Dulce Bellum Inexpertis

Moriarty's Minion

Chapter Three:

Rude Awakenings

"How poor are they who have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees."

- William Shakespeare

This should be interesting, Tonks thought to herself as she quietly made her way towards the infirmary wing of Hogwarts Castle. Tucked neatly beneath her arm was a large manila folder, official looking parchment protruding slightly at the edges.

Only an hour ago Kingsley had laid out his plan on how to best handle the situation with Harry's awakening. As was usual when it came to an issue involving the Boy-Who-Lived, it was anything but simplistic. They had to be 100% sure that this was the Harry Potter they were dealing with before alerting the rest of the Order. Then of course there was the issue of how to keep the staff of Healers that had worked on Harry quiet. If anyone recognized Harry when those bandages came off of his face, which of course they would, it would be on the front page of the next issue of the Daily Prophet. Even Healer Swanson, who had proved more competent these past weeks than in his initial meeting with the Aurors, couldn't be trusted to keep it to himself.

During the course of Harry's prolonged absence the Order had discovered just how difficult it was to keep secrets within the walls of the St. Mungos institution. The only safe place they had left was 12 Grimmauld Place.

No, Tonks corrected herself, even that might not be safe enough for this secret.

While deciding on their next course of action, Tonks and Kingsley had argued over many things, but one part of their plan was easily agreed upon. They would have to include Poppy and McGonagall. It effectively solved two of their problems. They needed McGonagall's assistance in covering up their actions, and Poppy to help with the medical recovery Harry needed once he was awake.

Speaking of which, Tonks thought as she took a breath to steady herself before opening the double doors that led to the medical wing. She knew that once she stepped over the threshold that a spell would alert Madame Poppy Pomfrey, or Poppy as Tonks had become accustomed to calling her, that someone was in the wing. Of course Poppy would assume it was for medical attention, which, in a manner of speaking it was.

"Nymphadora Tonks?" called a familiar voice from the darkness. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Poppy," Tonks answered breathily, "it's me."

"You didn't trip over something again, did you?"

Tonks didn't know whether to laugh or grimace at the reminder of how many times she'd been admitted into Poppy's care due to her own clumsiness.

Might even have given Harry a run for his money at a most hospital visits award, she thought wryly.

"No, Poppy," she replied, "I've come about something else."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"Come in, Shacklebolt!"

Kingsley let his deep booming laugh fill the stairwell outside the Headmistresses Office. He'd always wondered if it was an ability of only Dumbledore to see who was taking the revolving staircase up to his office. After Minerva had taken over for Albus it had become clear that it was a perk that came with the office and not a supernatural ability.

He swung open the office door.

"How can I help you this evening, Kingsley?" asked Minerva, sitting behind her large ornate desk, dressed in her sleeping gown, but obviously wide-awake and with her wand in hand.

He realized suddenly that she thought he was alerting her to an attack.

"Relax, Minerva," he assured her, "All is well in the world, for once."

He noticed her shoulders relax slightly now that there was no need to prepare for battle. "Tea?"

"No, thank you, Minerva."

"No attack? No tea?" she asked with her eyebrows raised heatedly. "Then why, may I ask, are you and Nymphadora Tonks creeping into my school at such an early hour?"

"That would be of a more… private nature," he said, raising his eyes slightly to indicate the sleeping portraits hung around the office ceiling.

"All of the portraits of Hogwarts are magically bound to the Headmistress or Headmaster, Kingsley, you know that."

"Indulge me, please," he requested. He knew from his experiences as a student at Hogwarts that while the portraits were bound to the Headmistress, they could still gossip to each other in the presence of others. Several Hufflepuff girls in his year had started many a rumor just by gleaning bits of information from a talkative portrait.

Minerva raised her eyebrows slightly at the intensity of his gaze.

"Very well," she said, raising her wand.

She moved her wand in a circular motion and muttered something unintelligible under breath. Instantly curtains sprouted over the portraits and several cries of panic were heard from the dimensionally challenged figures.

"That spell keeps them from seeing or hearing what occurs in this office," she explained.

"Thank you," he said. She nodded at him.

"Now what could possibly need this much secrecy, Kingsley?" she asked, leaning back into her chair.

Curiosity and the cat, indeed, he thought as he watched her settle into her investigative mode.

"A month ago Tonks was called to the scene of a large magical surge," he began. "When she arrived she found a body that had been badly splinched, or so she thought. Upon further examination of the body, Tonks began to suspect the identity of the apparent splinching victim."

"I assume that it's not an Order Member," McGonagall interrupted sternly, "and that you haven't been keeping an injury of one of our friends that serious from the Order."

"Not exactly," he answered. "After visiting St. Mungos, and the victim in person, a lot of Tonks' theories as to the victim's identity began to make sense. You must understand that we had to be sure of who he was before coming to you with it."

"And now," she said, "I assume you have enough faith in your assumption to bring it to the Order's attention?"

"Enough faith to come to you," he corrected.

"And who, pray tell, is this mysterious splinching victim?" she asked.

He swallowed nervously, "We believe it's… we believe we found… Harry, Harry Potter."

There was silence in the dark office.

Kingsley tried to study the landscape of Minerva McGonagall's face for any indication of how she was processing the bombshell he'd just dropped into her lap.

He thought back to his original reaction to Tonks trying to tell him the same information, and hoped Minerva would be more accepting. It had taken him several hours to settle and think it through rationally. Dumbledore, he knew, would have taken but a second to comprehend the news and then move on.

But how would Minerva react?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she brought her wide eyes up to meet his.

"I think we're going to need some tea after all."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

After a lengthy discussion between the conspiring foursome it was decided that in the hopes of keeping Harry Potter alive, that his reappearance must be kept quiet. This meant that his health care would need to be handled solely by the talented Poppy Pomfrey herself. Minerva has already begun arrangements for a temporary replacement for Poppy's absence.

This also meant that Healer Swanson presented an immediate threat to both objectives… and would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

So Tonks and Madam Pomfrey were sent off to rob St. Mungo's of their lone high priority patient, while Minerva wiped the records, and the staff's minds, clear of the Boy-Who-Lived's presence at the medical facility.

Kingsley had drawn the short straw and was slowly creeping towards the small mansion that Healer Swanson claimed as his home. After spending so much time with Tonks at Harry's bedside that he knew what shifts Healer Swanson was working that day. The personnel files provided by the Ministry had given him the last information he needed: Healer Swanson's home address.

Kingsley paused as he felt the slight buzzing of a security ward at the end of the Healer's driveway. Kingsley waved his wand casually, and felt the ward dissipated.

For someone with so much money, thought Kingsley, he certainly should have paid more money.

Within a few minutes he had reached the front door, made a casual circle of the mansion. He was only mildly surprised that Healer Swanson had had too much faith in the ward around the property to further secure the building itself.

Kingsley didn't even have to use magic to break in. Instead he simply found the dining room window unlocked and slid it open with his wandless hand. Putting himself through the small window frame proved more difficult for his larger than average body size.

He cast a quick silencing charm at the bottom of his robes so that he would not make any unintended noises. He paused in the center of the house, the front foyer, and listened intently for where any signs of life might be hiding.

He smiled, his wide tooth filled smile, as he heard Swanson's high pitched snoring noises coming from the upstairs bedroom. It took him no time at all to navigate his way up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Kingsley couldn't help but groan in annoyance as he spotted the various awards and commendations that Healer Swanson so proudly decorated his bedroom in.

"You're of an odd lot, Swanson," Kinglsey muttered, "but this is about more than you or I or even your bloody awards."

He focused his own mind on the anonymous patient that Healer Swanson had been treating for over a month now, before letting loose a silent Obliviate. The spell would seek the topic of information Kingsley had been thinking of and purge him from the Healers memories. When it was done, Kingsley would think of something rather boring for the holes left from the stolen memories to be filled with.

"Sleep tight, Swanson."

In the morning, Healer Swanson would wonder at having left his master bedroom door open and unlocked. In the end, he would dismiss it as one of the stresses of his tiresome occupation and never think twice about the young splinching victim he had become so obsessed with.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"Are you ready?"

Tonks had to force herself to hold the intense gaze Poppy Pomfrey was aiming at her. The Healer still had one hand on the small potion bottle she was carefully administering to Harry, but her full attention was on Tonks herself.

"Yes," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

The potion was a unique combination of pain medication and pepper up potion. Over the course of the day Poppy's potion would slowly wake Harry from the magically induced coma Healer Swanson had placed him in to protect his mind from the pain of his body. If all went according to plan, the moderate anti-pain potion would slowly take over the job of protecting his mind.

Unfortunately they had no idea how long it would take for Harry to awaken from the magical coma. It could be anywhere between an hour to a day to a week. Tonks had the first watch, then McGonagall, then Kingsley. Poppy had to be present at all times in case there was a need for further medical attention. She had been set up in the room next door just in case.

Tonks spent her day reading through her Auror reports, a task she usually reserved for sick days that she hadn't faked, and catching up on old ones. She was on her sixth arrest report when she heard the first moan come from the small bed in the center of the room.

She never knew she could jump out of a chair so fast. Mad Eye would have been pleased at her response time.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Harry knew the exact moment he regained consciousness. The sense of lightlessness had evaporated. One moment the feeling of flying through a dark cloud was gone and in the next he could feel the bed cushion beneath him. Worse yet, he felt each excruciating point of impact where the material, soft as it was, pressed into his back painfully. Wounds all across his body began to erupt in sudden pain, as if the cruciatus curse itself had somehow settled into him.

He groaned.

"Harry?"

Harry cracked in eye open at the sound of someone calling his name. Through the pain he vaguely registered that the voice had been close to his right side. The world beyond his closed eyelids was disturbingly dark. When he thought back to the times he had awoken in the Hogwarts infirmary wing, he would almost always be met with strong light streaming in through the large windowpanes. This sudden darkness made him feel even more compromised. His breathing began to deepen as he panicked, beginning to think he might have gone blind.

He tried to cry out, tried to ask the voice next to him if he was blind. Instead of a desperate plea for information, something harsh and guttural erupted from his voice. This only served to panic him further. Had he lost the ability to speak as well?

"Harry," came the voice again, "please, try to relax. Don't stress your vocal cords."

Harry was beyond frightened, beyond listening to reason. He was desperate to see or say anything, anything at all. He tried to raise his arms to grope at himself, to feel whatever else might be wrong with him. He screamed in pain from the sudden motion of his arms. His right arm was being constricted by something, but his left fumbled over his face. He found that two hill-like mounds of cloth had been taped over each of his eyes.

He heard the person next to him rise, heard them cry out to him to stop, but it was too late. With as much strength as he could muster, which was embarrassingly little, he took as firm a hold of the material as he could and pulled.

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of ripping leather and Harry's inhuman screams of pain.

Harry had only a quick glance at a dimly lit room with moon and star wallpaper before his eyes focused on the bandage, as he could see what it was now. Around the edges, where magical adhesive had been applied, clung his pale skin with bloodied edges. Crimson began to pour from the circle around his eye where there used to have been skin surrounding it.

"Poppy!" someone shrieked.

The blood was streaming down his face, soaking his bare chest and the sheets on top of him. The metallic taste of his own blood even managed to get into his mouth as he cried out in pain. Arms forced his shoulders back down and then a second pair began pouring liquid down his throat, the container banging painfully against his teeth.

As he coughed and choked on the substance, he had only one thought: Thank Merlin I'm not blind.

And then he was lost to the darkness again.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Tonks tried not to blanch at the sight of Harry's blood covering her hands. She was desperately trying to hang onto the image of the young Harry Potter she had seen brooding in Grimmauld Place all those long summers ago. At least then he had been happy with Sirius, or at least what counted as happy for the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, after witnessing the horror of his torment at the hands of the Death Eaters, she feared she might never be able to know that young man again. That fear had not stopped gnawing away at her since she had found the broken body of her old friend lying in that Quidditch field nearer to death than a Grim itself.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked Poppy.

Poppy stole a glance over her shoulder to the young Auror before answering, "If he ever stops making himself worse, than eventually he'll recover… mostly. Of course I can only do so much. We have no idea how much he'll have to recover from mentally."

"Do you need help with the bandages again?"

"No," Poppy replied. "You've been on shift all afternoon. Why don't you keep Minerva company downstairs?"

"Professor McGonagall's here?" asked Tonks, brightening slightly.

Poppy nodded, "Has been since after dinner."

Tonks smiled gratefully at the excuse to leave the ill room that had once been her father's, Ted Tonks, library. Tonks, along with her mother, Andromeda, had spent the night before reorganizing the room to be a makeshift guest bedroom.

In the living room at the base of the staircase, Tonks spotted her former Transfiguration instructor perusing the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Upon hearing Tonks' approach, the Headmistress folded the publication upon the lines and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

"How did things go with Harry?" she asked. "Is he ready for me yet?"

Tonks shook her head. "Poppy put him back under with one of her potions. He woke up and started freaking out. He even ripped off one of the bandages on his eyes. Nearly tore half of his face off removing it."

Minerva scowled, "He always did have a knack for making things worse on himself."

Poppy made a fuss as she bustled down the staircase interrupting them, flicking her wand and muttering under breath.

"We should wait to try again for a couple of days," she cautioned them. "Until then, I'll be brushing up on some of my restraining spells from the clinic days of my youth. Plenty of messed up teens in those days and not one of them got free from my bindings."

"We don't want to scare him," Tonks said worrying.

"We also don't want him tearing his skin out again," Poppy snapped. "Took me forever to put the skin back on his face."

"He couldn't speak before either," Tonks reminded the Healer.

"As sure as hell he shouldn't," Poppy muttered, as McGonagall used her wand to conjure a quill and parchment.

"He can use these," the elder woman said, motioning to her latest work, "to communicate with us. Thus no strain on his voice."

"I still think we should bring Remus in on this," Tonks said.

"Soon," McGonagall said, placating, "but not just yet."

"Why not?" Tonks asked, "He's been going crazy looking for Harry and… and I don't know how much longer I can keep it from him. I'm not sure he'll ever forgive me."

McGonagall placed a comforting arm on the younger woman's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze of affection. "Do you really want Remus to have to see Harry this way after all this time? Look how much it has broken your view of him. Would you so easily condemn Remus to the same cracked vision?"

"You make it sound so noble to lie to my own husband, Professor."

"Sometimes we must simply do what is required to survive, no matter how hard the task." She paused to collect herself, "Albus once told me that."

Minerva cleared her throat and turned her focus to Poppy.

"Friday," she said, "we'll try again Friday."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

The pain had returned, and Harry mentally grimaced. It was less intense than he remembered the first time, but the memory alone made him fear moving even one inch of his body. As if the memory of the pain of trying to move wasn't enough, he didn't want to go back into a panic tailspin and do something else stupid. The swelling growth around his left eye was his constant, painful, reminder of his previous recklessness.

As the pain steadily increased throughout his body, he was forced to draw a deeper breath. He whimpered slightly from the effort to keep as still as possible.

"Harry?"

A hand fell gently onto his wrist, and rubbed slightly.

He decided to risk the pain and opened his eyes only wide enough to peek through his eyelashes. He was rewarded for his effort when he saw that the gauze bandages were no longer suctioned to his eye sockets. He saw a blob of bright bubblegum pink beside his bed. The recognition flared in his mind, and he risked opening his eyes wider. He was surprised that it wasn't the bright hair that drew his attention, but the megawatt smile she was sending him.

He could see reflected in her eyes the same thing that was going through his own mind. Both he and his friend were running through the millions of things they wanted to say. Each of them was trying to find the words that would be a summary of their thoughts.

Tonks was the first to lean forward and, if anyone were to ask Harry, there could have been no better opening line.

"Wotcher, Harry."

Harry knew the smile was worth the pain it caused him.

A figure was moving from behind the seated Auror. He wanted to turn his head, to see them clearer, but the pain was too great. He had to wait for them to move into his eyesight.

He opened his mouth slightly to speak but the figure from behind Tonks rushed forward practically shouting, "Don't speak! Don't you dare risk your cords again!"

Harry would have recognized the scolding anywhere. He almost tried to respond but remembered her warning to not try to speak.

Poppy forcibly moved Tonks to the end of Harry bed, while she shifted closer and began poking and prodding the air around him with her wand. He sighed, contented, as the feeling that something was trying to crush him lessoned.

"On a scale of one to ten how much pain are you in, Potter?" the Medi-witch demanded. "And don't try to talk. Just blink the number with your eyes."

Harry blinked seven times without hesitation. Poppy frowned.

"It shouldn't be that much," she muttered. "The potion is supposed to react against the pain. I didn't anticipate you'd be in that much pain. I'll have to up the dosage, but spread out the intervals. Don't want you getting addicted, do we?"

Harry managed to roll his eyes a bit.

He tried to raise his arm, but he found them strapped by invisible binds to the bedding below him. He gazed at the pair, the question clear in his eyes.

"Ah, yes," Poppy said, stopping before the straps.

"We didn't know if you'd panic again, Harry," Tonks explained apologetically.

"Didn't want a repeat performance from last time," Poppy said darkly. "We have questions that need answering, as I'm sure you do as well. But I won't let you loose to answer them if you're going to start clawing out your skin again."

"He won't, Poppy."

Harry mentally thanked Tonks for her support. He didn't like how Poppy was using his immobility to antagonize him.

"Nymphadora," Poppy said warningly before turning back to speak to Harry. "Blink once if you promise you won't be undoing all of my good spell work that's keeping you, you know, alive."

Harry felt childish doing it, but he made sure to scrunch his eyes a bit, held them a minute, as he blinked the one time. When he released his eyelids he knew Poppy didn't approve of his flippant reply but she didn't say anything.

Her wand lashed out twice over each arm and suddenly Harry could move his wrists. He was careful not to move too quickly or bring his arms up past his waist. He flexed them a little, trying to work out the stiffness and soreness.

As he was working out just how far, or in his case how little, he could move his body another figure entered the room.

As she passed over the threshold of the door, the first bit of repressed light from the closed drapes caught her face. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the toll Dumbledore's death had taken on her. He always knew that McGonagall was old, but she had never really looked this kind of old before. It was practically ancient.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled mentally; At least some things will never change.

McGonagall flicked her wand and a large scroll appeared in his left hand. Another motion with the wand and a quill fell into the palm of his right hand.

"Use these," she instructed him. "So as not to strain your voice any more than necessary."

Harry tried to smile at her gratefully but the pain was too severe. Minerva patted his foot comfortingly as if reading her mind.

"Harry, I need to know a few things," McGonagall explained "about your disappearance."

The quill point made a scratching sound across the parchment.

Okay.

"What do you remember about the day of the attack on your family?"

Harry's hand immediately began to write out what he could remember. He started by describing his Uncle's terse greeting at the train station and then went on to the uncomfortable beginning to the car ride. He kept writing, the parchment clearing itself when he reached the end of the page, allowing him to start again at the top. It reminded him greatly of the Riddle Diary Ginny had used in second year, where the ink absorbed into the parchment.

Every now and then McGonagall or Tonks would offer a question about his story, Tonks seemed especially keen on the details of the dragon that had attacked. Poppy, for the most part, refused to ask any question besides what his pain levels were at.

McGonagall had pressed him on details about the mysterious stranger that had rescued him from Greyback. The further he got in his story the closer Tonks moved to his bed, until finally she was back in her original seat and holding his hand. By the time he reached the explosion, his hand was throbbing in pain from writing down as many details as he could remember. Poppy seemed to have taken notice of his strain and looked about ready to snatch the quill away the moment he set it down, but he still had his questions to ask.

Where am I?

"My parents' place," Tonks answered the written question. "We thought it'd be safer than… anywhere really."

What about the Dursleys? Did they survive the attack on the bridge?

"I'm sorry, Harry, but while your Aunt and your Cousin survived the crash, they did not leave the hospital alive," McGonagall explained. "Their injuries were simply too severe."

Harry didn't know how to respond. He hadn't really cared for his remaining blood relatives but he hadn't wished them dead either. He wasn't sure he could handle dealing with his emotions over their deaths along with everything else. He was scared to examine too closely how he might feel about their loss. He decided to push on to the other question that had been bothering him, one he was most afraid to ask.

How bad was I injured?

Poppy decided to step in and offered up as much information as she could on the subject. "There were a few minor cuts, bruises, and broken bones that were easily healed by the Medi-Wizards. Both of your legs were crushed in the impact, as well as one of your arms."

Harry swallowed hard at the description. He asked the question, knowing the answer already.

Was that it?

"Far from it. When Tonks, here, found you," the witch nodded her head to the Auror, "you were half dead. One of your lungs had collapsed and you were drowning in your own blood. She only just managed to save you."

Harry turned to Tonks, as well.

Thank you for saving me.

Tonks smiled at him, but didn't say anything. He turned back to the parchment.

All that damage is just from the explosion?

"What explosion, Harry?" asked Tonks.

My injuries. These are all from the explosion on the bridge… aren't they?

He didn't like the look that passed between the three older women.

What is it?

The three exchanged urgent glances again. It seems their silent argument had left Tonks to explain such things to him.

"Harry," she asked softly, "how long ago do you think the attack on the bridge was?"

He felt a puzzled look flitter across his face.

A week. Maybe two. I don't know how long I've been out for.

Tonks jerked backwards into her seat.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathed shakily. She looked up at McGonagall with unshed tears brimming in her eyes. Even the usually unshakeable Madame Pomfrey looked distressed at his statement.

How long has it been? Tell me, please!

McGonagall put both her hands on the heels of his legs as if to brace him for what she was about to say.

"Harry," she began, "the attack on the Dursley automobile happened during the summer before your seventh and final year at Hogwarts." She took a deep breath through her nose, as if trying to inhale courage from the air around them.

"That summer was seven years ago, Harry," she explained quietly. "You've been missing for seven years."

They let him absorb the shock.

"What was the last thing you remember, Harry?" Tonks asked.

He looked up, a lost expression on his face. Tonks repeated the question, as if knowing he hadn't been listening.

The explosion. On the bridge.

He didn't understand. How could he have lost seven years worth of memory? How could it be that what felt like yesterday had actually been years of yesterdays?

Where have I been?

"We don't know, Harry."

"We think possibly with Death Eaters," admitted little Madame Pomfrey, "but we couldn't discover where."

"Believe me," whispered Tonks, "Remus and I have been looking everywhere. If we'd known, we'd have come for you."

So where did you find me?

"On an old Quidditch pitch," explained Tonks. "You apparated in the middle of the field about 100 feet in the air… and then you fell."

Harry swallowed, hard.

I'm surprised there wasn't worse damage.

His poor attempt at humor did not seem to amuse the women in the slightest. Truthfully, he didn't even want to think anymore. He thought his head might explode if he focused on the incident too much.

Madame Pomfrey must have misinterpreted his joke as an actual question because she started to explain his injuries further.

"We're doing the best we can on the burns," Madame Pomfrey explained, as if defending her work.

He took up the quill again.

Burns?

Madame Pomfrey stole a quick glance at McGonagall, waited for her nod of approval, before transfiguring a small mirror for him out of the quill.

Harry gripped the mirror tight in his palm. He still couldn't move his arm enough to put it up to his face, so he was forced to angle the mirror from a spot by his waist. As his own image fell into the reflective glass plane he had to stop himself from crying out in shock and terror.

It wasn't the horribly dried skin with its scab-like sheen above his left eye where flames had obviously licked his skin. It wasn't that the side of his eyelid now connected over half of his eye to reach the lower lid, seared together by whatever had done this damage.

He was in terror at the sight of his own reflection that was no longer what he remembered. Even without the disfigurement, his was no longer the face of a seventeen-year-old boy. The face in the mirror belonged to someone much older. The jawbone was more defined, the dents in his face deepened, handsome almost. His hair was cropped so short that one couldn't even tell how unruly it would be at any longer length. His eyes brimmed with tears at the evidence of just how much he had truly lost. There was no denying the lapse in time.

The only aspect of himself that hadn't changed were the emerald green eyes his mother had passed down to him.

It was then that the thought struck him. He quickly scrambled for the quill and parchment, trying to ignore the protests of his humbled body.

Where are my glasses?

Authors Note:

I was in a pretty bad car accident this weekend and won't be able to write for a bit, but since chapter 4 is done I figured I'd just post a little early. This way at least someone isn't miserable. My car was completely totaled, but at least it wasn't my fault and no one died, right?

Vira went to Taiwan for good, so editing might take a little longer. Wishing her all the best though!

Also, special thanks to "Blah" for keeping their review to constructive criticism. I honestly appreciate the advice and agree with you. I will endeavor to do better in the future. All I can say is that I needed that scene to go a certain way and ignored common sense to make it happen. Thanks for keeping me honest.

I hope the story is keeping you entertained. I know it's been kind of slow on the action front, but trust me, I'm a big fan of the action and can rarely write a chapter without it.

Unfortunately, I've needed to set up a few things first which, until now, has meant that it's been all about the mystery of the past 7 years and establishing the current situation. I'm very happy to finally be moving towards more of the mystery and more of the action, as you'll see midway through the very next chapter.

Don't forget to review, please! Seriously, car accident = need some cheering up.

Moriarty's Minion

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