Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, sadly. This is my HP AU Universe, but all the characters and cool stuff belong to JKR.

The Unspeakable Files: Godspell

An HP Fanfic

By AnotherSpoonyBard

Chapter 9: Suspicions

The Daily Prophet, London Office

Pansy Parkinson frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in a way that created a crease between them. Her mother would have hated that, would have told her that if she wasn't careful, she'd end up with permanent wrinkles that way.

Pansy thought her mother could sod off, and take her irritating plans for her daughter's future with her.

Heaving a sigh, the young woman jammed her quill into its inkwell with rather more force than was necessary and pushed back in her chair, the bespelled contraption taking her to a filing cabinet in the corner of her dinky office. A flick of her wand opened the bottom drawer and retrieved several stock images of some of the wizarding world's most rich and famous. A little doctoring, and somebody would be having an affair or gaining too much weight, and she'd have the last two columns on her spread filled. Another day, another outrageous lie.

Truthfully, she hated her job. She'd never worked all that hard in school, too concerned with socializing and asserting her dominance over other students (not to mention attempting to become a permanent fixture on Draco Malfoy's arm, which was cringeworthy in hindsight), and she was paying for it now, in a way. Instead of the serious career in investigative journalism she'd been after, she wrote for the gossip section of the Daily Prophet, and while she was rather good at it (apparently, wicked lies were not something you ever forgot how to tell), it wasn't anything near what she wanted.

The story splashed all over all the headlines these days was about those murders, and she wanted to be writing about that. Serious, important stuff that required real intelligence and carried the small element of risk, of danger, that she craved these days. Even the increasing tension between the British and French ministries (apparently the result of the French Minister's sometimes-draconian approach to the law) was secondary to that one. Certainly nothing she ever wrote was that significant.

Sighing, Pansy rifled through the pictures, examining the photos of smiling, beautiful people and trying to think of something horrendous to say about one or two of them. She reached one of Draco himself and snorted softly. Apparently, someone had caught him in one of his worse moods; the sneer he'd had since Hogwarts was now almost terrifying, in a way, but she knew better than to take him too seriously. Draco wasn't really upset until he got quiet and chilly—that much, she knew firsthand. She wondered how he was doing—it had been a few months since her last visit, given her insane schedule. She was glad it was a friendship she'd been able to preserve, even after all that had happened. Sending that one back to the cabinet, she picked two others at random, huffing a short laugh when she wound up with two businessmen that she knew despised each other. A fight over a woman? No, that was trite. An affair, both wives devastated. Oh yes, that would do nicely.

Library of Alexandria, Librarian Granger's Office

Intent over her translations, Hermione savored the peace and quiet that came with a day of work. Nestled comfortably in a cross-legged position on her chair, she scratched away furiously with her quill, taking notes with rapidity in an often-unsuccessful effort to keep up with the speed of her thoughts. Piles of books rested haphazardly on either side of her narrowed writing space, dominating the surface area of her desk in the same way their contents dominated her thoughts.

So focused was she on the task before her that she did not notice the approach of another person until his shadow fell over her writing. Startled, the archivist glanced up sharply, and forgot to dim the evidence of her pleasure at seeing the face that came into view. "Ah, Professor Snape!" She smiled brightly, gesturing for him to be seated, then looking back down for long enough to finish her sentence before setting her work to the side. Hastily, she grabbed her wand and waved it, sending the books to one corner of the room so as to be able to talk properly, without a mountain of leather and vellum blocking the way.

"Did you get that thing with Malfoy sorted out?" She wasn't really sure what had transpired; all he'd revealed to her was that Draco was hit with a curse that somehow blocked his ability to use magic. How anyone was supposed to fix that without knowing exactly what it was perplexed her, but she presumed she did not have all the details.

"In a manner of speaking," Severus replied, and she searched his face for any hint as to what he'd meant. At first, she thought she'd turned up nothing (as was usual), but then something flickered behind his eyes, like a shadow passing over them, and her brows drew together. He seemed… troubled by something, and she wanted to remedy that. It was in her nature, perhaps.

Pursing her lips, Hermione decided delaying her news would do nobody any good. "I think… I may have some information that will help." She paused, wetting her lips with her tongue. Severus was looking at her expectantly, and she found that she really, really wanted this to be of use. "That summons I received, on the same day you got yours, it was from the Auror's Office. Ron wrote to me, asking me to come in and take a look at something."

Snape's eyes narrowed; she found that she could not discern what was meant by this and hoped he didn't think her irrelevant. "I expect that it had something to do with the muggle murders," he put in, his tone neutral. She nodded in reply, lacing her fingers together and placing her hands atop the desk.

"Not just muggles anymore." She'd read the papers; Astoria Greengrass was the most recent victim, which meant that witches could be presumed to be in just as much danger. Not that that made much of a difference; given the locations of the bodies, it was a case for magical authorities either way. "And there's something about the crimes that might interest you."

She watched him for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction. At first, there was simply nothing, then he moved, just slightly, faintly inclining his head, and she took that to mean she could continue. "I'm not… I don't know how much you're allowed to know about what the Aurors do…" Hermione hesitated. She really wanted to tell him everything she thought he needed to know, but not if doing so would be breaking some confidentiality. For all she knew, Harry and Ron had no idea Severus was even alive, let alone working as an Unspeakable.

"Potter is aware of it," he said, as though reading her thoughts. The thought that he very much could do so if he wanted to was not comforting. "And my level of clearance on matters of Ministry importance is much higher than his." The wizard steepled his fingers in front of his collarbones, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

Hermione exhaled softly, relieved. "Good. In that case, I can show you." Waving her wand, she summoned a folder, from which she pulled a photograph, showing the moving Ouroboros with the script beneath it. "This was found at one of the scenes," she explained quietly, handing him the photo. "The text beneath it is in Sanskrit. I just finished translating it a while ago. The words are an excerpt from the Bhagavad-Gita, a holy text of the Hindu religion."

Severus, who had been steadily examining the picture before him, brows drawn together in thought, looked up at her, catching her eye with an intensity in his that had her heart skipping a beat and thumping irregularly in her chest. Telling herself that this was most certainly not the time for that, Hermione regained control of her breathing in just enough time for him to ask a question. "And what, exactly, does it say?"

"They're words spoken by Krishna, avatar of the god Vishnu," she replied steadily. "'Now, I am become death, shatterer of worlds.'" Her tone was grave, and she glanced down at the image in his hands with something approaching trepidation.

"And the fact that these words, the image, and what I told you all point in the direction of cataclysmic events led you to believe them connected," Snape mused softly, placing the photo back on her desk.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Additionally, the fragmentary phrase you gave me and the Ouroboros are both of Old Norse origin, which would have been enough on its own. The mythologies are certainly being mixed, but there's no mistaking that all the references are to the same thing."

"The end of the world," Severus supplied, a small smirk playing over his features. Hermoine's eyes went wide, and she immediately looked down. That… was absurdly attractive. It wasn't a smile, not really, and it barely even qualified as a smirk, truth be told, but it and the glint to his void-black eyes bespoke a kind of danger she'd not dallied with in many years. It was one that, sometimes, she was willing to admit she missed. "How very presumptuous."

She swallowed, forming her words carefully so as not to betray her unease. "So it seems, but arrogant or not, there's likely a connection there. I think it might be best if you brought Malfoy's case to the attention of the Auror Office, perhaps pooled your resources. I'd be willing to help in any way I can, of course," she added hastily, hoping she didn't sound overeager. These were murders and they were terrible, there was no denying that.

There was also no denying that the possibility of investigating them, of putting her wit to work when the stakes were incredibly high, alongside someone with a mind like his, was appealing to her for more than one reason.

Malfoy Manor, Hidden Chamber

"Try again, Draco," Luna urged, watching the young man in question intently. Her fingers toyed absently with her wand, a piece of extraordinary craftsmanship, made for her as a personal gift from Mister Ollivander. The warm hue of the black walnut wood was reflected in the way it felt in her hands—always giving off a slight heat. The whimsical tulip-like design of the handle was a rather lovely touch, she thought. A kindness, from a friend. She hadn't been able to save him, nor he her, but they had at least been able to share in their suffering.

Right now, though, she was quietly confident she would be able to achieve more than that. More than willing to share Draco's suffering, she also held out hope that he could be saved. Not that she thought herself the one to do it; one thing Luna had learned was that, when it came down to it, human beings had to be willing to save themselves, or no amount of help from anyone else would manage it. In order to change his life for the better, to divest himself of the lingering guilt and hatred and rage that still simmered beneath his skin and emerge on the other side of it, Draco would first have to come to believe that he was both worthy and capable of such a metamorphosis. She held no illusions that the change would be painless or simple or short.

But they could certainly start by figuring out this peculiar change in his magic. She watched the satisfied half-smile spread over his lips, and he nodded, holding out a hand and incanting. The expression turned her own a little wistful—she wondered what he looked like when he really smiled. She should like to see it, some day. The candelabra levitated from the table, nearly hitting the ceiling of the stone chamber before he reduced his power output, leveling off the ascent and bringing it back down to eye-height.

After his wand had exploded, Draco's expression had closed off, and he'd largely refused to speak for several hours, during which Snape had left, shooting his protégé a withering glare, which was ignored. As soon as the former Potions Professor had vacated the premises, Draco's posture had relaxed, and he'd slumped into his seat, strain showing in the taut lines of his face. Luna was almost certain he'd forgotten she was there, for he'd tried very hard not to present himself as vulnerable to her in the past, and that was exactly how he'd seemed in that moment. For a instant, the confident, capable, considerably arrogant wizard had faded away, and she could have sworn she was staring at the eleven-year-old boy trying so hard to be what he was expected to be.

She'd stood, and relocated herself so she was sitting next to him, her right knee just touching his left. He'd shot her a halfhearted glare, but not protested beyond that. For a few moments, they were completely silent, and that didn't change when she laid her hand over his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing gently. Both stared at the wall straight ahead, neither sharing their particular thoughts with the other. He hadn't squeezed back, hadn't so much as acknowledged her action, but neither did he tear his hand away and spit venom at her, as she would have expected mere weeks ago. The progress pleased her, but she gave no indication of it.

Exactly how long they were sitting like that, neither of them could recall, too lost to their ruminations to accurately gauge. At length, Luna's voice broke the silence. "Try your magic without a wand."

He'd stiffened beside her, and she could tell he was struggling with his instinct to snap at her. In the end, she suspected his curiosity won. "If I can't use magic with a wand, why would I be able to manage without one, Lovegood?" His tone was bitter, with traces of sadness coloring the edges a melancholy blue.

Luna ventured a hypothesis. "A wand is a conduit, a magnifier of our natural magic. I think that, in your current state, you don't need one. In fact, having one might be counterproductive." She'd looked at him with her othersight, only to note that the green veins were thicker, brighter, but reordered. It was an arrangement that resembled tree roots more than threads like most people had, and there seemed to be something nearly primal about it. It was no more than an intuition, but she felt that it was true all the same.

He'd been as skeptical as he always was, but she'd just smiled and waited, and as she expected, he'd grudgingly indulged her, standing and attempting a levitation spell on one of her transfigured candle-holders. It had shot upwards with far too much force, much as a first-year attempt might do, but quite likely for different reasons. The silver metalwork smashed on the ceiling, but aside from a dent, it remained intact, and Draco was able to lower it back to the floor much more gently. From there, she'd urged him to try again, and now here they were, she watching with understated satisfaction as he seemed to get the hang of it.

Draco released the spell, and turned to Luna, his expression cautiously optimistic. She marveled at the openness of it, and decided he wasn't aware of it himself, too caught up in newfound success to notice. Her lips slanted upwards, and she nodded as if in reassurance. "I think we've figured it out. It might take a little more practice, but I'm sure you'll be back to working form in no time."

Malfoy Manor, Grounds

Well, this was awkward. Harry's and Ron's boots crunched too loudly on the driveway of Malfoy Manor, the ascent somehow more looming and longer now than it had ever been before.

Not that they made a habit of visiting, of course.

Still, it was maybe a bit strange that the one time Harry wasn't absolutely convinced of Malfoy's guilt was the time he felt most nervous about accusing him. Before, he'd have been concerned that he might get a hex thrown in his face, but then this was maybe the case now, too. It wasn't every day one had to bring an Unspeakable in for questioning, especially one who also happened to be your former school rival and a one-time Death Eater.

Glancing over at Ron, Harry noted that his expression was set, staring straight ahead with determination. He also observed that it was a façade; Ron was feeling just as uncomfortable with this as he was. His best friend didn't know what Harry knew—Ron's clearance level wasn't high enough to be briefed about Malfoy or Snape, though Harry wondered if it might not have to be eventually. Either way, he shook his head and raised the silver knocker on the door, rapping four times in sharp succession, then stepping back, gripping the wand in the forearm holster inside his sleeve for the briefest moment before he consciously relaxed. When things came to their worst conclusions, he liked to have the wand with him, but he truly didn't need it. Wandless magic was a prerequisite for certain ranks in the Auror office, and he'd learned it a couple years ago. It always felt uncomfortable, somehow, but he could do it if he had to.

The door cracked open, a house-elf looking up at the both of them with wide, round eyes. Apparently, they were recognized, or at least he was, because the elf swallowed audibly. Deciding to move through the situation as quickly as possible, Harry spoke. "Aurors Potter and Weasley. We're here to see Mister Draco Malfoy."

The elf blinked, then nodded. "Please follow me. I will fetch young Master Malfoy."

They were led into a receiving room of some kind, not any of the ones Harry had been into before. The décor was very much in keeping with the rest of the manor: it practically screamed old money and good taste. And Slytherin, as the silvers and greens were reminding him. He wondered if every room in the house had the same scheme. It would be a little ridiculous, wouldn't it? Not every room in his flat was red and gold.

There was the sound of soft footsteps on the carpet, and Harry turned to face the door at the same time as Ron did. Draco Malfoy stood in the frame, eyes narrowed and assessing for a long moment before he settled against it, crossing his arms over his chest and venturing no further into the space. He was trapping them, and the look he shot Harry assured the Chief Auror that he was aware of it. "Potter, Weasley. To what do I owe the… pleasure of your company?" He sneered, and Ron took the bait almost immediately.

"We're not here because we want to be, Malfoy, but some of us have real jobs. And the Auror's office needs to talk to your git self, so take your superior attitude and—"

"Ron." Harry cut off his friend with a warning glance. It was probably to be expected; Ron hadn't interacted with Malfoy in… well, Harry actually wasn't sure. It might well be the day his family left the battlefield at Hogwarts. He did read the Prophet though, which explained the 'real job' comment.

Harry sighed. He and Malfoy weren't exactly cordial, either, but they'd moved past the point where their mutual disdain got in the way of their jobs. Ron's reaction was understandable, but counterproductive. Luckily, he seemed to sense this and stopped talking, settling for glowering at their old school nemesis like he wanted to throttle him.

"Malfoy, we need to bring you in for questioning." He and his former rival exchanged a brief look, in which Harry attempted to convey that he could keep his cover if he wished. "It's about Astoria Greengrass."

Draco's eyebrows drew together. "Astoria? What about her?" He looked slightly perplexed, which Harry interpreted as a good sign.

"Don't act like you don't know," Ron replied with heat. "Her murder's been all over the papers."

Rather than the angry retort Harry was expecting, Malfoy's face contracted into a picture of shock, before he quickly smoothed it over. "I haven't been paying attention to the papers in the last few weeks," he replied, almost as if he had nothing else to say.

Ron looked like he was about to respond, when the conversation was interrupted by a feminine voice. "Draco? There you are. I thought the Nargles had—" Draco made a sharp gesture that Harry couldn't quite see, and the voice fell silent.

Not that it helped matters much; Harry and Ron both knew the voice very well. "Luna?" they said as one.

Upon hearing her name, Luna poked her head into the room, taking advantage of Draco's angle to step over his legs and breeze in, apparently unaware of the thick tension coating the atmosphere. She beamed at the both of them. "Harry, Ronald! It's lovely to see you. Will you be staying for tea?"

Ron's jaw worked uselessly for a few seconds. Presumably, he was having just as much difficulty processing the situation as Harry was. What in Merlin's name was Luna doing in Draco Malfoy's house, calling him by his first name and offering them tea as though she lived here? Harry's eyes made their way to Draco, who looked slightly at a loss. The blond man rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and two fingers, and there was something ever-so-slightly off about the situation, but Harry was far too busy puzzling to figure out what.

Ron's face had gone from angry to positively thunderous, and Harry knew he was reaching the only conclusion he could with the information available to him: a notorious club-hopping playboy with more money than sense has a young woman in his home who isn't related to him, and isn't known to be a friend or associate of his? Chances weren't good that they were just friends. Harry knew a little more, and so he didn't necessarily believe what Ron did, but hell if he knew what was actually going on.

Luna, as always, seemed to have no idea what was happening around her. "Ronald, what's wrong? You seem a bit red in the face. Kneazle got your tongue?" She tilted her head to one side and drifted over to Ron, placing the back of one pale hand on his forehead and clicking her tongue. "You've been working too many hours again," she concluded sadly, casting a glance at Harry and doubtlessly concluding the same about him. "I already have one full-time patient, I'm not sure I could keep up with three."

Just like that, the tension shattered, Harry and Ron both seizing the clue she'd provided them with all their might. Much, much easier to believe that Luna was here for a medical condition one of the Malfoys had than that she and Draco were… involved. Ron's shoulders eased, and he gently removed her hand from his head. "S'all right, Luna. We're fine."

She smiled brightly again, and Harry felt himself relax as well. From the corner of his eye, he noted that Malfoy did the same, regaining his passive neutrality, except… his eyes never did leave the mediwitch in the room. Harry's own narrowed slightly behind his glasses, and he cleared his throat, returning everyone's attention to him. "Actually, Luna, we're here to bring Malfoy in for questioning. Astoria Greengrass is dead, and he was her last known boyfriend." Her expression fell into a troubled frown, and she glanced at the blond wizard, who nodded curtly.

"Oh. So no tea, then?"

Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

The Auror's office was packed, the gofers and more ranked members alike running about as though they were fueled exclusively by pepper-up and coffee. Draco wrinkled his nose slightly in distaste; even at their most desperate, the Unspeakables were much more in control of themselves and their surroundings, but he made no mention of this, assuming that his disdain would be treated as everyday arrogance, which, if the wilting look Weasley shot him was anything to go by, was a good assumption.

Potter knew the details of his arrangement, which was likely why he'd done Draco the professional courtesy of showing up himself. Were it anyone else, Draco probably would have outright refused to come until they showed up with the proper paperwork, and that would have been a disaster for both departments. As it was, he'd displayed his displeasure in a number of less-than-subtle ways already, and he could tell that Potter's refusal to get righteous with him was both irritating and confusing to Weasley.

A slight pressure on his arm drew his attention to Lovegood, and he looked down at her beside him. She shook her head minutely, and he scowled, but stopped trying to bait the least-intelligent of the Golden Trio. It wasn't like Weasley was much of an intellectual challenge, he supposed. The effort to rile him up, while hardly exhausting, probably wasn't worth it, so while part of him rankled that she thought she could tell him what to do, the other part saw the sense in not making this an even bigger scene than it already was, and quelled the ever-present desire to barb a former Gryffindor.

She smiled at him upon noting his acquiescence, and he found himself pleased by this. Perhaps it was—no. He didn't like where that thought was going, and stomped it out abruptly.

Unfortunately, his efforts to keep a low-ish profile by not provoking incompetents came to a screeching halt, and the screeching part was literal. Some woman spotted him from across the room and wailed, pointing a finger at him dramatically. "That's him! That's the man Astoria left with!" The grey-haired Auror with the harpy shushed her, but the damage had already been done, and all eyes swung to them.

"Fuck," he heard Potter mutter under his breath, and privately, Draco rather agreed. Weasley, contrary to Draco's expectations, did not look particularly pleased with the development and scowled harder, if indeed that were possible.

"Who the hell is that woman, Potter?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She gasped a bit and averted her gaze, but that wasn't about to stop him. Were it not for the hand that moved to encircle his wrist, and the accompanying burst of warm energy travelling up his arm, he might have yelled back across the room at her. It wouldn't have been terribly out of character for his public identity. Instead, he found the werewithal to smooth his face over and simply level the rest of the room with an imperious, haughty sneer, which had the effect of averting the rest of the gazes.

"Right. Well. Malfoy, if you'll follow me. Ron, please put Luna in interview room two and get her anything she needs." Potter shot Lovegood an apologetic look, but she did not protest, simply shrugging thin shoulders and releasing Draco's wrist, following in Weasley's wake while Potter led the Malfoy heir to not an interview room, but an office.

Gesturing Draco in before following, Potter shut the door and muttered a charm of some kind. "Go ahead and sit, Malfoy." His tone was more weary than unfriendly, but Draco wasn't buying it.

"No thanks, Potter. I'll stand."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Suit yourself. I, however, will be sitting." He sank down into the chair behind a walnut desk with a short sigh. "Coffee?" When Draco shook his head, Potter pushed his glasses up his nose and continued. "Obviously, we can't let your identity out. I'd intended to just bring you here and go through the motions, since Astoria was your ex-girlfriend, but her friend's identification is problematic." The young man raked a hand through his already mussed hair, and Draco was not oblivious to the fact that he'd clearly gone quite some time without proper sleep.

"When was the murder committed?" Draco asked, and for all the concern in his tone, he might have been speaking about the weather.

That dropped Potter's mouth into a scowl. "Look, Malfoy, I know you're not exactly about friendship or happiness or whatever, but don't you even care that she's dead? That kind of attitude won't go over well if this goes public, you know."

It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm sorry, should I be weeping? She is—was—just another woman at this point. I'm not happy that she's dead, if that's what you're implying, but I hadn't even spoken to her in years." He was also more used to death than he'd care to admit. A certain amount of indifference was necessary.

The Chief Auror still looked unimpressed, and though he probably knew enough to read between the lines of his statement, he was apparently feeling uncharitable at the moment, because his expression hardened. "And what about Luna, Malfoy? Is she just another woman, too? Making her a notch on your bedpost would be a bad idea."

Draco was admittedly taken aback by the question, though perhaps he should not have been. Lovegood's friendship with Potter and the Weasels was a well-known fact. It was a surprise to him that he found her far less odious and annoying than any of them. When that had happened, he wasn't sure. "Keep your knickers on, Potter; I haven't touched her." And just because this line of questioning was irritating, he gave his voice a sly cadence, one that allowed a 'yet' to be tacked onto the sentence by the imaginative listener.

"Then what is she doing at your house?" His interrogator seemed unwilling to let the topic drop.

"Bit off-topic, aren't we?" Draco replied with a raised eyebrow. "She's there on Unspeakables business, if you really must know. Anything more than that is above your clearance level, Potter." He did so enjoy pulling that card on the bespectacled man in front of him.

"Fine," Potter replied through his teeth. "…You wanted to know about the murder?" Draco nodded, and the black-haired man provided him with a date and time. Draco thought about it, and then nodded succinctly.

"She was with me then. Have Weasley ask her about it." His expression was perhaps a little more smug than the situation called for, but undoubtedly, the revelation of exactly how much time their precious friend was spending with him these days would vex them horribly, something that Draco was quite certain he'd enjoy.

"Polyjuice?" Potter wondered out loud, and Draco shrugged.

"Probably. I'd start your investigation with people who have access to my hair."

"Such as…?"

Draco gave it some thought. "I doubt you have to worry about my parents, or Lovegood. That leaves Severus, Lupin, Greengrass, a few of my more… aggressive recent partners—don't ask, I couldn't give you names because I usually don't know—and anyone with access to the Department of Mysteries storeroom; they keep all kinds of things in there, including certain relevant samples from the Unspeakables. That's technically above your clearance level, too, but we'll pretend it isn't."

"That's a lot of people," Potter replied after a moment.

"What can I say? I'm an important man," Draco replied easily. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Ron might be a bit longer with Luna, though." The other man sounded like he really wasn't comfortable with the whole situation, but Draco couldn't have cared less about that if he'd tried.

"Mm, I think not," he replied, disabling the lock charm and opening the door without another word. He made a beeline for interview room two. He had no desire to linger, and as soon as Lovegood provided his alibi, they were both leaving, Weasley's feelings on the matter be damned.

A/N: The plot's really starting to move forward now, but we're still not even halfway done, I don't think. So, I really like reviews, but I HATE it when writers hold their stories hostage, so what I'm going to do instead is provide incentives: reviewer number 100 will get a special gift fic! Basically, that person can ask me for a story featuring anything they'd like in the Unspeakables-verse or maybe something else, and I'll write them a one-shot of considerable length. Small plot bunnies, side-stories, 'missing' scenes, and the like would all be welcome. Hell, I'd give a lemon a shot if the winner wanted one.

Anyway, now there's that to look forward to, if you're interested. Even if you're not, I'd still love to hear what you think!

~Spoony