail. He paused and leaned backwards, agilely snatching a canapé from a passing tray and subsequently gobbling it down.
She rolled her eyes internally. Ron was about as graceful as a beached whale most of the time, even as a Keeper on the Chudley Cannons' team, but when it came to food, he was surprisingly nimble. Figured.
"So anyway," he continued, wiping crumbs from his dress robes, "once Carmichael had the ball, it was pretty much game over."
Hermione smiled at him. "I'm very glad you won, Ronald. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the game."
"That's all right, 'Mione," he said, waving her away. "You come to most of them. But Lav was there, and Angelina and George. I know you and Harry have work stuff to take care of."
"I'll admit," she hedged, "I wasn't quite prepared for the sheer amount of time I would be spending at work when I joined the DMLE. In the DCOMC we had a set schedule – we worked every day from nine to five. Now I have to be prepared to work at any time," she said with a small grimace. "But I've gotten used to it, by now." She'd been working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for five years: three as an Auror, and two as an Investigative Detective. At this point, she couldn't imagine doing anything else.
If anyone had suggested that Hermione was an adrenaline junkie growing up, she would have called them crazy. But after the war ended, she'd felt bereft – as had Harry. She had joined the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – which she'd renamed the Department for the Care and Observation of Magical Creatures once she'd gotten into a position where she'd had more control – and then two years later, after she'd felt satisfied with the overhaul there, she had joined Harry as an Auror. At that point, he had been well on his way to becoming Department Head of the DMLE, and soon enough she was promoted to Head Investigator, and their lives were busy and crazy and equal parts paperwork and wandwork.
She bloody loved it.
Ron patted her on the shoulder, and she jolted, realizing that she'd been zoning out, staring in the direction where Rolf Weismeiner, head of the International Department of Trade and Commerce, parted from his lovely wife with a few terse words and a tight smile; Pansy Weismeiner, formerly Parkinson, looked down at her shoes and sipped on her champagne, schooling her face into a mask of indifference as her husband strode away and she joined some old school friends near the refreshment table.
Hermione cleared her throat in embarrassment, wiping her sweaty palms on the long silk skirt of her green gown. "Sorry, Ron," she said quietly.
He shook his head and chuckled. "Hermione, we learned a long time ago that the two of us can only tolerate so much of each others' company, especially without Harry around." He squeezed her bare arm. "You know I love you," he said with a grin. He looked over her shoulder, and she turned. "But I have a wife over there who is far more tolerant of my ranting and raving."
Hermione looked at Lavender with a fond smile. The woman was eight months pregnant, and looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her confidence and pretty features compensated more than enough for the long, jagged scar that ran from her jaw to her collarbone. Hermione had learned a long time ago that Lavender Brown (now Weasley) was far stronger and braver than Hermione had thought in school.
The blonde still wasn't the brightest bulb, but she was always smiling and helpful and so, so good for Ron. She listened to him, encouraged him, and, above all else, made him feel needed. She thought he was interesting, and loved to listen to him talk (which was great, because Ron loved to talk). She followed his career as the keeper for the Cannons avidly.
And he hadn't had anything to drink in five years.
Hermione turned her eyes away from the vision in blue, who was standing and talking to Luna, and looked up at Ron. She smiled. "I saw Percy corner Harry a while back – I think he might need rescuing." She kissed the second half of her greatest childhood friends on the cheek, and they each went their separate ways.
She made a beeline for where the other half stood in the corner of the ballroom, faking a smile of mild interest (and failing) as Percy talked to him with a furrowed brow, undoubtedly about work.
"Harry!" she said loudly, announcing her presence loudly and cheerily. "Oh hello, Percy, how lovely to see you!" Percy smiled and they clasped hands as they always had, because Percy Weasley was just too awkward to hug.
"Nice to see you too, Hermione," he said genuinely, pushing his glasses up his nose. "We were just talking about the new filing system down in the DOM. Absolutely ridiculous."
Hermione faked a look of consternation. "Completely asinine," she agreed. "I'm sure we'll get it sorted out. If you wouldn't mind, Percy, can I talk to Harry alone for a moment? Work stuff," she said with a wave of her hand.
Percy nodded and smiled. "I see I am not the only person who would rather trade in all of this frivolity," he said, gesturing around the ballroom, "for work. Good for you. I'm sure I'll see you later, but if not, I'll see you at the Burrow for brunch on Sunday."
With a formal bow of his hand, the austere redhead turned and strode back towards the refreshment table.
Harry looked at Hermione, and he slouched in relief. "You are a bloody saint."
She patted him on the arm and chuckled. "I thought I saw some brain matter leak from your ear, and just knew that I needed to come rescue you."
He grinned. "I love Perce, but he could teach a bloody class on boredom," he said, grabbing the champagne flute from Hermione's hand and gulping it down in one go. "How's your night been?"
Hermione sighed and shrugged, looking down at her beautiful green gown and mourning the waste of such an elegant article of clothing. This party had been completely pointless, and of course fashion laws demanded that she not wear a dress more than once. Her closet was full of them. Seven years worth of formal Ministry events, and she had over fifty dresses to show for it.
Of course, Hermione hated the wastefulness of it. But she'd learned after a couple of hard transitional years in the public eye that she was, for all intents and purposes, a celebrity; and society had demands. Hermione hated it, but she had learned to pick her battles. Campaigning for the right to wear a dress a second time without being ridiculed for it was not a worthy cause. So she had adjusted, and had devoted her time and energy towards other things.
"It's been…boring," she said, pouting.
"Are these things ever not boring, Hermione?" he asked with a smile.
Hermione sniffed. "New Years Eve last year was fun."
Harry snorted. "That's because we went to the Leaky afterwards and got pissed," he said.
A slow grin stretched across her face. "Oh yes. You're right. Now I remember." She paused and looked at him. "And how has your night been, Harry Potter?" she asked lowly.
He sighed, and took off his glasses to polish them on the skirt of her sleek dress. She rolled her eyes, but allowed it. "It's been…fine. Hard."
"I know," she said softly. She couldn't offer much– she had already said all there was to say about Ginny's death. There were no more words of comfort to give; they'd all run out of those since his wife was killed in childbirth four months ago.
"I just feel…" He paused, looking out into the crowd. She took his hand, and he squeezed her fingers. "I don't know what I feel. I feel all sorts of things. Sometimes I'll be fine, and then I'll flip the bloody couch over or smash a glass against the wall. Sometimes I just cry for hours. Sometimes I light things on fire in my sleep, and Kreacher has to come wake me up and put it out." He sighed. "Sometimes I suspect he just puts it out and lets me sleep. And with James…"
"I know that's hardest of all," she whispered.
"He has her eyes," he said, blinking away tears. "And every time I look into them, I just see her. And I love him more than anything, but there's still this sense of blame; she died bringing him into the world, and it's…it's not fair, Hermione." He sniffed. "I thought after the war, we would finally catch a break. That I would be with Ginny forever and have children with her and we would grow old and die together. And yet that was yanked from me just like my parents were, like Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore. It's changed everything." He scuffed his foot against the floor. "I got rid of most of her things yesterday," he said quietly. "Her clothes and stuff. I gave some of her jewelry back to Molly – things I knew were family heirlooms. But I couldn't look at it all anymore. And I smelled her every time I went into the closet, which was maddening, Hermione. Absolutely maddening."
Hermione nodded, feeling desolate. Personally, she thought it was too soon for that purge, but everyone was different. "Just go with your gut, Harry," she said gently. "Do what you need to do to deal with this. Everyone grieves in their own way." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I miss her too. Very, very much."
Harry squeezed her hand almost painfully, and then let go. "Let's talk about different things," he said with finality.
"Yes," she agreed hastily. "Like how I would fight Voldemort again if it meant I didn't have to spend another minute at this party."
He nodded, the spark back in his eye. "I would take any sort of distraction right now. Really. Anyth – "
Suddenly a Patronus flew through the wall, coming to a stop in the middle of the ballroom, right in their line of sight.
"Please, somebody help!" the vixen said desperately. "This is Pansy Weismeiner – I think someone has k-killed my husband." The voice grew thick with tears. "Please hurry – the parlor floo is open." Then the spectral fox winked out of existence, and a hush fell over the room.
Hermione looked over at Harry. "Looks like you got your wish, Mister Potter," she said with a grim shake of her head.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took out the coin in his pocket, sending a short message out to his agents. "This isn't what I had in mind, exactly." He held his hand up, and instantly two Aurors moved out of the crowd towards them, a man and a woman both dressed formally. They did not need instruction – they all knew the drill.
Hermione and Harry led them towards the Atrium, wands already drawn. One Auror, three CSIs, and another Investigative Detective (Adrian Pucey, who she'd worked with for several years) flooed in, and Harry instantly pointed right back at the grates. "Hermione and I will go first," he commanded sharply. "Then Felicity," he instructed, nodding to his Head Auror, a forty-year-old blonde in a silver dress, "and the rest of you follow. At a reasonable pace. If you clog the floo again like you did in Knockturn Alley last week, I'm leaving you in there."
Adrian Pucey's lips twitched, and he shook his head. Hermione caught his eye, and he winked at her. She grinned.
"Potter!"
Blaise Zabini came whirling around the corner, his face an open book. He was worried.
Before he could speak, Harry held up a hand. "You'll be the first to know anything, Zabini. But right now, let us do our jobs." Without another word, he whirled away in a burst of flame.
Hermione smiled at the handsome Italian as she climbed into the floo after him. "She'll be okay, Blaise."
Then she was caught up in green fire, and was gone.
oooo
Pansy let out a heavy sigh of relief as she stepped out of the parlor fireplace. She instantly sat down on the couch and unbuckled the plum colored shoes that matched her backless dress, wincing. No matter how many cushioning charms one put on a pair of heels, they would still manage to hurt like hell at the end of the night.
She frowned, looking around the cozy room. The only light source was the fire in the hearth. She lifted her wand, and the sconces lit up.
"Rolf?" she called out. She didn't exactly expect to hear him answer. He'd said he'd had to attend to something work related – had to meet with someone – and he'd left her there at the party, telling her to enjoy the rest of her evening and to not bother him when she got home. That had been fifteen minutes ago. She'd found that, as she aged, she had little patience for such galas anymore. As a younger woman she had reveled in them – now that she was a mother, and only a few months away from turning twenty-six, she had a lot less energy than she'd had a few years ago.
She hooked her shoes with her fingers, and stepped out into the hallway, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold stone. Once again, the corridor was dark, and fire appeared in the wall sconces as she swept down the hall. It was eerily quiet, and the air felt unusually still.
She was intending on passing the office and immediately climbing the stairs to her quarters, but she paused. The light was on, and the door was cracked. She stepped closer, straining to hear.
Nothing. It was completely silent.
She felt an icy fist wrap around her throat, and something cold and wet slid down her spine. With an unexplainable feeling of dread settling heavy in her stomach, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
At first she didn't see anything – just an empty desk and a raging fire in the hearth. She took another step forward, and her bare foot hit something slick, and then she slipped backwards with a muffled "oof" and landed hard on her backside. Something wet and warm started to seep through her dress, and she looked down.
The scream died in her throat. Blood pooled everywhere, and the viscous red liquid was smeared across her bare back and calves and feet and hands and arms. She began to shake, and then caught sight of the black shoe that peeked out from behind the desk.
She scrambled to her feet, her heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, and leaned over the corner of the desk.
She stared and stared and stared and stared. What had once been her husband was laying spread eagle on the floor. His chest had been split from chin to groin, and his ribcage was cracked wide open. Entrails spilled from his gut and draped over his body and onto the floor. His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, and his eyes had been gouged from his face. There was a T carved onto his forehead.
Her hands trembled, and she absentmindedly wiped her bloody hands on her dress. The urge to panic was strong, but she desperately reined in the urge to get hysterical. She fumbled with her wand, and then shut her eyes tight, and recalled her happiest memory: the birth of her daughter.
"Expecto Patronum," she whispered, and looked up in relief as her silver vixen poured forth from her wand. "Please, somebody help!" she said in a desperate voice. She felt bile rise in her throat, and swallowed it back down, the acid burning her esophagus and making her eyes water. "This is Pansy Weismeiner – I think someone k-killed my husband," she stuttered, wiping at the tears on her face, unknowingly leaving blood in its wake. "Please hurry – the parlor floo is open." Instantly she sent the Patronus towards London, and then raised her wand and lowered the ward that surrounded the parlor floo. She conjured another Patronus and sent it northeast towards Sweden.
Inhaling shakily, she called her house elf. "Pippy."
When the house elf that had practically raised her didn't immediately pop into the room, Pansy's eyes went wide and she fled the room. She ran up the stairs and burst into her bedroom. "Eleanor!"
Her eight-month-old daughter was standing in her crib, leaning heavily on the railing to hold herself up. Tears streaked from her pale blue eyes – the eyes of a father she would never know. She blinked towards her mother, and then spoke two of the few words she knew.
"Ma," she said tearily. "Pippy. Pippy."
Pansy rushed to her daughter, lifting her out of the crib; she seemed to be unharmed. She looked over into the corner, and clapped a hand to her mouth when she saw her ancient house-elf slumped in the corner, her throat slit.
"Oh my God," she said, holding her crying daughter to her chest. "Oh my God."
Just then she heard the floo roar to life, and she turned and stumbled from the room, flying down the stairs and bursting into the parlor just as Harry bleeding Potter stepped from the fireplace.
She had never really interacted with Potter, but she couldn't help the relief that flooded through her when her eyes landed on his face. She couldn't think of anyone better qualified to handle this situation. He ran a hand over his perpetually spiky hair to flatten it, his eyes looking her up and down. He grimaced as he noticed the blood that stained her skin and dress.
"Well, aren't you a sight," he murmured.
Staring into his brilliant green eyes, she burst into tears.
oooo
Hermione landed in the parlor fireplace of the old Parkinson estate, and instantly her forehead collided with Harry's sharp shoulder blade. Huffing in irritation, she shoved him out of the way, rubbing her forehead. He muttered an apology, but his eyes were fixed on Pansy.
Their old classmate was shaking, holding a baby in her arms and sobbing. Hermione immediately went forward and grasped the taller woman's upper arms. "Pansy," she said firmly. Every time the traumatized woman swiped at her tears, she streaked more blood on her face. There was a bloody handprint on the back of the baby's sweet yellow frock; a lovely domestic scene turned horror story. "Parkinson," she said firmly, using the woman's maiden name out of habit. "Look at me."
Pansy sniffled, and then blinked and caught Hermione's stare. "He – he's in the st-study. I can…I can show you the way."
Harry stepped forward to stop her, looking serious. "Are you unharmed?" he asked as more people stepped out of the floo and into the room. "And your daughter. Is she okay?"
Pansy nodded shakily. "They…they didn't hurt Eleanor. But my house-elf P…" Her voice broke, and she put and hand over her mouth as more tears came flooding through. "Pippy. They slit her throat."
Harry shook his head, his nostrils flaring; Hermione saw his eyes flash in that way they did when he saw someone in pain and wanted justice. Hermione caught his eye, and then she put a hand on Pansy's sticky wet back and guided her from the room. Pansy swept off down the hall, the wet sound of her bare feet on the floor making Hermione cringe.
She'd never liked Pansy Parkinson. She'd been really impressed with how the black-haired woman had designed Ginny's wedding dress – how she'd put the blushing bride at ease with her sardonic humor and smooth words. She was a very talented designer, and Hermione had bought multiple things from her – the gown that she wore tonight she'd gotten from Pansy's store. But she'd never warmed up to the former Slytherin, and doubted she ever would.
Still. She wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.
As soon as Hermione peered in the office, she inhaled sharply. She looked at Harry, who stepped into the room and stared at the grisly scene with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth.
"Awfully ritualistic," Pucey said from behind them, peering over their shoulders from his towering height of 6'4" and holding a camera up. He started to take photographs, and Hermione pulled Pansy aside to let him and the CSI crew in.
Harry avoided walking in the blood until Pucey got pictures of everything; then he stepped further towards the body, and stared at it in mounting horror. He crouched down next to the dead man, and his eyes were fixed to the cadaver's empty eye sockets. The eyes were nowhere to be seen. "This is…this is…"
"Savage," Hermione offered, ignoring the urge to empty the contents of her stomach. "Complete overkill."
She and Harry and Adrian all looked at each other, and agreed to discuss it later, without the widow of the mutilated corpse sniffling beside them.
Harry took one last look around the room, and then stepped out into the hall, cleaning the bottom of his shoes before he did so. He summoned Jimmy Peakes to his side, and with a whispered word the stocky man went up the stairs to Pansy's private quarters to process the scene up there.
Harry looked at Pansy. "I need to process the scene – which includes you," he said, looking her in the eyes. Despite her shock, she seemed relatively lucid. Hermione was impressed. "I'm going to let Hermione and Katie look at Eleanor," he said calmly, "and Fay and I are going to look at you. We just need to take some samples – any materials that might have ended up on your person are considered evidence. We also need to check both of you for any potential curses."
Pansy nodded jerkily, and reluctantly handed a sleepy Eleanor to Hermione, who took the sniffling baby girl and cooed at her with a gentle smile. She was a beautiful child, and seemed very well behaved. Hermione looked to Pansy. "I'm going to stay right here in this hall with you, all right?" she offered softly. "She'll never leave your sight."
"O-okay." Fay Dunbar took her hand and led her to a cushioned bench in the hall. Pansy sat, and Fay started to take pictures as Harry knelt at her bloody feet and started to swab the blood there with a Q-tip. Hermione rocked Eleanor in her arms, not minding when the baby grabbed ahold of her ponytail and squeezed it in her tight fist, nuzzling into Hermione's shoulder.
Katie began to cast a whole host of spells over the baby, and colors swirled around her as each diagnostic charm came up clear. The same was true of Pansy, who was watching Hermione hold her child with anxious eyes.
"Nice dress, Granger," she said, her voice trembling. She gave Hermione a small smile.
Hermione smiled back. "Thought you might recognize it. It's a lovely gown."
"You look good in Slytherin colors," Pansy said, referring to the silver and diamond jewelry at Hermione's neck, wrist and ears. She wiped at her nose with a bloody hand until Harry reached up wordlessly and handed her his handkerchief. She took it with a murmured thank you.
Hermione bowed her head with a smile. She caught Pansy's watery cobalt eyes. "Doing all right?"
Pansy nodded slowly, her leg jerking as Harry's hand found a ticklish spot behind her knee. Then the floo roared from the parlor down the hall, and Pansy's eyes went wide. Getting to her feet and deftly sidestepping Harry, she flew off down the corridor. Hermione and Harry followed, feeling anxious.
"Pans?"
A figure stepped out of the room and started down the hall, and Pansy rushed towards him and threw herself into his arms. "Draco!"
Hermione felt her heart rate double. Because she was staring at Draco Malfoy in the flesh, and she'd not seen him in seven years. It was like a sucker punch to the gut.
He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered him. Different; but no less stunning. He had broadened with age, and seemed to be very fit – the last she'd heard of him, he had taken a job as an Auror in Sweden. His white-blond hair was cropped fairly short, easy to maintain.
"What happened?" he demanded sharply, taking Pansy by the shoulders and taking in her appearance. "Pans?"
"Rolf is d-dead," the tear-stricken woman said, looking haunted.
Draco immediately looked to Harry. Hermione jolted when the light hit his eyes – his right one was a silvery-grey as it had always been, but the left one was much paler, a pearly color that might have been a pale blue. The pupil of the eye was very small. "Show me."
Harry frowned. "This is a crime scene, Malfoy – "
"Yes, I know how it works, Potter," Draco said coldly. "Two years ago you offered me a job. I'm accepting it."
Harry scoffed. "Merlin, Malfoy, that was – "
"Yes or no, Potter," the blond said, his jaw ticking.
Harry hesitated. Hermione spoke up, her heart pounding against her ribcage; Harry had never told her that he'd tried to hire Malfoy – she wondered why. "Jeremy Stretton is moving to Vancouver in three months, Harry. He's already given us notice. We could use a replacement."
Draco finally took notice of her, and she met his stare over Eleanor's head. Something in his eyes flashed, and then softened – and then he looked away, and she wondered if she had imagined it or not.
Harry's nostrils flared. "Fine. But you're too close to this, Malfoy."
"Stop trying to find excuses to keep me off the case," the former Slytherin said, keeping one hand closed around Pansy's shoulder as the other restlessly picked at his lightweight green summer jumper. He was in jeans, and his hair was spiky, like he'd run his fingers through it several times. Hermione guessed that he'd been settling in for the night when he'd been interrupted by Pansy's Patronus and had yanked on the easiest and most convenient clothes. "I knew Rolf. I know Pansy. And I have access to the circles that they run in. I might have valuable insight, and you know it."
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Fine. I'll call Sweden in the morning to get your transfer paperwork." He put his glasses back on. His eyes were weary. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" he said.
Malfoy smirked, and held out his hand. Harry hesitated, and then took it. "I've changed enough, Potter. Enough to make a difference, anyway." He paused. "I believe the process is called 'aging,' if I remember correctly."
They released hands, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."
"So I've been told."
Hermione snorted, and then winced as Eleanor tugged on her hair especially hard. "As pleasant as this little reunion has been," she said dryly, not wanting to admit that she was annoyed with how she was being ignored, "I believe we have a crime scene to process and a hungry baby to feed." She jiggled Eleanor in her arms, and the babe snuggled further into her neck with an adorable sigh.
Pansy held her arms out. "Are you finished with her?"
"Almost," Hermione said with a smile. "But I don't believe we're quite finished with you, either."
When they got back to the stretch of hall in front of the study, Katie cast the last two spells on Eleanor to confirm that she hadn't been cursed, Harry snipped a piece off of the hem of Pansy's dress, and Hermione handed the sleepy child back to her mother before joining Malfoy at the door of the study.
"Malfoy!" Pucey said in wonder, his forest green eyes wide with surprise. He held out a hand, and Draco took it and shook it heartily. "Good to see you, mate."
Malfoy nodded. "It's been a while." His eyes flickered down to the body on the floor, and he frowned. "Well. I can't say I ever liked the arsehole, but I certainly don't think he deserved this."
"You didn't like Weismeiner?" Hermione asked quietly, looking at him through curious eyes. "Does Parkinson know?"
Draco's lips twitched, and he turned to pierce Hermione with that unnerving stare. She felt caught in it, like she couldn't move even if she tried. "I made no secret of my dislike for him. It was an arranged marriage. She wasn't pleased to be wed to a man over twice her age, as you can imagine, and he wasn't looking for anything more than a young, fertile woman to spread her legs and give him an heir," he said harshly, glaring at the body on the floor in dislike. "He was a miserable human being, Granger. Still, he was the mother of her child, and, like I said, he didn't deserve such a fate."
He frowned suddenly, and looked back at Pansy. "Pans, where's Pippy?"
Fresh tears leaked from Pansy's eyes. She dabbed at her face with Harry's handkerchief, and held her daughter closer to her chest. "She's…upstairs. Dead."
Draco exhaled heavily through his nose and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. What about Murphy?"
Pansy gasped and held a hand to her chest. "Oh Merlin, Draco, I totally forgot." She looked at Hermione. "She's a house-elf I got a few months ago, to take over some of the housework so that Pippy could help me more with the baby." She frowned. "Murphy?"
A small female house-elf popped into existence in the hall, staring at Pansy with wide blue eyes. To Hermione's surprise, Pansy held her hand out, and Murphy placed one of her own smaller ones in the open palm of her mistress.
"Murphy, darling, what happened?" Pansy said softly.
"Mistress said – " Murphy sniffed. "Mistress said that Murphy isn't supposed to say."
Pansy frowned. "What do you mean, Murphy? Tonight's your night off, remember? Saturdays and Sundays I let you take off every week."
Murphy shook her head. "But Mistress said – "
"Murphy," Draco suddenly said from Hermione's side, his voice sharp. "What do you have on under your dress?"
Hermione frowned, and saw Harry step forward and crouch down next to the elf, who shied away. Indeed, there did appear to be something bulky underneath the elf's dark blue dress.
Harry reached out, and Murphy burst into tears when he lifted up the hem of the garment. "Murphy is so sorry," she wailed, scratching her face with her nails. "Murphy did not want to."
Harry drew in a sharp breath. "It's a bomb," he said harshly, getting to his feet. "Forty seconds. Everyone out, now!"
oooo
Please review, if you feel so inclined!
xoxo
Giraffe :)
