Trading My Sorrows

By Shadow Ballad

Genre: Drama/Spiritual
Pairings: None so far
Timeline: AU fifth year, Sirius Black has been pardoned and is the DADA assistant to Lupin
Warnings: T for violence and some language. This is a story detailing a person's conversion to Christianity, so it will contain religious themes. If this offends you, please do not read and then flame me for offending you. Reader, thou hast been warned. : )

A/N: There are no words to express how sorry I am that this took another…hmm…four months to get out despite my promises to the contrary, though I can certainly try to create some. : D The only explanations I can offer are: I have a job now (yay), school (as always), and a sudden realisation that I don't know as much about my own faith as once I thought. So this is turning into something of a spiritual journey for me as well as for Snape. It should be interesting. I hope.

But yes, this story WILL continue, come hell or high water. I really can't remember why I thought no one would want to continue reading this after reading DH simply because it is now severely AU. I was (quite pathetically, actually) distraught after the ending for reasons that should by now be obvious (if you haven't read the last book why would you be reading fan fiction?), and I added the new A/Ns at the beginning and end of chapter 10 in the midst of said pathetic distress. So, thanks to the people who reviewed and asked why it couldn't go on just because Snape is now canonly dead. You are perfectly right. It can and will. : )

Anyway, I apologise for being a twat. I shall not abandon this fic, and especially won't abandon Severus, whom I adore and shall buy on Ebay if Rowling ever offers him up for auction. :D Many thanks go out to Ominous Voices, my patient and talented beta. Any mistakes still in existence are mine, not hers.

Chapter 11: Lessons in Life

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.
If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, 'I repent,' forgive him."

Luke 17: 3b-4

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Snape, shocked, watched mutely as Lawrence drew his wand, Evanesco'd the botched potion, and met Snape's gaze with a cool expression on his face. "If you want to use the shower, the towels are in the cabinet. After that, you may do as you wish. I, however, have work to do." And with that the pastor Disapparated with a crack, leaving Snape alone with an empty cauldron, reeling with anger and a growing, devastating shame.

For a few moments Snape stood rooted to the ground, gaping in angry disbelief at the empty air where Pastor Beckett had once stood and desperately refusing to acknowledge the tight, burning knot of guilt building in his chest. He gave his head a shake and attempted to rally his fury, telling himself that Beckett had deserved every ounce of vitriol Snape had served him, but the blasted guilt twisting itself around his heart would not allow it.

Oh very well done, Severus, said a little voice. Not only have you just spectacularly failed at teaching Lawrence how to brew the potion correctly, but you've also succeeded at making him so angry that he'll probably kick you out whenever he gets back. Well done indeed. Snape grunted and mentally swatted the cynical voice aside, turning his gaze onto the ruined cauldron in a desperate bid to quash the mounting sense of self-disgust.

"Hmph! How dare he leave me to clean up his mess!" he growled half-heartedly to himself, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring how dim-witted he must sound addressing an empty room. The words, however, did not provide the spike of indignant rage he wanted. In point of fact, glowering at the cauldron and the potions ingredients only made him feel worse. He could vividly imagine Gert's displeasure at discovering that her cauldron was now quite useless and half her ingredients had been used with nothing to show for it.

Snape sighed and reached up to massage his temples, immediately coating his fingertips with botched potion. "Damn it!" he cursed, twisting his face with disgust as he jerked his hands away and scowled at the sticky, pale yellow substance coating his skin. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically, curling his lip as he realised that his face, hair and shoulders must also be tainted that colour. He sighed again. The minute flicker of anger gasped and expired as he decided to accept Lawrence's departing invitation to use the shower.

He glanced uncertainly at the cauldron once again, irked at his inability to quash the constricting guilt and summon back his anger. Abruptly he turned from the table and strode to the bed, collecting his cloak and the sack containing his second set of new clothing. Lawrence can deal with the cauldron himself. His incompetence is responsible for destroying it, after all, he thought as he walked back to his guestroom, footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Ah, said a bold inner voice as he entered the chamber, but you didn't exactly help him not destroy it, did you? That means you have equal responsibility in the matter. Go back and clean it up.

Shut up, thought Snape irritably, hanging his cloak over the back of the wooden chair. He didn't linger and ponder the implications of telling oneself to be quiet, removing the second of his new robes from the sack and heading across the hall to the loo instead.

Five minutes later he stood under a steady stream of hot water, vigorously scrubbing at the sticky yellow potion on his face and neck with a soapy green rag. It stubbornly refused to come off, and by the time it did it Severus felt he must have scrubbed off at least two layers of skin, which felt raw and stung slightly when the water hit it. He sighed and cleansed the rag, then hesitantly picked up a bottle of shampoo – it felt so awkward to use another person's bath things! – and squirted a palm-sized amount of the cool, pale yellow substance into his hand. It smelled lightly of spices and herbs.

Severus massaged the shampoo into his hair, which had started clumping together in coarse bunches. He sighed again as the water pelted his neck and chest, feeling the last strongholds of his temper wobble and recede as though the water was washing them away. What the devil is wrong with me? he thought, staring forlornly at the grey stone wall behind the spray of water. I used to enjoy walking over people, didn't I? It felt good to insult their ignorance and their hopeless lack of skills, didn't it? So why the bloody hell is it bothering me now?

He hoped one of his many inner voices would offer him the answer, but not a single one volunteered its opinion. Severus grunted and shook his head a few times, telling himself that he was quite foolish for wanting little voices in his head to solve his problems and should consider committing himself to the long-term mental care ward in St. Mungo's. He then turned his mind to the task of removing the adamantly sticky gunk from his hair.

An hour and almost half the bottle of shampoo later, Snape ran a hand over his abused scalp and through his clean, de-yellowed black hair. "Finally," he groused, allowing the now-lukewarm water to wash away the last traces of botched potion. Severus turned off the shower, pulled back the dark-green curtain, and then stepped outside the bathtub, wincing and shivering as the cool air assailed his wet body. He quickly towelled dry and dressed, depositing the towel and washrag in a large white wicker basket opposite the sink and mirror and then turning his attention to his soiled robe.

He plucked it from the counter, curling his lip as he surveyed the damage. It felt stiff and crusty where the potion had dried, and little flakes fluttered to the floor when Severus picked at a section of the stain with a fingernail. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed his wand from the countertop. "Scourgify!"

Nothing happened. Frowning in displeasure, he tried again. "Scourgify!" A few large flakes floated to the floor. "Why the hell is it not working?" he muttered, furrowing his brows into a nearly-straight line and narrowing his eyes at the obstinate blemish. "Scourgify, dammit!" More flakes and a few large chunks fell that time, but the robe refused to come completely clean. With a growl Snape knelt in front of the tub, turned on the spigot and shoved the garment under the stream of water, scrubbing at it viciously and throwing every cleaning spell he knew at it. Five minutes later he had achieved nothing but a pair of achy knees and a soggy, still-stained robe. Severus let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as a weary acceptance touched down on his shoulders.

He wrote the robe off as a bad job, drying it with a flick of his wand and folding it up resignedly. After drying his hair with a stream of hot hair from the end of his wand he retired to his room, a cloud of dejection and shame settling over him like a heavy, grey blanket as he reclined on the bed. It's only a matter of time until Lawrence gets back and asks me to leave, he thought, sighing and staring listlessly at the ceiling and wondering when that moment would arrive.

Monday, however, passed, and though Severus heard Beckett return later that evening (and noticed that the man increased his pace whenever he walked by Severus's door), the pastor did not knock briskly and demand that Severus leave. In point of fact, he did not see Beckett or speak to him on Tuesday either, as the pastor had not come to Severus and Severus hadn't left his room and sought him out. He suspected that Beckett still felt too angry to speak with him and could not fault the man for it, though on a trip to the loo that afternoon Severus had nearly collided with a tray bearing a plate of cold ham sandwiches and a pot of mint tea floating outside his room. He'd taken it, suspecting that Lawrence's obsession with being a good host prevented him from allowing a guest to starve, even if said guest happened to have upset him.

After waiting in vain for Lawrence to kick him out on Monday, he'd spent most of Tuesday wondering whether or not he should simply leave. He longed to flee to Hogwarts, where life was predictable and he could fall back into old habits without worrying about changes in his behaviour, as they would probably not be happening if he were there. Every time he collected his belongings and made to go, however, he found himself unable to follow through with his plan. The longer he stood staring uncertainly at the door, the heavier an unequivocal feeling that he should stay – quite similar to the feeling that he could trust Pastor Beckett the night he'd arrived – settled upon him. He'd gazed at the door almost longingly and then huffed, tossing his things back onto the bed and throwing himself down next to them, hating himself for not being able to make a decision and then sinking into a state of melancholic half-consciousness.

Wednesday dawned dark, overcast, and rainy. Severus, wearing his cloak over his clothing to ward of the chill in the room, lolled on the bed, left hand draped across his stomach and right arm slung over his forehead, deep in thought. Outside, the rain pounded the grass, trees and tombstones beyond his window and beat the church's roof with a muffled but constant tattoo.

In the excitement over Beckett's corrosive mess, having to buy new robes, and, of course, the disastrous Potions lesson, Snape had completely forgotten about the issues that had plagued him on Sunday. Now that he was alone, without excitement of any sort, thoughts on every issue and problem he had filled his head to bursting.

Especially his problem with anger management.

It seems that the root of all your problems is a deep-seated anger. Severus sighed as he recalled Lawrence's words from Sunday afternoon. He could not help but wonder if the pastor had ever imagined he would have the 'deep-seated' anger Snape had so uncharacteristically candidly discussed with him visited on his own head.

He sighed again, swiping his arm across his forehead and then massaging temples plagued by a headache that had settled in on Tuesday morning and stubbornly lingered on. In his mind's eye he saw himself walking down the unpaved streets of Kilterbury, holding his robes around him as the crisp breeze blew them about his body, mulling over the self-same issue. Severus also remembered what Lawrence had said what to do about his anger – specifically, not acting on it in a destructive way – which only served to tighten the stubborn knot of guilt still lurking in his chest.

Monday's Potions lesson made it patently evident he had not taken the advice to heart.

But you have made progress, you know, the inner voice that sounded like Lawrence said suddenly. For starters, in the past you would never have felt guilty about erupting at someone like you did on Monday. In fact, the only time you ever felt remorseful after losing your temper was when you lost it in front of Albus, or when Albus shamed you into feeling guilty, or you pretended to feel sorry for screaming and raging about something or someone just to make him leave you alone. Now your guilt is genuine, and you know what to do next.

Severus grunted and dug his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them tiredly as spots of colour exploded in his vision. I know, he thought back at the voice as he opened his eyes, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. I simply do not wish to do it. His gaze slid from the stones of the ceiling to the glass panes of the window, watching the rain falling in slanted sheets outside.

Too proud to admit we need to apologise, are we? said another voice; this one sounded rather cynical. I hope you realise your pride is responsible for this mess to begin with. Snape narrowed his eyes.

Lawrence is responsible for this mess, not me, he thought waspishly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and suppressing a shiver; he felt too lethargic to cast a heating charm on the room.

I don't think you really believe that, said another inner voice. It sounded suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore – his other conscience. Come, Severus. Why compound your guilt by refusing to acknowledge your part and apologise to the person you've wronged?

Snape sighed and moodily wondered if anyone else's inner voices bullied them. To his consternation, he found himself listening to the Dumbledore and Beckett voices. I know I should apologise, he thought back at the voice as he sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. I…I am simply far too worried that he will not accept my apology to actually try and make one. As he got up and walked over to the desk to warm himself with a cup of tea – he'd put a stasis charm on it to keep it warm and fresh the day before – a sudden thought hit him.

Why hadn't Lawrence approached him and tried to reconcile things? A long-fingered hand fumbled around the tray as he stared out the window, locating the pot and cup to the right of the empty sandwich plate. Severus had rather thought the usually apology-happy pastor would have done something by now, and found himself quite surprised that Beckett had not.

To his equally great surprise, he found that he actually wanted to patch things up with Lawrence, even if Lawrence didn't seem too keen on the idea. That's new for you, said the cynical voice as he turned his attention from the stormy scene outside to the act of pouring himself a cup of tea. You're usually quite content to remain in conflict with as many people on the planet as possible. Severus frowned as he replaced the green vine-patterned teapot on the tray and mentally swiped the voice away, though he recognized that it had a point. He wrapped his chilled hands around the warm porcelain cup and slowly beginning to pace around the room, wondering when and why his behaviour had changed so drastically.

The question of when he could readily answer. Severus had noticed small changes in himself since arriving in Kilterbury and – his heart gave a strange little wrench – asking questions about Christianity. His eyes darted over to the desk, his gaze alighting upon the books Beckett had lent him on guilt, forgiveness and redemption and the notes he'd taken from them on Saturday. With a pang he suddenly realised that, no matter what he had told Lawrence, the idea of redemption continued to appeal to him as much as the beckoning beam of a lighthouse would appeal to a floundering ship on the night-darkened sea.

Severus gave a shaky little sigh and took a liberal sip of the mint tea. His interest in Christianity certainly contributed to the solution, he could not deny it; but his logical mind refused to accept that the entire explanation to the when-and-why conundrum of his behavioural changes could amount to something so simple.

Why couldn't it? asked the Lawrence-voice. It's quite possible, you know.

It's also quite possible that there is another solution, Severus thought back, beyond caring whether or not he was insane for arguing with himself. He drained his cup a few minutes later and returned to the desk to refill it with the last of the tea, cradling it once again as he resumed his slow, thoughtful pacing. In point of fact, the more he mulled over the theory, the more he considered whether his extraordinarily polite, friendly behaviour and talkativeness during the weekend had been the product of mental and emotional upheaval courtesy of Voldemort's torture session.

It certainly explains why I felt the need to ramble in a woe-is-me manner about the bad decisions I made in the past and my many ever-present flaws, he mused caustically. When his mind and emotions had recovered from the trauma of torment, it made perfect sense that he'd begin falling back on old behavioural patterns, and since the church decidedly lacked a population of dunderhead students to verbally lacerate, he'd turned his vitriol-deprived tongue on the dunderhead preacher instead.

Yes, it all fits, he thought, nodding his head with satisfaction and taking a long sip of his tea.

Forgive me, but no it doesn't, said the Lawrence-voice. Severus paused and narrowed his eyes slightly at being contradicted by an inner voice, the rim of his cup poised just shy of his lips. Explaining away your changes through your torture doesn't explain why you still feel ashamed of what you did on Monday, you know. It might be part of the answer, of course, not the main reason.

Snape harrumphed and leaned back against the cool stones of the wall, left hand grasping his right elbow as he sipped moodily at his tea and scowled out the window. The most probable 'main reason' is that I've simply gone soft, he thought, giving a vexed sigh. It's all Lawrence's fault, he added idly, leaning his head against the wall and scowling at the opposite wall as though it had offended him.

Oh yes, let's blame our problems and internal dilemmas on other people. It's such a wonderfully intelligent and mature thing to do, after all, said the cynical inner voice.

Oh shut up, thought Severus, glaring now. It is his fault! His bloody kindness is rubbing off on me, infecting me with some sort of infernal 'let's be nice to people' disea –

A folded bit of parchment slipped under the crack of the door. Severus watched, momentarily stunned completely off his inner rant, as it floated onto the desk and settled itself beside the parchments covered in his own small, spidery handwriting.

Curious and moderately apprehensive – it could, after all, be a request for him to leave – Snape shoved off from the wall and approached the desk, setting his cup down on its saucer with a chink of china and picking up the parchment with his right hand. He unfolded it like a book and read the note, written in light-green ink and small, bubbly, heavy-handed letters:

Would you like to have tea?

Severus's eyes widened slightly and he reread the note a few more times to ensure he had read it correctly. Once he'd satisfied himself that it truly was an innocent invitation to tea, he could not help but wonder why it was not an eviction notice like he'd been half expecting. His mouth tipped downward in a small frown and his brows creased faintly across his forehead. Is he pretending as if the Potions incident did not happen at all, or does he want to discuss it?

Snape refolded the note and rubbed the edge along his chin. He found himself torn between wanting to forget the incident, thus returning to their previous level of friendliness, and needing to heal the injury that had wounded their relationship in the first place. Deciding that it could not possibly hurt to have a cup of tea or two – even if the invitation amounted to a polite formality preceding a dispatch – Snape returned the note to the desk and in two long-legged strides exited the room.

As he swept down the corridor lit by the soft light of candles, the warm, buttery scent of something baking tickled his nostrils. He slowed his pace as he took a deep sniff of the rich odour, absently wondering why he hadn't noticed the pleasant aroma whilst ensconced in his guestroom. Unconsciously giving a sigh of longing, he approached Pastor Beckett's bedroom and lifted his right hand to rap on the door when the glow of firelight dancing on the wall opposite the sitting room caught his eye.

Severus paused for a moment, hand still raised uncertainly – they had held most of their talks in the kitchen, after all – then shrugged, telling himself that if Lawrence wanted to change the setting he certainly had the right to do so. He walked over to the doorway and peered around the jamb. From his vantage point he could see a large fire blazing merrily in the stone fireplace, casting an orange hue on the bookcases, armchairs and piano. The navy blue curtains were drawn aside, revealing a few rain-thrashed trees and tombstones in the back of the church, the stretch of countryside beyond the stone fence, and dark mountains in the distance almost invisible through the heavy storm clouds and rain. No one seemed to be in the room, but the mouth-watering fragrance of baked goods wafted strongly from within and he could see a small table in front of the armchairs that hadn't been there on Monday.

Snape rapped the edge of the jamb with his knuckles and cleared his throat softly, stepping hesitantly inside and taking a deep breath to prepare for whatever would happen, knowing he deserved the worst. There came the sound of tinkling china and Lawrence – dressed once again in his black pastor's robe – leaned over the right arm of the leftmost armchair, which had hidden him perfectly from view moments before. "Ah! There you are," he said, giving Severus a small but genuine smile and gesturing at the other armchair. "Please, sit down."

Severus obeyed, removing his cloak and hanging it over the back of the chair, surprised at the warm welcome. As he sat down – careful not to bump the table and thus upset the small milk jug or the blue thistle-patterned teapot – he couldn't help but wonder how Lawrence could possibly treat him so kindly after the admittedly terrible way Snape had behaved towards him during the Potions lesson and the utterly awful things he'd said about Christians. If our positions were reversed, he mused as Beckett poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him on a saucer, I would probably still be furious.

As he accepted the tea, he belatedly noticed that the delectable aroma he'd smelled earlier was wafting from a plate of around six semi-round, clumpy golden-brown rolls that steamed as though they were just minutes out of the oven. Snape's mouth watered at the scent. Despite his own no-food-before-ten o'clock rule, he found himself positively wanting one.

Lawrence seemed to notice. "Would you like an oat scone?" he asked, pronouncing 'scone' to rhyme with 'John'. "I remember you said you usually don't eat breakfast, but you might like these. They're also made with sultanas, and I have butter and raspberry jam to spread on them." Severus hesitated only a moment before accepting the offer, suspecting that the scones might be a sort of peace offering and feeling it would be exceedingly bad manners (not to mention exceedingly tactless) to refuse. He sat his cup of tea down on the table and took a small, empty plate from a short stack for the scone, tearing it in half and spreading a small amount of jam on one of the halves before taking a bite.

To his surprise the scone did not taste nearly as sweet as he had expected, based on prior knowledge of Lawrence's seemingly extensive sweet tooth. The raspberry jam added just the right amount of sweetness without overwhelming the scone's own oat flavour. "It's delicious," Severus said once he'd chewed and swallowed the bite of roll, which tasted slightly dry and sported hints of butter and cinnamon. Lawrence smiled.

"I'm glad you like it. It's my mother's recipe, you know."

Severus made an interested noise and retrieved his teacup, feeling he had finally done something right. He took a sip of tea – a delicate vanilla – and chewed his scone, listening to the rain pound the roof and watching it lash the world beyond the windows.

Now would be a good time to apologise, said a nagging little voice in his mind as he swallowed the last bite of his scone and took the last sip of his tea a few minutes later. Snape sighed, knowing it had a point, then placed his empty plate on the table as he reached for the teapot to pour himself another cup of tea. He surreptitiously glanced over at Lawrence as he did so to gauge the pastor's mood, as he didn't quite know how to interpret the man's uncharacteristic silence. Beckett sat with his left leg crossed over his right, eyes trained on his teacup while his right index finger slowly traced its rim. He looked thoughtful, not angry. A stream of relief flowed through Severus, though it did not manage to unravel the knot of guilt still twisting in his chest.

He straightened from pouring tea and settled back in his chair, absently blowing on the hot beverage. His black eyes stared into the orange flames dancing and crackling in the fireplace without truly seeing them. Thoughts collided with each other as he wondered exactly how to begin making reparations for his offensive behaviour in such a way that Beckett would be inclined to accept his apology when Beckett abruptly cleared his throat.

"I'm glad you came. I was worried that you wouldn't, you know," he said softly, shifting in his chair so he faced Severus more than the fireplace, propping his elbow on the right arm of the chair.

Snape gave a little shrug. "Unsurprising, all things considering," he said, feeling both a rush of gratitude at Lawrence for speaking first and a stab of disgust at himself for not having had the courage to begin the discussion on his own.

Lawrence gave a little smile that quickly vanished, then drained the rest of his tea and placed the cup and saucer beside the plate of scones. He turned back to Severus, his expression a curious mixture of earnestness and uncertainty. "The reason I asked you to tea is that…well…I wanted to apologise."

Severus choked on the sip of tea he'd just taken. "What?" he rasped once he'd managed to swallow properly. Lawrence apologising to him had not figured in any of the scenarios his mind had conjured on what might likely occur.

"I wanted to apologise," said Lawrence again, clasping his hands together and looking even more uncertain than before.

"For what, exactly?" asked Severus, raising an eyebrow, teacup quite forgotten. He gave Beckett a hard stare, trying to divine if the seemingly innocent, highly unexpected attempt to make amends was really a ploy to manipulate Severus into admitting fault in the matter. He saw, however, only sincerity in Beckett's face.

"Why, for the rude way I spoke to you before I left, and for leaving you to clean up the mess I made, of course," said Lawrence.

Snape simply gaped at him, dumbfounded, wondering exactly how Lawrence had arrived at the I-need-to-apologise conclusion and suspecting that logic had not been invited on the journey. "You treated me exactly the way I deserved," he said flatly. The feelings of guilt lurking just beneath the surface of his mind intensified and overcame his fading surprise at this admission. He sighed and, finding that he couldn't quite look Lawrence in the eye any longer, allowed his hair to fall in front of his face, shielding it from view as he turned his gaze back toward the fireplace.

His eyes fell upon his forgotten tea, and he brought it to his lips and took a sip to try to calm his clenching innards and scudding heart beat. He then gazed into the brown liquid, swirling it slowly around inside the cup, trying to muster every jot of strength and courage he possessed to say the most difficult words to say in any language. Twice he opened his mouth only to close it again quickly when nothing came out. He swallowed harshly, hating himself for his inability to do such a simple task, and then took another sip from his cup, wishing he could drink down his pride as easily as tea.

After a few more moments of tea-swirling and wishing he could simply Evanesco himself, he drew in a deep, silent breath, slowly exhaled, and then forced himself to open his mouth a third time. "I…if either of us needs to apologise, it's me. I can imagine how difficult it is for you to forgive me after the things I did, but…I…I do apologise for losing my temper, and I am sorry for the things I said. They were, as you said, uncalled for."

He forced himself to lift his eyes from the teacup and look over at Lawrence, who blinked and looked as though he hadn't expected this turn of events. "Really?"

"Yes," said Snape, swallowing around a lump of humiliation and inwardly steeling himself for rejection.

Lawrence did not answer for a few moments afterward. Severus swallowed again and returned his eyes to his tea, telling himself that he had been foolish to sit there and hope he would be forgiven and that he should leave immediately and start packing his things. He shifted and opened his mouth to thank Lawrence for the tea and undeserved hospitality when Lawrence said slowly, "Alright then, I forgive you."

A/N: Ooooh, cliff hanger! I won't promise anything (because that doesn't seem to work), but hopefully the next half will be added within the next week or so. It just needs tweaking (with which I am currently obsessed).

Thanks to everyone still reading. Like I said, this WILL continue. That is definite. The only indefinite thing is the amount of time passing between continuations, which I will valiantly try to shrink. My month off from torture – er, university – is up and coming, so hopefully some work will get done.

Please review; it lets me know there's at least one person still reading, which has long been my updating policy. No point wasting space with an unread fic and all that. : )

Thanks again and Happy Thanksgiving to fellow American readers!

Cheers,

Ballad