Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, syntax, descriptive elements, major scene editing, new scenes - absolutely must read for returning readers.
Chapter 7: Garden of Memories
Harry headed into the woods. He left behind the noise of the students and the heavy atmosphere of discord and retreated into the foliage. At first the trees were sparse and thin - leaves a light leafy green and ground covered in grass and bushes. The further he went, the thicker the trunks grew and the more the branches blocked the sun, casting dappled shadows across the mossy ground. Yet, despite this, Harry could see perfectly.
The feel of the forest around him was soothing in a way it had never been at Hogwarts. Harry stopped and peered up at the tall branches above him. He closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath. He could practically taste the dirt and leaves on his tongue, and he could hear every rustle of leaves and creak of branches. He opened his eyes again - everything in the shadows was thrown into sharp relief - it was the oddest sight, like the shadows didn't truly exist except to alter the colour of his surroundings, rather than to obscure outlines.
Harry sucked in a shuddering breath and released it, clenching his hands into fists. Even now, in the woods, just standing here and existing reminded him of what he now was. Inhuman.
He trembled - perhaps in anger, perhaps in fear, he didn't really know. He hadn't asked for this - any of it. But since when had he asked for anything in his life? Except, perhaps, for parents to love. Instead, he now had grandparents - who knows, maybe even more aunts and uncles and cousins...but with his track record so far, he wasn't holding out much hope of them being decent.
But weren't grandparents supposed to be kind? Sympathetic? Shower you with gifts and love?
At least, that's what he'd heard. Vernon's parents were gone and now he knew why his mum and Petunia's parents had never been mentioned, so he had no practical knowledge. But still - he'd always liked to imagine a grandmother would be much like an older Mrs. Weasley, always trying to feed you and smiling and hugging you; knitting you scarves and jumpers for winter, and sending you cards on your birthday. The regal, imposing figures of the king and queen of Elwỳn were none of that. For one, it was hard to reconcile the image of the young monarchs with any sort of image of 'grandparent', and for another it was like neither of them were able to show much emotion beyond mild curiosity or displeasure.
And the way they'd treated him yesterday...he'd felt like some kind of science experiment. One of Snape's unfortunate chosen when he wanted to test a new potion he'd invented.
Harry backed up until he was pressed against a tree, the bark rough through his light tunic shirt. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think like this, but he couldn't help himself.
"Dammit!" he snapped, pounding a fist against the tree. It hurt, but he did it again regardless. "Merlin," he swore, "why me? Why is it always me?"
He unclenched his fist, flexing the smarting skin and muscle. The wind began to pick up around him, swirling the leaves off the ground.
Harry stared at the leaves blankly for a moment, before he remembered what he'd just done back at the training grounds. That elvin power he'd used without even meaning to.
The more he focused on the wind and its captive leaves, the more he began to realise he could feel it, like someone brushing faintly against his skin, or a breeze ruffling his hair. Vague, but there, and easily mistaken for nothing at all.
He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the alienness of it all. It was too much - all these new feelings, new reflexes, new sights, smells, sounds, tastes...It was too overwhelming.
Finding out you're a wizard is one thing - at least you're still the same species - but finding out you're not even human? He brought his hands up to his face and gazed at them blankly. They weren't his hands. The fingers were longer and thinner. At least his skin colour was the same. He wondered how he could have missed that while he was bathing.
He sucked in a breath and shook his head. For that matter, how hadn't he immediately noticed everything was different? His hearing, his sight? Had he really been that out of it that he hadn't even noticed he'd never picked up his glasses?
He reached up and felt his ear again, wondering at the fact that he could feel his fingers touching something that hadn't used to be a part of his body. Three extra inches of flesh mysteriously appearing and he hadn't noticed that either. Not until he'd reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there.
Harry would bet his entire vault at Gringotts that Hermione would have noticed immediately. Even Ron, who was generally rather unobservant, would have realised the changes. He let out a hollow laugh.
"You're such an idiot, Harry," he told himself amidst the soft rustling of leaves and chirping of birds. "You're a prize idiot!"
He thumped his head once on the tree, looking up at the branches and the dim viridian sunlight. The peaceful scene was completely contrary to his emotional turmoil. He glared at the speckled foliage, offended at its serenity. With a groan, he slid down the length of the tree trunk and crouched there at the base, fingers digging into the spongy ground. He felt the dirt get under his fingernails and the moss tickle his palms, and somehow that made him feel a bit more human.
Except you're not, a traitorous little part of his mind reminded him. You never were.
"Fuck," he swore.
He let his head drop between his knees, trying to block out everything, but even that was denied him when he felt his new ears brush harshly against his knees. If he stayed like that, he wouldn't be able to ignore their presence. And ignoring things sounded really good right about now.
Except...Harry was never one to ignore things - that would be cowardly, and Harry didn't do cowardly. So no matter how much he disliked this situation he was going to have to face it eventually.
"Okay," he spoke out loud, to help his resolve. "This isn't so bad. Think of the positive."
He stared at the dirt between his legs as he tried to make a mental list of reasons why this could possibly be a good thing.
First of all, he was clearly more fit - able to react more quickly and jump higher. His hearing and sight were better as well. He imagined how well he would succeed in duelling if he could keep these kinds of advantages. He'd have the upper hand simply from reaction time alone!
"Okay," he told himself again. "What else?"
New powers. That weird thing he'd done with the...air? His magic? It had certainly looked dangerous. If he could learn to use that in battle, he could attack with spells from one hand and slice and dice with the other. Unbidden, an image of Death Eaters scattering like bowling pins entered his mind and his lips quirked into a smile.
"So think of it this way," he coached himself firmly. "You're still the same person, you've just gained some extra abilities." Merlin, he sounded crazy. Suddenly, he sucked in a breath and his head jerked up in realisation. "Extra abilities," he repeated with wide eyes. "The prophecy!" Could it be? The 'power the Dark Lord knows not'...could it be Harry's new abilities? It seemed highly unlikely that Voldemort would be able to have a counter to magic he didn't even know existed!
Harry let himself collapse fully on the ground with a breathless laugh. Of course! This was the answer! Dumbledore was wrong - the power was something tangible. And this...this Harry could use. He didn't have to grope blindly in the dark any longer, hoping for an answer or a plan. The thought was such a relief he completely forgot his anger. Right now all he could do was look forward and focus on the one thing that really mattered: getting rid of Voldemort.
Suddenly, those lessons with Melcacrist seemed like a good idea. Learning how to fight could only be an asset. But he wondered if he could convince someone to tutor him in magic as well.
He held out his hand again contemplatively. He turned it this way and that and flexed his fingers experimentally. Then he tried to remember the feeling of the wind - that extra, invisible presence that was like a phantom limb. And in order to make that limb move, he had to flex the muscle that controlled it...which was easier said than done.
Harry furrowed his brow in concentration, searching for that feeling. He'd done it before, he knew he could do this. He also knew it was tied to his magic, so he searched deep within where he felt that spark of power originate. He could just sense it - the presence of the air around him - but he couldn't move it yet.
"Come on…" he whispered.
He prodded and poked in every mental way he could imagine, and then, just at the fringes of his self-awareness he thought he felt something twitch in response. Seizing the feeling, he prodded it again and the twitch was stronger. A leaf blew off the ground and flipped several times before floating back down gently.
Harry grinned.
It took several minutes before he could deliberately do more than create a random breeze. The moment he managed to float the leaf he intended off the ground, he felt immense self-satisfaction. The moment reminded him of the first time he had performed magic in class - that feeling of accomplishment and just a little bit of awe at what he was capable of.
He clenched his fist, using the actions of his hand muscles to guide the air in the same manner and the tendril that had the leaf enveloped it and tore it to shreds.
He amused himself in this manner for a further several minutes, taking his anger, frustration and general bad mood out on the innocent foliage. It was cathartic, though not half as satisfying as physically hitting something. Soon there was a neat pile of scraps sitting a few feet away from him. Harry made a grand sweeping gesture with his hand and blew the entire pile into the air in a shower of leafy confetti.
He probably would have found something else to test, but the unexpected soft tread of leather clad feet on the dirt reached his ears and he froze. The sound came again and his ears twitched towards the left, his head soon following their path. Whoever it was sounded close.
Harry stared intently between the trees until a figure clad in a simple light blue tunic rounded a tree trunk and immediately spotted him. Despite the distance still between them, Harry could see the figure's features clearly - it was Meldirlion.
Slowly, Harry rose to his feet, eying the other boy warily. What was he doing all the way out here? Had he followed him? Come to fetch him?
Meldir eyed Harry back just as warily, coming to a halt several feet away and shifting on his feet uncertainly. His ears were stiff and his eyes round and unblinking, which was eerie. Those eyes darted around the clearing, observing Harry's sanctuary.
"Um...hello," he began.
"Hi," Harry responded, tensing involuntarily at the thought that he was expected to have a conversation in Elwỳnllambe. He didn't know enough - this wasn't going to work.
"Master Melcacrist sent me," Meldir offered in explanation when Harry didn't initiate further conversation.
This, Harry understood. "Yes?"
"He says your tutor has come."
Harry fortunately understood this as well and began to relax. Perhaps...perhaps he could get away with his poor language skills after all. "Quenahgóla?"
Meldir made a shrugging gesture with his hand. "I do not know his name."
Harry sighed. He would merely have to assume that it was Quenah - who else would it be? He supposed he ought to follow Meldir back.
But Meldir wasn't finished. After a moment of hesitation, he suddenly blurted out a long string of words very quickly and Harry only caught a few bits and pieces. He thought Meldir might have been asking him about his temper tantrum earlier, or maybe saying something about what people were saying about it, but he wasn't sure.
It was annoying and frustrating. On top of everything it was like the icing on the cake - new body, new powers, new life...and without even the courtesy of being able to effectively communicate. It was like he was some kind of outcast. He was already stranded on a strange world, but he felt like there were glass walls separating him from the rest, whether culturally or verbally.
Meldir seemed to be waiting for a response and when Harry could only stare unhappily at him, it seemed to make him nervous, because he stuttered out several apologies (these Harry understood) and then launched into a shaky explanation of some kind.
Harry desperately wanted to reassure the other boy. He feared if he didn't, his silence would drive the first Elwỳ his ages that had shown any interest in befriending him away. But even had he wanted to say something, he couldn't.
With a snarl of frustration, he slammed his open palm into the tree next to him. Meldir jumped in surprise and took a hasty step back, apologising yet again. Harry bowed his head so he didn't have to see the upset look on the other's face. His anger from earlier returned with a vengeance, this time directed at a new source of irritation.
If only he were smarter, then maybe he could learn the language faster. Was there some kind of magic he could use? He bet Hermione would know. And wasn't this stupid language supposed to be something his parents had used? If only they had lived, would they have taught him? He gave a hollow laugh - if they had lived, he doubt he'd be where he was right now.
"I humbly apologise and beg forgiveness for whichever slight I may have unknowingly committed!" Meldir repeated for the third time. "I understand I'm not wanted...I will leave you."
Too late, Harry didn't work out what the other elf had said in time to prevent him from backing away and quickly leaving the clearing. Then, as he searched for the right word, he disappeared behind a tree and was lost to sight. He could still hear the thump of footsteps and knew he would be heard if he yelled, but…
"Wait…" Harry sighed under his breath. There was no point in actually asking Meldir to wait around because he would have no way of communicating either way. "I'm not angry at you," he continued in English, "I just don't know how to say what I want to say."
He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on his ear. He gripped the lengths of his hair in vexation. He couldn't even say enough to explain that he couldn't speak properly!
"I not angry," he said to the open air, Meldir's footsteps already out of earshot. He snarled - that wasn't right. "I am not angry...to you? From you? Dammit!"
Think, Harry! Think! What was it? What was the right form?
He glared at the dirt by his boots and slid down the tree trunk again to crouch at the base. He jabbed angry fingers into the moss and scrapped up a handful only to throw it across the clearing.
Why couldn't things be simpler? Why couldn't the elves speak English? Or even Latin! Something familiar, at least. Something he'd heard before.
He squeezed his eyes shut and frowned. Something…familiar?
He could sense it, something fluttering just out of reach at the edges of his mind, straining to come to the fore.
"Concentrate," he whispered to himself. He tried to relax his mind, just let himself drift and think of nothing, except:
Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate…
The word became a mantra, and without realising it, Harry blocked out the whispering leaves and even the dirt beneath his fingernails, slipping into a mild form of Occlumency. A vague memory began to take form and he reached for it gently, so as not to break the fragile connection. A beautiful face swam into view with cascading auburn hair, sparkling green eyes and a wide, wide smile. An elf, eerily similar to the Queen.
Mum…Harry realised with a start. The large face bent over him, cooing and smiling.
"Oh, Astawl, I still can't get over how perfect he is! Hello, my little one," she sung, her voice more beautiful than Harry could ever have imagined. She spoke Elwýnllambe yet somehow Harry knew the meaning behind her words, even if a few of them were unfamiliar to him. It was as if he could read her mind, feel her emotions and ideas - like they had a connection. "Hello, my little Araëmel."
Harry gave a start. She had called him Araëmel.
She really did name me that. I guess it's not such a bad name…
A new face appeared. Another elf, but this one with warm chocolate eyes and messy dark hair. He grinned down at Harry and stuck his finger near Harry's face. Harry watched and sort of felt as small hands that could only belong to him reached up and grasped the finger.
"I wish we didn't have to give him the potion so soon, but we can't put it off any longer. I know we're in hiding, but Sirius really wants to meet his godson." Harry's father murmured to his wife as he played with Harry's small hands.
"I know Astawl - James. I'm just glad we were able to convince them that it would be too dangerous to go to St. Mungos. I'm glad I was able to give birth out of my skin and stop Araëmel from being discovered." Lily stroked Harry's head and he suddenly felt overwhelming warmth and love. He smiled.
"It's been a month though. You've brewed the potion? Prepared the spell?"
James (Astawl?) nodded his head and drew away from Harry. Harry tried to reach out and grab him to bring him back, but he didn't succeed.
"I'm so sorry we have to do this, Araëmel," Harry's mum told him sadly. "I hate to deprive you of your true body and self, but you'll understand in the future. I'm doing this for your happiness. This way you'll be happy. No Elwý and no Mother. No horrible lessons and veiled cruelty and prejudice. Our race isn't all they claim to be, my son. Besides, if you're anything like me-" here, Lily wrinkled her nose and made a face at him, winking when she was done. Harry heard himself giggle, "-then you won't even want to rule. No more crowns in this family."
Harry still didn't know how he could understand mostly everything. Perhaps it was his magic reacting to his subconscious. Maybe he really did know more than he thought. It was strange though, like he wasn't hearing her words so much as understanding her through meanings and images, but he understood all the same. Was that how an Elwý baby's brain worked? It was...unsettling.
Some of the things Lily said disturbed him a little. Her words were like a sharp slap to the face; a wake-up call. Clearly, he would have grown up knowing everything. Grown up human and Elwý at the same time.
Lily moved out of view, leaving Harry lying wherever he was and the memory started to fade. He tried to cling to it, begging his mother to come back, to give him more moments basking in her presence and love, but it was no use. The memory faded completely.
No, no, no! Come back! Harry reached out desperately, trying to bring it back up again. It didn't appear, but instead something else began to take form. It's Sirius, Harry realised with shock. The man was lying across from him, grinning at him as Harry took small, uncertain steps towards him.
"Come on!" Sirius was crowing. "You can do it, Harry!"
Harry wobbled and almost fell over.
Sirius, he thought, I'm so sorry. His godfather looked so happy in this memory, better and healthier than he'd ever seen him before - younger too.
Finally, Harry made it to Sirius's face and reached out with slightly larger hands than last time to grasp handfuls of the man's hair.
"Hey! Ow! Jaaames! Your kid is ripping out my hair! Harry!"
An amused snort came from behind Harry, but he didn't turn around to look, though he knew instinctively that it was his father.
"Suck it up, be a man Sirius!"
Sirius glared over Harry's shoulder, though he was too busy tugging on the black locks to really pay attention to his godfather's facial expression. Big hands came up and tried to gently dislodge his grip. Harry tightened his own hands in response, but he was no match for Sirius and eventually his little fingers were pried off.
Sirius sat up, keeping his head carefully out of reach.
"Come 'ere, you," he grumbled good-heartedly, scooping Harry up and depositing him into his lap. Now Harry was facing the other way and he was finally able to see his father as he sat in an arm chair, an amused smile on his face.
Harry opened his mouth. "Ada!" he exclaimed happily. With a start, older Harry realised that he was using the Elvish word for 'daddy' instead of the English.
James grinned at him. "That's right," he said proudly. "I'm your Daddy."
"I never get why he says 'a-da' and not just 'da' or 'dada' like normal children, Prongs," said Sirius's rumbling voice from somewhere behind Harry's head.
James shrugged and said, "Beats me."
Harry mentally chuckled. His father knew very well why Harry called him 'ada' instead of 'dada.'
"Come on little prongslet, say my name! Say Sirius!" Sirius cajoled, leaning over Harry's head so that when he looked up, he was staring into the man's large face above him.
Harry grinned and went, "Pada!"
Sirius sighed, "Always with the 'pada'."
James laughed.
"All right, you two," a new voice said, "it's time for Harry to go to bed."
Lily entered the room, coming into Harry's line of sight when she came to stand behind her husband. James looked up at her and she smiled lovingly down at him. Behind Harry, Sirius began to make gagging noises. Lily looked up with a scowl, sticking her tongue out at Sirius in a surprisingly childish gesture.
"That's it you, out you go! Come back tomorrow."
"Aw, James! Lily's kicking me out! Are you going to stand for that?" Sirius whined.
Harry giggled and reached up, grabbing the end of his godfather's long-ish hair.
"Ack! Shit!"
"Sirius Orion Black!" Lily shrieked. "Watch your language!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Sirius tried to make Harry let go again.
"I think Harry likes your hair, Sirius." James was laughing again.
I think so too, Harry thought privately. Really though, it was quite amusing watching his godfather act so cuddly and carefree while he was simultaneously made fun of from three sides.
Sirius got Harry's fingers out of his hair for the second time and picked the baby up and placed him on the floor. He quickly stood up and stared down at Harry. As a baby, Sirius really towered over him.
"Bye bye, pada," said Harry, astonishing himself.
Sirius shook his head. "I'll say it again, and I'll keep saying it, but that kid is creepy smart."
Lily and James shared a secret smile.
"Bye bye then, Prongslet," Sirius said, twiddling his fingers at Harry and making a face. Harry silently laughed at his godfather's silly display. "G'nite, James, Lily. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose. I'm looking forward to that cake you promised you'd make for Harry's birthday."
It was July 30th, Harry realised.
Sirius began to leave, and too late Harry tried to stop him from leaving.
Wait, Sirius, he tried to call, but of course nothing happened, don't go yet! I still want to see you!
Sirius vanished through the floo and then it was just the three of them. Harry stood up again and tried to make his way over to his parents. Lily moved from behind the chair and swiftly came to pick him up. She held him in her arms and Harry felt warm and safe.
"Nana," he murmured sleepily, suddenly feeling tired. 'Nana' was the elvish word for mummy.
Lily smiled and kissed the top of his head. "That's right, my little one. I'm your nana. You're learning so fast, aren't you?" She said the words perfectly, without a twinge of accent, and Harry wondered how she could when Aunt Petunia couldn't. Or he couldn't.
"That's my boy," said James proudly, coming to stand with them. Harry peered at him drowsily.
"He's tired. I'm going to get him into bed. Can you do the dishes?"
James pouted. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do," Lily said, sounding mildly amused.
"Goodnight then, little man. Sleep tight. Ada loves you." James kissed Harry's head, and in his mind Harry had to blink back tears.
'Ada loves you.' Such a simple phrase, but it meant the world to Harry. He was sure that this was his happiest memory yet.
"I wonder if he's going to start getting confused about which language to speak, or what his name is when he gets old enough," James mused, stroking Harry's cheek with a finger. Harry reached up to grasp it, then stuck it in his mouth. James grimaced. Lily chuckled.
"You know he's still teething," she said. "But our little Araëmel is smart. He'll figure it out in no time."
I'm not smart, Harry thought to himself as he continued to chew on his father's finger.
Aren't you? A niggling little voice at the back of his head said. How many other third years could have performed a Patronus like that, and in such short a time? Or figured out the secret of the Chamber?
Hermione figured it out first, he argued back.
Ah, but that's Hermione. We're talking about you.
"Let's get you up to bed, then," Lily was saying.
Harry wholeheartedly agreed, because he was feeling really, really sleepy. James disappeared, moving past them into what could only be the kitchen, and Harry watched him go sadly, wishing he would come back. Lily moved in the opposite direction though, heading for some stairs.
Harry's eyes drooped shut.
Wait, he thought, open them back up. But his little body didn't respond and they stayed shut. Only the feel of his mother's arms around him, holding him up, still reassured him that she was there.
But soon even that faded as the last vestiges of his memory disappeared into sleep. He stayed in that blackness, just breathing in and out, waiting for the return of more memories - begging for it - but nothing came. Soon, the sounds of forest began to filter back to his awareness. Birds chirping, leaves rustling, a bug buzzing somewhere.
He lifted his head and stared blankly at the trees. Wetness gathered in the corners of his eyes. He remembered. He remembered their faces, the sound of their voices, the scent of his mother's soft skin, and the way his father's finger had tasted; it was all there, so strangely fresh and vivid.
He could still hear his father's voice saying, "Ada loves you."
"Ada," he whispered out loud, tasting the word on his tongue. Then, "Araëmel."
He supposed it wasn't a bad name. Certainly a bit more interesting than just plain 'Harry'. If it was the name his parents had chosen for him though, then he really shouldn't be protesting it.
Shaking his head, Harry quickly wiped away the tears and stood up. He had to find Quenah now - he would worry about the truth later.
Easier said than done, Harry ruminated some minutes later. He was thoroughly lost. He was sure he was facing the right direction, but if he'd properly traced his path back, he should have broken the tree line by now. Which begged the question, where exactly was he?
He squinted up through the canopy, hoping to get an idea of where he might be from the position of the sun. The trees were thinner so he knew he was in the outskirts of the forest, but with the sun directly overhead he couldn't tell which way was east and which way was west!
"Bugger it all," he cursed, stalking over another upturned root.
Well, if worst came to worst, he had no doubt that rescue parties would be sent out, but Merlin's balls that would be embarrassing! Determined to at least get somewhere, he broke into a jog, feet treading with surprising nimbleness and precision on the root-littered ground. Amazed at his grace, Harry sped up until he was flat out sprinting through the trees. He felt like his feet had wings.
Grinning, he ran faster, hair whipping into his eyes. For five minutes he kept it up, and still his legs pumped along steadily and his lungs barely burned.
"Brilliant," he managed breathlessly.
Finally, the tree line abruptly thinned out into underbrush and a few saplings. Harry was left staring at the glistening white palace walls perhaps half a mile away, surrounding a part of the palace he was quite sure was nowhere near the stables.
"Whoops," he told the wind, stopping on the green grass and searching for some kind of gate to get past the walls. A glint of gold caught his eye and he saw a small lattice-work gate with what appeared to be a single stationary guard. Perfect.
As Harry approached, both he and the guard had plenty of time to observe the other as the distance between them closed. The guard was dressed in dark green and gold and holding a familiar looking spear. When he was close enough to shout across the distance, his eyes picked out the details on the spear and he recognised it as the same type the guards outside his tower carried. A Royal Guard then perhaps?
Harry managed to walk right up to the gate and get a glimpse of some kind of garden beyond before the spear blocked his view and the guard spoke, "This garden is forbidden."
Harry blinked at him. Forbidden? Why would it be forbidden? He asked as much.
"This garden is private," the guard responded in as few syllables as he could manage without being disrespectful. Harry was impressed by his stoicism.
"Oh," he said, frowning. He wondered who the garden belonged to. Wasn't this supposed to be his palace or something? "Well, I want to get back inside there," he made a vague hand gesture towards the palace which was still a fair distance away beyond the walls, "so can't I just pass through?"
The guard didn't respond at first, merely blinked, though his surprise at Harry's words were plain by the nervous twitch of his ear. "This garden belongs to Their Most Esteemed Majesties, none may enter."
The title threw Harry for a loop until he'd managed to wrap his head around its ridiculousness. But then he realised that this guard had no idea who he was.
He nodded in understanding. "Okay, I see, but I doubt they'll mind if I go in." He peered round the guard's rather large spear head and through the golden lattice. He saw splashes of vivid colour and something glinted just past a blooming tree. He squinted, trying to make it out.
"Who proposes such a thing?" the guard enquired, his scandalised tone completely at odds with his semi-polite question.
Harry sighed. Maybe it was because he looked all scruffy? Well, that was easily solved. Introducing himself had been one of the first things Quenah had taught him."I am Araëmel-arýon."
The guard stared at him dumbly for a few seconds, as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "His...Royal Highness?" he repeated uncertainly.
Harry nodded firmly. "That's me."
The spear was yanked out of his face faster than the speed of sound. Then the guard was on his knees, head bent over Harry's boots. Harry gaped.
"T-truly...my most humble apologies, Your Most Gracious Highness."
The sudden switch to overly formal language threw Harry off. He remembered Quenah teaching him something about apologies the other day...what was the appropriate response again? And what had that guard just called him? Most...something?
Harry pondered this for a few moments, and it was only as he was running their conversation back over through his mind that he realised he'd just had an entire dialogue in Elwýnllambe and not even realised it.
He stared dumbly down at the bowed brown head of the elf. What...was going on? Since when did he know so much Elwýnllambe? Could it be...something to do with those memories? He'd understood then as well. Maybe...maybe he used to know it, but had forgotten and now he was remembering again?
But that was absurd, he thought. He had only been a year old - there was no way a one year old child could know enough language to be able to communicate in proper sentences like that. No way at all. Something wasn't adding up.
Abruptly, he realised he'd left the guard to tremble on his knees for quite some time now. He honestly couldn't remember how to respond to such a situation (and wasn't that strange - why did he know some things and not others?), so he used the safest phrase he could manage to dredge up, "Apology accepted."
The guard didn't rise, but Harry heard him let out a soft breath, as if in relief. "Your Royal Highness is too generous."
Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. Was this sort of behaviour normal? Wasn't this going a bit overboard for only doing his job? What did he think Harry was going to do? Trying to distract from the whole awkward situation, he tried to end the conversation, "Can you open the gate now?"
The guard leapt to his feet. "At once, Your Royal Highness!" He dragged two of his fingers in an anti-clockwise circle over an engraved rune at waist height and Harry saw a soft yellow glittering loop settle around the etching. The rune glowed briefly and then the gate swung open.
Wandless magic! Harry thought, extremely impressed. It's simple and efficient. I definitely need to learn this.
"Thanks," Harry told the guard.
The guard clearly didn't know what to do with such recognition, so he merely placed one hand over his heart in a sign of deep respect and bowed at the waist. Harry decided he'd imposed long enough and hurried into the garden, the gate swinging shut automatically behind him. He turned, half expecting to see the guard watching him through the gate, but the elf had taken up his position to the side and again and was nowhere to be seen.
Shrugging, Harry turned to regard his new environs.
It was like Eden. Or at least, if Eden existed Harry reckoned it wouldn't be far off the mark. It was a harmony of colour. Flowers in shades he hadn't even known existed bloomed everywhere, arranged artfully around gleaming white marble and crystal statues.
There was a mosaic path running from the gate and straight through to the large tree he'd glimpsed earlier. The path branched off between arrangements, but Harry made a beeline for what appeared to be a large pavilion. It was made out of white wood that looked more like it had been grown that way rather than built. A tinkling stream cut just behind it, on the bank of which rested the tree with its delicate pink blossoms.
Harry knew he was only here to pass through to get to the palace interior, but he couldn't help wanting to stop and smell the roses (or whatever they were). He mounted the steps to the pavilion and ducked his head under hanging purple blooms
The first thing he noticed was the life-like statue of an elf woman. She shimmered with golden flecks where the light through the latticework hit her, lighting her up with an angelic radiance. Harry's breath caught for more reasons than that - he recognised her.
"Mum…" he whispered hoarsely. Then, "Nana…"
He stumbled over to her, drinking in the finely carved cheekbones, the softly parted lips, and the gentle curve of her nose. He reached up and let a finger hover over her face, almost afraid to touch. It really was too life-like.
As he stood, hesitating, he wondered what a statue of his mother was doing in a pavilion in the middle of a garden. Was it some kind of memorial? He had never had the opportunity to visit his parents's graves, but somehow this seemed like a close alternative.
Abandoning all indecision, he traced her features with his fingers sadly. "Hi, Mum. It's me, Harry...Araëmel. I guess I have two names, don't I?" His hand dropped to touch on the bundle of stone flowers she held in her arms. "I could see you doing this - picking flowers and stuff. Did you like flowers a lot? I guess most girls do, right?" He was babbling, he knew, but he felt a little silly talking to a statue. He dropped into silence for a few moments, trying to gather the courage to say out loud some of the things that had been running through his head recently. "Seeing you and Dad has really helped. I guess part of me just didn't want to believe everything they were telling me." He let out a sigh. "But I guess it's all true - everything. But...I wish they'd just sit down and talk to me or something." He snorted. "I almost think they don't really care at all. They just want an heir, I guess, but…" He paused to step back and stare at the statue for a moment or two, then continued in a rush, "They gotta care, right? Or they wouldn't have built this... right? Maybe they're just busy...or don't know how to treat me either. I'm not exactly an expert at family interaction." He decided to change topics. "I've figured out a way to deal with Voldemort. I feel a lot more confident now; I know I'll get stronger. I've got a great opportunity to train this summer instead of just sitting around at the Dursleys' being useless and bored. Oh, yeah!" He had to pause to shake his head at the incredulity of his next statement. "I can't believe Aunt Petunia isn't human! She's always so obsessive about being normal and hates magical stuff so much I would have never in a million years imagined she could be anything other than a normal muggle! Talk about skeletons in the closet."
Harry stopped there to take a deep breath and let it out. This was helping; feeling like he was communicating with his mother somehow by talking to her statue. It was kind of silly, but when magic was involved, he wasn't going to rule out the possibility that she could really hear him. He liked to think she could. So he continued to talk, spilling his guts - all his worries and concerns. He found himself eventually sitting at the base, near her feet, and leaning against her dress.
It was nice, sitting there in a kaleidoscope world, listening to the sounds of nature and his own steady breathing. There was a bird twittering nearby and though he couldn't spot it, its innocent tweeting made him smile. He stared out through the gaps in the pavilion, sharp eyes picking out the details on jewelled petals and vivid green foliage. A few bees buzzed softly around some of the blossoms, completing the scene.
He sighed and reached out fingers the trace the edge of a marble toe. "I guess I should probably head back now. I need to find Quenah and ask him about all this. Especially how I've suddenly gotten really good at speaking - that can't be normal, can it?" He frowned and shrugged. "Then again, this is me we're talking about." He snorted. "Anyway, I promise I'll come back and visit again. I hope...I hope wherever you are right now, you're happy."
Harry let out a heavy sighed and rose gracefully to his feet. Talking with his dead mother, while strange, had been cathartic. Any lingering anger had been completely eradicated, leaving him with a sense of contentment. That didn't mean he wasn't still troubled, but for right now he wanted to accept who he was, if only so that he could accept the words his parents had spoken to him. If he rejected that…
All of this, everything Elwý, it was something he was supposed to have known. His memories didn't lie. He hoped they didn't lie. Really, the one who had lied was Aunt Petunia, but even then Harry couldn't completely blame her, because he knew he never would have believed her if she'd tried to tell him what he was. The potion his parents had given him (that 'skin' thing) had needed some serious magic to reverse. He could imagine it now, Aunt Petunia trying to tell him, 'By the way, nephew, you aren't human. You're actually a mythical elf-creature from another dimension, but I can't prove it to you because you've been heavily disguised.'
Harry rolled his eyes. Right. That would have gone down well. No one knew, no one could have told him anything, so now he just had to...accept, and move on. That's what Hermione would tell him to do. Harry had issues letting go of anger, but...looking right now at the beautifully carved rendering of his mother's face, he couldn't find it within himself to feel anything other than love and sadness. He'd think about the rest later.
He traced a last lingering touch down the side of Lily's marble cheek. "Bye," he said in parting.
Keeping to the mosaic pathway, he headed towards the towering palace walls, passing more fountains, statues, and even an elegant, delicate looking bridge suspended over a merrily babbling creek, most likely by magic. He was tempted to test his weight on it, but drew himself back at the last minute, vowing to come back another time.
The path eventually led to another gate in the wall. It was closed, a slight problem until Harry gently touched it, and it swung open automatically. Immediately, he heard the whisper of clothing and an exhaled sound of surprise that meant there was likely a guard right next to the opening. Harry quickly poked his head out and sure enough, two wary, unblinking cat eyes stared back at him. The guard's whole body was tensed but the moment he saw Harry, the cautious expression melted to one of confusion.
"Er," said Harry rather un-eloquently.
The guard blinked.
"Um," Harry tried again, carefully stepping past the silent elf. "Hello?" When he received nothing but blank confusion in return, he remembered this guard likely didn't understand English. "Hello?" he tried again.
The elf hesitantly placed a hand over his breast and made a short bow reserved for children of the Upper House. At least, that's what Harry thought he did - it could have been that bow that meant he was acknowledging Harry's status as superior, but he thought that one might have had a deeper dip.
Harry wasn't particularly fussed what each bow meant, and Quenah had always informed him that it only mattered that he could recognise them, not perform them, because the Royal Family never bowed to anyone. The only thing he had needed to learn was the imperious head inclination which meant something along the lines of 'I graciously acknowledge your deference,' which Harry found both amusing and disgustingly pompous. Nevertheless, he performed the gracious head bob.
It was probably the head bob, but after a few seconds, when Harry did nothing else in terms of greeting, the guard's eyes widened and he quickly dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
Harry sighed. This was becoming an awfully common occurrence and it was disconcerting to have people on their knees in front of him. It reminded him too much of how Death Eaters might treat Voldemort. He didn't like the idea that he somehow had the same measure of power over them as Tom Riddle had over his simpering followers.
He shook his head quickly to dispel the unwanted imagery. This was different. It was just a matter of differing cultures, he prompted himself. Here there was a monarchy, just like the olden days back in the Human realm. He was sure people had bowed like this to the kings and queens back then, so this was not at all like Voldemort.
Yeah, he thought drily, not at all alike. Please.
He didn't really know what to say to the guard. Neither Quenah nor the evil etiquette teacher had been particularly helpful in this regard. They were under the impression that Harry would always know exactly what he wanted from the other party - in other words, Harry would always have to be the one to initiate any interaction. Only by giving someone leave to speak, or stand, would he be able to carry on a conversation.
He stared down at the guard. He didn't particularly want to speak to the elf, but nor did he really want to leave him just kneeling there.
I feel foolish, he thought just as he opened his mouth and said, "You can, uh, return to your...post."
The guard somehow managed to dip his head further in response, then rose swiftly and backed against the wall next to the gate, face stoic but eyes lowered.
Harry turned away quickly and eyed the private courtyard he stood in. A circular courtyard with an unbroken path surrounding a single tree with flowers. Four benches were strategically placed against the carved walls. Alcoves in the walls held crystal vases of flowers. He wondered if this courtyard was supposed to be private as well, or only accessible to certain people. There was an arched exit opposite him, however, and he hoped it lead to the palace proper, where he could ask for directions back to the bridge connecting the second and third palace called the llantatan.
Of course, when Harry emerged into a wide corridor bathed in afternoon sunlight and flecks of prismatic radiance, there was no one around. He chose the direction he guessed to be towards the stables, and walked slowly down the middle of the polished floor.
Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it wasn't, but when Harry reached the end of the corridor and turned into an even larger one, there was Quenah, striding past him. He had to blink a few times, just to check that he was seeing things correctly, then he called out, "Quenahgóla!"
Quenah stopped and turned around, glancing around him before his eyes landed on Harry with a puzzled frown. Harry hastily abandoned the wall, but before he could initiate conversation, Quenah gave an elegant bow - the same one at the guard had earlier - and murmured, "Please excuse me, I am currently busy."
Harry nodded his head. "Okay, but I really need to talk to you," he replied, realising belatedly that he had slipped into Elwýnllambe. He honestly didn't even notice it, for he found he understood it on such a basic, instinctive level now.
Quenah drew himself up with a stern expression on his face and gazed down at Harry with disapproval. Harry was taken aback by the pose, having never been subjected to such before.
"Child," began Quenah sternly, "have your parents not taught you better manners?"
Harry blinked in shock before he realised - Quenah didn't recognise him! He could have smacked himself.
"No, no, it's me," Harry said quickly. Quenah simply stared, so Harry plucked at his clothes and asked, "Don't you recognise me?"
It took a few moments. At first Harry's tutor looked like he was about to scold Harry again for his poor manners, but when he paused for a moment to really look at Harry he was left with his mouth agape. "Araëmel!"
Harry jerked his head up and down rapidly. "Yes, yes, it's me." He then gave the elf a crooked grin.
"I don't believe it," breathed Quenah, eyes running down Harry's changed form. "It's...I mean how? But...last night! I don't understand!"
Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking around them. The corridor wasn't exactly crowded, but with elvin hearing, even someone halfway down the corridor was likely to overhear them. "Can we go somewhere else to talk?"
Quenah abruptly composed himself, realising he was making a scene. "Yes...yes, of course. My apologies, Your Highness." He tsked at himself. "Let's find an empty courtyard."
Harry let Quenah lead him back the way he'd originally come, eventually passing under a wide arch into a much larger, square courtyard. A quick scan of their surroundings proved that no one was about at this time, although Harry thought he heard a couple of faint strains of music floating down from above them.
Quenah glanced up, clearly hearing the same thing. "We are under the Music Hall."
"What's that?" asked Harry curiously as Quenah paced his way slowly down a shrub-lined path to a bench in the centre of the courtyard.
"Just as there is a training grounds for warriors, there is a training grounds for musicians, healers, spellcrafters, potioneers, and so on," Quenah explained mildly. He stopped at the bench and turned, gesturing with a bow for Harry to seat himself. Once Harry did so, Quenah settled himself beside him and continued, "I once considered taking up music, but my ultimate passion was for language." He let out a nostalgic sigh. Suddenly, he fixed Harry with a piercing gaze. "There are two things I do not understand. First, how you have changed, second, how your language has so miraculously improved."
"I don't really know," Harry admitted. "Well, I can make an educated guess at the first one. Some kind of delayed reaction, I guess. I reckon all those aches and pains yesterday were because the potion and spell were working, not because it failed."
"Ah," Quenah murmured to himself, "yes, yes, I see. That makes sense. But...this sudden mastery of our language…?"
Harry could only shrug. Quenah gave an exasperated sigh and mildly rebuked, "Your Highness, princes do not shrug." Harry merely rolled his eyes. "They do not roll their eyes either. But of course, your etiquette instructor has already informed you of all this, you are merely choosing to disregard it." He paused for a moment then continued more seriously, "But, Araëmel, you have to understand that now your skin is gone, you will be expected to act with far more decorum. It is one thing to see a mere human act like a savage, but it is another for our prince to act like a human."
Harry gave a derisive snort, feeling another argument coming on, though he felt only the mildest stirrings of indignation over Quenah's insults, far too used to this kind of racist attitude. "I'll act like me, thank you very much."
"And...and this improper use of language!" Quenah waved his hands around in graceful agitation. "Using such common tongue is simply unheard of for one of your rank! Just what will your grandparents think?"
"They can bloodywell think whatever they like," Harry grumbled, finding no decent alternative for his preferred swear word, and so slipping into English.
"Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? You must never speak of yourself so plainly."
"Quenah!" Harry interrupted crossly, before his tutor could really get the ball rolling, "Just...drop it for now, okay? Shouldn't you be grateful I even know the language now...however that happened?"
Quenah looked a little at a loss for words for a moment, gazing with glazed eyes at a row of purple flowers. His ears twitched in thought until finally he shook his head, helpless to answer."Hmmm…it is most strange..."
Grateful to have steered the conversation clear of duty, Harry remarked wearily, "All I know is that I remembered these memories of my childhood really eerily clearly, 'cause I was so frustrated at not understanding anyone or being able to speak. I was really mad, telling myself to just concentrate to remember all your lessons, then the next thing I know I'm remembering my mum and dad and I was able to understand it when they spoke to me in Elwýnllambe. It was the strangest thing."
Quenah gazed at him in wonderment. "How extraordinary! I've never heard of a child able to do what you've clearly done."
Harry fiddled nervously with the cuff of his tunic sleeve. Oh great, I've gone and done something else no one else has ever done before. "What's that?" he asked glumly.
"Well, first I must explain that an Elwý child is much different from its human counterpart. Their brains are far more developed - we use a much larger percentage of our brains than humans do, you understand - even magical humans. What's especially important is that every Elwý child develops a mental bond with its parents - a link if you will - which allows them a greater understanding of the world around them through their parents' minds. Of course, this link eventually fades as the child grows old enough to understand the world around them and speak for themselves, but it is hypothesised that the memories and information that we...what's that word those human muggles use...down-something-"
"Download?" Harry offered, eyes wide.
"Ah, yes," Quenah muttered to himself. "Yes, that's the word, download." He quirked his lips in amusement, then continued to speak in English. "As I was saying, it is hypothesised that information that we downloaded from our parents remains with us. Perhaps it is this that gives us instinctive control over some of our abilities - it is almost like a genetic memory, I suppose. But...it's also hypothesised that when we reach a certain age - perhaps adulthood, perhaps sooner - that information disappears, replaced by our own experiences. Well, whatever the truth, I believe that you, in your desperation, used your magic to tap into that part of your memories that stored all the language information you 'downloaded' from your parents when you were a baby. Really extraordinary." Quenah shook his head in wonder, smiling warmly at Harry. "Then again, you are the prince, from the line of Caladharan himself, so is it really any surprise at all?"
Harry merely stared at him, astonished. What Quenah was proposing sounded preposterous, and yet...there was a ring of truth to his words. "How do you know so much?" he finally asked.
Quenah sighed. "My cousin is a healer. I used to help her learn."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence as Harry processed all this. He stared at the ground near his booted feet, eyes tracing the flecks of some kind of crystal embedded in the stone. It reminded him a little of highly polished granite - the kind Aunt Petunia wished she had in her kitchen. Being reminded of Petunia reminded him as well of the way she'd panicked him beforehand, when he'd first been brought to Elwýn. She'd scared him with her frantic promises and nervous demeanour, and yet had it really been all that bad?
So maybe his grandparents were a little overbearing - but at least they did care, or they wouldn't have built that garden for his mother. And all these lessons could only end up helping him in the long run. Voldemort wouldn't know what had hit him, if Harry kept up this kind of pace.
Aunt Petunia was probably just trying to ruin another good thing, he decided. Just because she hadn't been happy didn't mean he couldn't be. It was obvious what she wanted was not the same as what Harry wanted anyway.
Besides, it wasn't like he was staying here forever. After the summer, he'd go back to Hogwarts and his friends. He'd worry about the future after he'd defeated Voldemort.
He looked up, stilling his feet which he'd been scuffing against the stone. "So," he said, "now what?"
Quenah stood decisively, an imperceptible flick of his wrist smoothing his clothes. He switched back to elvish. "We visit with their Majesties, to inform them of this development. They will want to stop their research and focus on other duties now. I am sure they will be most pleased." He waited patiently for Harry to stand as well, but before they left the courtyard, he reminded his young charge, "Just remember to mind your manners. Do you remember the formal language I've been teaching you? Do not fall back into easier, more common patterns, or they will be most displeased."
Harry barely held in his groan. Not this again! He'd hoped Quenah had forgotten! Keeping to English, he complained, "It's just stupid though! I mean, it's like asking me to go around referring to myself as, 'I, the Prince,' or, 'my esteemed self' all the time!"
Quenah only looked scandalised. "Your Highness, it's not-"
"-not the same, yeah, I get it. English can't be compared with Elwýnllambe, because it's far too complex, with way too many intricacies, blah blah," Harry finished for him, having heard this speech before.
Quenah flushed and muttered something Harry nearly didn't catch, but he was sure he must have misheard, because surely proper, stuffy-shirt Quenah hadn't just called him an 'impertinent brat'?
"Alright!" Harry cried, giving in. "Honestly!"
Quenah cleared his expression and ran smoothing fingers down his shirt laces. "Your Highness is most gracious."Then, while Harry was trying to figure out whether or not that had been sarcasm, he added, in Elwýnllambe this time, "Also, it is best if we do not use English any more, Your Highness. While you might now have the knowledge of this language, there is still much you likely did not absorb from your parents - customs, speciality vocabulary, place names. Moreover, it is clear that you now have a tendency to slip into less polite speech patterns, so you will need to retrain yourself. Sometimes instinct can be a burden, as well as a boon."
Harry really did sigh this time. He did that a lot these days. "Fine, fine."
"No," Quenah correctly, gently this time, "you say, 'I understand'." He fell silent and looked at Harry expectantly, until Harry realised Quenah wanted him to repeat his words.
"I understand." He barely got them out without a sneer.
Quenah nodded and turned on his heel, striding smoothly towards the exit.
They took the transportation tower. Walking quickly through the corridors, but not quite running to reach the throne room before the king and queen went into council, which Quenah claimed they did at three hours before the evening meal. Harry calculated this to be about four o'clock human time. Mornings, Quenah explained as they went, were dedicated to public business and to the 'Court'. The day Harry and Petunia had arrived, Court had not yet been in session, so Harry had never actually seen any of the so-called aristocracy.
The entire business sounded terribly complicated and not something Harry would ever understand. He truthfully wanted nothing to do with it, but he had yet to voice this out loud.
When they got to the throne room, Quenah had to announce himself to the guards. He hesitated at Harry, deciding that he was better off not seen in such a state (in other words, in filthy clothes and covered in dirt and sweat), and relegated his charge to the wall next to the great double doors. Other elves hoping to enter and speak with their monarchs milled around the large antechamber, dressed from everything to the simple clothes Harry was wearing to some of the most lavish outfits he'd ever laid eyes on. As he waited, he watched them drift amongst each other like jewelled butterflies, barely speaking and not making eye-contact. Eventually, a few of the more finely dressed Elwý began to eyeball Harry and his mussed appearance, but before anyone could start pointing fingers, Quenah remerged and beckoned for Harry to follow him.
Harry glanced over his shoulder as they left and got a small glimpse of glittering clothes and wispy movements from within the throne room, before the large doors were shut again.
"They're sending for the tailor again to meet you in your room," Quenah told Harry as they walked. "She'll create a full wardrobe for you now."
"Great," muttered Harry, just wishing that he could have some normal clothes for once. Those waist sashes were far too much trouble than they were worth.
"Then, you will join them for dinner," continued his tutor, "and they will discuss the rest of the changes to be made now that your 'skin' is out of the way."
This part made Harry slightly nervous - what would they do? What new things would he be expected to learn or participate in?
No, he told himself firmly, stop it. You have to be serious now. Learn as much as possible. Hone your skills, abilities and knowledge and find a way to battle Voldemort. Your life and those of the wizarding world depend on it.
It was a heavy thought, and it made Harry's stomach twist. But it wasn't anything he wasn't already accustomed to. He would treat this just like any other of his little adventures. This one just had a bit...more...at stake.
They reached his rooms and Harry had to be reintroduced to the guards so they'd let him in in the future. Harry wasn't entirely sure how, but when they entered, the tailor was already there, waiting. Word must travel fast in the palace and she must have been a lot closer to the tower than Harry and Quenah.
This time when she saw Harry, she bowed low and didn't give him strange looks, only the appropriate reverent greetings. Before they did anything else, Harry was sent to the bathroom to wash the dirt from his hands and face, and to change into a new shirt. When he returned five minutes later, a large three-sided mirror had mysteriously appeared and the tailor made him stand on a stool in front of it as she measured him and held up scraps of fabric to his skin and eyes. It took far longer than last time not only because she was preparing to create for him a full-fledged wardrobe, but also because she kept asking his permission and opinion on everything she did. Harry honestly didn't know the first thing about fashion - especially elvin fashion - and so stuttered through a lot of awkward 'I don't know's and 'whatever you think is best's. The rest of the time he stood patiently, holding back his desire to sigh every so often. At the very least she wasn't poking and prodding him with pins like Madam Malkin sometimes did.
When she finally left, Harry collapsed back in a chair and finally sighed, long and loudly. Quenah chuckled.
"Is Your Highness tired?" he asked with amusement.
Harry rolled his eyes and nodded.
"Well, then, my Prince, might I suggest in the meantime we review Elwýntencelle?"
Harry perked up. The Elvish writing system was just so cool looking. He couldn't wait to finally be able to write in it.
"Yeah," he agreed.
"Yes," Quenah corrected.
Harry merely groaned.
Chapter a looong time coming. You can thank a dedicated reader that this was uploaded today. This if for you Yana5...And all the rest of you out there that are still sticking by my terrible updating schedule! Honestly, I'm giving you all permission to bug me about uploading chapters. If you've read my profile and it says I'm close to finishing a new chapter or it's in the editing stages...give me that extra push to put it up.
So, again, RL updates are on profile, explaining why my soul has been consumed by everyday dreariness. And also why I haven't had much of an opportunity to write fanfiction lately. For those that do NaNoWriMo, I've got a profile set up there under the same name. If you're not convinced as to why I'm busy as hell, just come watch that word count total go up. It's just about week 3 and so far I've written just shy of 71,000words. Go me.
Any feedback on this updated version of chapter 7 would be welcome. As you can see, starting from chapter 6 things are changing. I'm adding a lot of new material and it's just going to keep changing from here on out. Of course, some key plot elements will remain the same, but for the most part, much of the character interaction and dialogue will be tweaked or completely re-written. Please please please let me know what you think of the changes, the new characterisation, etc...all feedback, good or bad, is half the reason I put my stories up at all, instead of simply selfishly hoarding them for me and my sister :P
Sorry about the wait. Can't promise anything new until after NaNoWriMo finishes. I'll try to get chapter 8 out in early December. That's as far as I can tentatively promise.
Thanks for reading!
xoxoRia
Posted: Nov. 18, 2011
