The Basket Case

by Stray

13. Aug 2006

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters and make no money off of it. I'm not sure I would even if I owned them.

Warnings: This is my first HP fanfic that you get to see. I'm not a native English speaker, but I try. And this is going to contain SLASH! If you don't like it, you can still read it if you harbour masochistic tendencies. Flames are used to warm my cold little heart. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Beta-ed by: Vaughn and C. Dumbledore.

8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8

A/N: Sorry for the double posting. I forgot to remove the NC-17 parts from the chapter. :D If someone wants to read those, go to my other accounts or my LJ.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Draco sighed with content, waking up to the unfamiliar feeling that was quickly becoming habitual: being surrounded by a familiar warmth that wasn't part of his blankets. But it couldn't be Potter, because as much as Draco had wanted to ask him to stay, he had not got up the guts to do that. Potter, damn his Gryffindor honour, must have assumed Draco hadn't wanted him there and had not pushed the matter. So why was he in his bed now?

Draco blinked until the blurred image in front of his eyes became sharp with the morning light, and then he noticed that Potter wasn't in his bed. Draco was in Potter's. As if to confirm that assertion, the ghoul in the attic gave out a reaffirming growl and then started playing with his chains. The noise of heavy iron being dragged around on the floor that was his ceiling, as expected, woke up Potter. There was a grumble, echoing the noise that the ghoul had given out a few minutes ago, coming from beneath the pillows and blankets. They were drawn up so that the only part of Potter visible was the unruly mop on top of his head. Then the bed-clothes moved aside, and Potter's face emerged from between the white linen; he was blinking in the morning light, and his skin was lined with creases from his pillow.

He looked terribly unsophisticated, horribly rumpled and… completely adorable because of that. Draco's stomach gave a sudden mortified lurch as he revised his previous thought and his pure-blood upbringing found the glaring errors in his thinking. But then, he shoved his ingrained way of judging people aside with a snort of disgust. If he wanted to find Potter's looks first thing in the morning adorable, despite the poor state of his hair and unwashed face, it was his privilege to do so, and no ancestor or etiquette book had the power to force him into thinking otherwise because it wasn't becoming.

"Hi," Potter said, not terribly surprised to find Draco there.

"Good morning." Draco returned the greeting, his body frozen into indecision, as he was suddenly at a loss of what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. No, that wasn't entirely true. He knew he should excuse himself and retreat as soon with as few social blunders as possible – he just didn't want to.

Potter had no qualms originating in his upbringing about expressing an identical wish, though, and Draco was suddenly glad for that fact, instead of feeling uncomfortable about having to tie his life to someone clearly not from his social class. At the urging of Potter's arm around his torso, he silently leaned back into the welcoming warmth of the bedclothes and settled comfortably into the cradle of another body pressed full length against his back. Potter gave a contented sigh and rewarded him with a sudden press of his mouth to the sensitive skin of Draco's nape, causing him to shudder with unexpected delight. He allowed the small smile tugging on the corners of his lips to flourish into a full-fledged grin.

"Did I mix up our rooms again last night?" Draco asked after a few minutes of relaxed silence. At first he had been reluctant to break it, but this was only small talk, nothing serious that could have spoiled the easy atmosphere. And he was curious, since he didn't remember waking up and getting out of his bed. He didn't fancy the notion of having become a sleepwalker.

"No, I think you Apparated in your sleep," Potter told him with a hint of amusement in his tone. Draco groaned and tried not to think about what all that revealed about him.

He was suddenly started out of his half-asleep musings when Potter's arm travelled downwards and his palm slid over his distended belly. The fingers splayed out and the warm palm started rubbing the stretched out muscles. That reminded Draco of something else that had been nagging him for some time now. He had been too embarrassed to even think of bringing it up with Potter. But now, he was feeling comfortable and at peace with the world enough so that it did not seem such a big issue anymore. Based upon his earlier findings about Potter, he suspected he already knew the answer, so it would be all right to ask directly. But even though his memory told him there should be nothing to worry about, there was a small tremor of apprehension in his voice.

"Do you think my body is… disgusting?"

The movements of the palm rubbing his belly froze for a second or two after the question issued rang in the silence of the room. Draco's heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, he had doubts about his earlier judgment being right. But then the arm moved again; in an easy move, it slid southwards until it reached the bare skin of Draco's leg, where the nightshirt had ridden up. Then, all of a sudden, it slipped beneath the fabric and made its way back on the same route, until it was resting again on the same spot it had been before – only that now, it was skin against skin. Draco held his breath while the fingers began questing lightly on the taut skin of his abdomen, drawing circles around his protruding navel and causing a tickling sensation. Then Potter flattened his palm against his belly again. His hand moved down until the edge of it sank into the beginnings of Draco's pubic hair and then stayed there.

"No, not… disgusting," Potter said slowly, as if he was exerting a great effort, searching for the right words. That alone reaffirmed Draco in his belief, that he had assessed him correctly. "It's definitely odd, though," he then continued with a small, apologetic kiss on Draco's nape again. Draco shuddered, this time not from fear but from a slowly building arousal caused equally by the kiss and Potter's warm hand being so close to his groin and touching bare skin so naturally, as if it were an every-day thing to do. But perhaps it was – between lovers… Draco thought, and that last word only served to fuel his arousal.

He was both horrified and excited when, a few heartbeats later, he felt the head of his hardening cock touch lightly to Potter's hand. For a second, there was silence, then he felt the tremors of Potter laughing through his back, but it was not intended to sound hurtful or disparaging, more like… delighted.

"Eager much?" he asked in a lightly teasing tone, but he didn't leave Draco time to answer, because in the next instant, he was already taking action.

---

Potter grinned, satisfied, and then used the corner of the sheet again to wipe off the sticky fluids, earning himself a scowl from Draco.

"Honestly, Potter, one would assume you never heard of a Cleaning Charm," he grumbled, but there was no real bite in his tone.

"It's 'Harry', not 'Potter'," the annoying ex-Gryffindor answered. "And no, I haven't heard of one that wouldn't take off my skin in the process…"

Draco was momentarily stunned by the casual reminder of Potter's magical strength and the fact that he had difficulty controlling it, as that was not something one would just announce to the world. It was a heady realisation, that Potter considered him close enough to not only trust him with that information, but also not to be embarrassed about it in front of Draco, either. To mask his momentary confusion, while his mind regarded that fact and then carefully asserted it into this new world view that had come with accepting Potter in his life… bed, whatever, Draco grabbed his wand and murmured the charm on Potter, then after a second of contemplation, he repeated the action on himself, though it was woefully overdue and therefore mostly ineffective by then. He knew that a bath would be the right solution, but he was feeling too decadent to break this moment and get out of Potter's bed just for that.

Apparently, Potter was thinking the same, because after he took his time to scoot down and settle on top of the rumpled sheets and blankets, he pulled Draco into an embrace and was content to continue cuddling with him atop the mess. Draco thought he should reprimand him for not taking the trouble to right the bedding, but it gave him a strangely liberating feeling: to lie naked as the day he had been born in the arms of another man – his lover, he thought with a tingle of excitement – showing everything he had, instead of hiding his feelings, his associations and his misshapen body from the world. He hoped his father was seeing him now and rolling in his grave.

"Draco, do you think this happened too fast?" Potter-- Harry asked tentatively, but after the slight distraction of having to swallow down the lump of unexpected happiness welling up in his throat caused by the casual utterance of his name, Draco didn't think he sounded like he regretted it.

"Perhaps," he answered in the same light tone while playing with the sparse black hairs growing around a dusky nipple that looked and felt so different from his own. "But I would like to see the one brave enough to tell us," he added, grinning at the imagery.

"Mmm," Harry agreed lazily, his fingertips beginning their own exploration of Draco's skin, and quite amazingly, he had yet to feel any tinge of embarrassment when those hands occasionally smoothed over the mound of his belly during the activity.

Later, Draco had to reassert his notions about the amusing quality of that statement when, at the urging of his stomach, he finally re-emerged from Harry's room around noon - and found himself face to face with an unassuming Mrs. Weasley. A few minutes of strained silence ticked by and Draco felt his face go up in flames of mortification while he contemplated what Mrs. Weasley was going to say. But then, he experienced another surprise when she only gave him an indulgent chuckle and patted one of his flushed cheeks as if he was one of her grandchildren caught doing some mischief – a far cry from the dressing down that Fred and George still got from her occasionally. Then she turned her back and continued with her agenda, which had been interrupted by Draco's sudden appearance.

Draco let go of the breath he had been holding while a curious warmth began to spread within his chest after having witnessed the easy acceptance he and his relationship with Harry had been gifted with from Mrs. Weasley. He stole down the creaking stairs, hoping he would not meet anyone else before he had the opportunity to wash off the telltale signs of what he had been doing and dress appropriately for the time of the day.

An hour later, fresh and dressed in comfortable robes, he heard the call for lunch just when he had finished the torture of pulling on his socks. He slid his feet into the slipper-like shoes he had Transfigured from one of his old pair of boots because he had found bending troublesome and couldn't be arsed to use a spell to fasten his footwear. Then he went to join the others at the table.

During the meal, he studiously tried ignoring the odd glances he got, but in the end, he had to surmise that obviously everyone knew that his relationship with Harry had changed overnight by then. He gave Potter a few reproving glares, but they were answered with a glowing smile every time, and Draco realised that Harry had not let his mouth run, as he had assumed; a fleeting glance at his countenance and the sparkle in his eyes was enough to tell that something had changed. He looked… happy and content, Draco realised with and odd thump inside his chest. He felt mortification wash over him and suddenly he wished for a mirror to check that he did not have the same stupid besotted expression on his face.

Apparently, Potter had no appreciation for keeping up appearances. He had not been sitting beside Draco during lunch, but when it ended, he stood up and just stepped close to Draco, casually flinging an arm around his waist in front of their audience. Draco stiffened and felt his face grow hot with embarrassment, but to his amazement, no one even gave them a second glance. Draco found this obviously exaggerated acceptance combined with Harry's continued embarrassing displays of chivalry uncomfortable, to say the least.

He expected frowns directed at him, not understanding, and the occasional giggles coming from the circle of young women who gathered for another tea party later in the afternoon. (Actually, Draco had the disturbing suspicion that the tea party had been called together in haste for the sake of getting to see Harry and him together, acting all couple-y.) Not that he would have liked resistance more (though he straight out refused to contemplate the topic of conversation that would elicit those kind of giggles), but he did not want to get too complacent.

He realised that his worrying was rather pointless, so instead of that, he decided to start planning the wedding – the seventh of March was not that far away.

He did not want to make a big issue out of the ceremony, but he had no illusions that with his recent scandals in the Prophet, not to mention that the name of his groom was Harry Potter, he would not be able to avoid media attention. He did not expect much interest from his own family members, but he knew that Potter's numerous entourage would want to be present, without a doubt.

His other objective was to start searching for a house. He was fed up with the cramped space and the knowing looks he was certain he had only got a small taste of earlier. He had been used to having his own space, and even if he was now indebted to the Weasleys, there was no way he would want to stay any longer in The Burrow than strictly necessary. In fact, he imagined that the conditions were not exactly comfortable for anyone involved. Now that he was healed, he would perhaps do the biggest favour to them if he moved out with Potter and Podmore in tow. His only concern was how he was going to find a cook of the quality of Mrs. Weasley.

Of course, now he would have to take the state of his remaining vaults into consideration. It almost seemed like sacrilege for a Malfoy to be restricted in his purchases by trivial things like money. Now, he realised, he couldn't keep putting off finding out how miserable his financial state had become, so he wrote a letter to Gringotts and began to prepare himself for the shock he would undoubtedly get once the response arrived.

"Potter!" he hissed when Harry passed by him, hoping that the low tone wouldn't attract the attention of anyone else in the room. Harry stopped and looked down, and then he directed a smile at Draco that abruptly rendered him light-headed.

"What is it?" Harry asked, and Draco, his mind still reeling from that smile, had to think about why he stopped him.

"I need to send a post. Can I borrow your owl?"

"Sure." Harry's brows lifted; it seemed he had expected a different answer. Draco handed him the parchment.

"Gringotts?"

"Yes, I want to get an account from my vaults," Draco told him conversationally.

Only after the words were out of his mouth did he remember that he was not required to tell Potter about things like that. It was uncanny how natural it had suddenly become to him to disclose personal information without thinking twice about it, when Harry only asked. But then he shrugged mentally. It wasn't as if he really needed to keep secrets from him, and, thinking about it some more, he realised that this response was eerily similar to Harry's unconscious behaviour of touching Draco so casually, even in front of people, whenever he just felt like it. It meant that, after not even a day's time, Draco already considered the two of them a couple… that was a realisation that both frightened him and induced a delicious tingle of expectations of another nature in him.

"Why do you need an account?" Harry asked with a slight trepidation in his voice that Draco couldn't place, jolting him out of his musings.

"I want to buy a house and I need to know how much money I am allowed to spend on it," Draco told him; the irritation in his voice was not addressed at Harry for asking the question, but at the reminder of his pitiful financial state.

"Draco…" Harry crouched down next to him, the parchment still in his hand and getting a bit crumpled. "You don't need to buy a house, I can buy one. I would have to, anyhow, as I cannot go back into that flat. And frankly, I don't even want to. It's not a place to raise a child in."

"Potter." Draco shook his head with a sympathetic smile on his face. "I know you have inherited a little money from your parents, but I hardly think it would be enough to satisfy my standards. You are lucky my hand comes with a generous 'dowry', because you'd have to work off your arse to keep up with me otherwise," he told him with a wink.

It was sweet of Harry to offer to buy a house (and Draco couldn't believe he just thought the word 'sweet' in connection with Potter), but there was no way Draco would allow it to happen. He might be the 'woman' in this relationship now, but if he intended to change that, he couldn't let himself be kept. He needed to have something of his own – if only to get back his pride and settle into his new life. A house was exactly the right thing to start with.

"I have made some investments," was Harry's next feeble attempt at convincing him, and Draco was starting to wonder why he insisted on it so strongly. Could it be that he felt left out of Draco's life, that he was afraid once he had his own house, he would take off without him? Or that Harry actually felt inadequate because he didn't possess a fortune, compared to Draco? Perhaps he was the one who did not want to become kept…

"Don't worry about the money," Draco told him, and lifted a hand to cradle Harry's face, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone before remembering that there were other people present, and he snatched away his hand, blushing. He had to clear his throat before he could continue in a more sober tone. "Once we are married, our vaults are going to be merged, and only the goblins will be able to tell which one originally belonged to whom."

"It's not that…" Harry started protesting, but then his voice trailed off and he bit his lip, nodding. "All right, but if that's how it's going to happen anyhow, then you can use my money to buy a house, too." Then, to Draco's deepest mortification, Harry pressed a quick, soft kiss onto his mouth and went up to the attic with the scroll in search of his owl. Draco pretended that he did not notice the giggles and the curious looks coming from the circle of young mothers.

It was like redemption when Mrs. Weasley finally called everyone to dinner. Draco kept down his gaze and concentrated on the contents of his plate, which wasn't very hard, since the food was, as always, delicious – not in the refined way that the meals the Malfoy house-elves managed to produce was, nor in the hearty and sometimes curious food that the Hogwarts tables served, but in an old home-cooked English way that Draco had had no trouble attuning his taste buds to.

After dinner, Draco decided to go up to his room. He was tired from having stayed up late the previous night. His glance strayed incidentally to Harry when he excused himself, and he saw an answering twitch of those long black eyelashes to the question he had not even thought of voicing or indicating any other way. Then, supplying Draco with another opportunity for ample mortification and without even an attempt at subtlety, Potter jumped up from his seat and circled the table, saying good night to the others. He put his arm around Draco's middle and directed him towards the staircase. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if he saw him winking at them over his shoulder, but he was too preoccupied with hiding his blush to look.

Once the door of Draco's room had closed, he spun around, face flaming with indignity, and wrenched himself out of Potter's supporting grip.

"Was humiliating me in front of those people necessary?" he seethed in rage. Potter's face only showed surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What do I mean? Are you deliberately obtuse or is it your Gryffindor nature? I mean that after that display, all of them are going to think that we are sleeping together!"

"Aren't we?" Harry blinked at him. Draco suddenly felt tired; he slumped down onto his bed.

Potter heaved a sigh, as if to say that Draco was unnecessarily complicating things. Perhaps he really was, Draco thought. He felt the mattress dip at his side with the additional weight and then the heat of Harry's body being snuggled against his side.

"Sorry," they both said at the same time, which caused Harry to grin and Draco to tentatively return it with a weak twitch of his lips.

"I can go back to my room if you don't want me here," Harry told him, his voice turning serious but still retaining the comforting warmth that had been a new addition to it ever since the previous night. "I wanted to talk to you, but if you are feeling tired…" He left the sentence unfinished, waiting for Draco's answer.

Draco blinked, trying to assess whether he was up to a conversation. His eyelids drooped, but now that he thought about it, there were a few questions he wanted to ask Harry as well. That abruptly awoke his mind. Now he had no other choice but to unwind a bit, if he wanted to get any sleep during the night, and Harry's company seemed just perfect for that purpose. Not to mention, perhaps he would be able to talk Harry into something to tire him out properly, so he could have a good night's sleep afterwards… He doubted he would need to use much persuasion.

"What is it you want to talk about?" he asked, and then abruptly yawned.

"How about you make yourself ready for bed and get tucked in before we start?" Harry asked, already sitting up and pulling up Draco by his hand. "Because I don't think I'd be able to lift you to get you under the covers if you fell asleep like this…" he said, grinning, then he nimbly ducked out of the way of the slap Draco was about to give him for his comment.

Draco went grumbling to the bathroom and took care of himself, only to find upon his return that Harry had already made the bed and fluffed up his pillows. Draco's nightshirt was waiting for him on top of the covers. Draco hesitated a second before he started undressing with a shrug, and even gave Harry's back a suggestive grin when he suddenly whirled around, embarrassed, while Draco changed.

"You can turn around now," Draco said, crawling under the covers, then, when he saw Harry nearing, he suddenly decided that he did not want him to go after their talk. "Oh, no, you aren't coming in here without having cleaned your teeth first. And pyjamas wouldn't be amiss either, unless you prefer sleeping in the buff…" he told him in a superior tone, but he couldn't exactly hide the eager anticipation in it.

Harry stopped, taken aback for a second, but he couldn't be accused of having let his quick reflexes go soft. "Be right back. Don't go to sleep without me!" He spoke in a rush, then he was out of the door before Draco had enough time to blink. He snuggled into his fluffy pillows with a satisfied expression on his face and sighed, his heart throbbing with anticipation.

Despite that, he was almost asleep when, only five seconds later, the door to his room opened and closed with barely a noise. After the rustling of clothes, his covers lifted to admit a warm body that snuggled close to his own. Draco's arm, which was lying at his side, registered instantly that the heated skin pressed to it was not covered in any kind of fabric, and the surprise filling his mind with exhilaration was enough to wake him up instantly.

"I didn't think you'd take my words at face value," he muttered, trying to wiggle said arm under the delirious expanse of bare skin until Harry lifted himself a bit and Draco was able to reach under him and curl it around his hips, open palm resting boldly on the swell of an exquisitely shaped bottom.

"The only one you can blame is yourself," came the heated whisper, and if Draco wouldn't have been able to tell from that that Harry's mind was not exactly on talking, he would have still had trouble ignoring the hard length of an erection pressing into his side through the thin fabric of his nightshirt as Harry moved closer to him. Truthfully, the only sound resembling any kind of talk during that night was Draco grumbling about why Harry had insisted on putting on his nightshirt if it was to be removed anyhow.

It was almost too easy to fall into a pattern that was both convenient for Draco and Harry and approved of by everyone else. Thus, Harry continued to sleep in Draco's room and no one even batted an eyelash about it. Well, except perhaps Ginny Weasley, but Draco couldn't exactly be angry with her about it anymore.

With the supporting security of Harry's firm presence behind his back and in his life, he was surprised by how much easier it was to accept other people's feelings. He even started getting friendly with the woman he had mistaken for his biggest rival, while in reality, she was only a sad example of someone not being able to let go of the past – just like he had been, he realised with a minute shock. This realisation, and the solid belief of Harry's allegiances, made it easier to sympathise with her and want to help her instead of what he would have done just a day earlier: turn his back and regard her with mistrust embedded into dislike.

"So what was this business with this Mickey bloke? And what does Ginny have to do with the whole thing?" he found himself asking Harry at one time, because their talk had not gone entirely forgotten that night, only postponed for later. They found they had a lot to talk about, but that didn't mean that their topics were always serious.

"Well," Harry gave him a grimace, "to be honest, I don't really understand myself why she thinks we would be good for each other. It's not that I didn't try it with him when she first introduced us – or re-introduced, more the like. It just didn't work. Mostly because Mickey is a bit of a wimp. I like men, not bloody girls with dicks. That part of him seems to be rather perfunctory, you know?" Draco snickered with mock mortification written on his face.

"Ugh, Potter! No, I don't know and I didn't need to, thank you very much."

Harry gave him an unapologetic shrug. "You were asking."

"But not about that. I was asking about Weasley," Draco tried to clarify. "Why is she still fixated on you if she knows you prefer blokes?"

"Draco, if I understood how exactly women's minds work… I don't know. It's…" Then his words were drowned into mumbling.

"What was that?" Draco asked, frowning.

"I try not to think about it. I mean, she is going to get over it. She just really didn't have luck with her relationships. Just take me and Mickey – we both turned out to be gay, and Dean…"

Draco nodded. He didn't need Potter to finish the sentence to know what he wanted to say. Thomas had been in St. Mungo's for a long time after the war. When he had been released, it turned out that he had lost most of his magic, and decided to let himself be Obliviated and return to the Muggle world for good. Draco remembered the Prophet having been full with the tearful story, seeing that Thomas was also a highly decorated war hero.

"But you won't turn now into a girl entirely and try to couple her with blokes, will you?" Harry asked, trying to lift up the mood again. Draco refrained from giving him a not-very-masculine arm-slap for his troubles.

"Why did you agree to marry me?" Draco started a conversation another time. The question had been there in the undercurrent of his thoughts since that time, because he knew, even if Harry wanted to have a part in raising his child, he could have gone around it another way as well. It bothered him that he had given into Draco's wishes seemingly without any arguing.

Harry had obviously not been expecting the question; he sat up halfway from his reclining position next to Draco.

"Was the last hour not explanation enough?" he asked smugly. Draco flushed red and wiggled under the scrutiny, licking his lips unconsciously, finding that a small taste of Harry still lingered in the corner of his mouth.

"But I told you not to expect things like this from me… and that time, I meant it, too. So why?"

"Hope dies last?" Harry shrugged. Draco thought he used this method to get rid of unwanted attention a little too excessively.

"Harry…!"

"Okay, so I… sort of felt guilty, okay?"

"Guilty? What for?"

"For… you know."

"Potter, if I knew, I wouldn't have asked."

"All right, if you need it spelled out for you… I felt guilty for meddling with your memory and… your feelings, and I thought that was the cause of you not remembering…"

"Oh. I guess, that makes sense," Draco said some time later, in a small voice. Harry moved around a bit and cupped his face with his hand.

"And, of course, because I was positive that you wouldn't be able to resist my charms for very long once we were living together…" he added playfully, and then pressed their lips together, preventing an answer.

It was not like they had a lot to do with their time. The response from Gringotts arrived two days after Draco had sent the letter, but to his dismay, it only contained a short excuse: that the goblins needed time to determinate which parts of which vaults exactly did belong to Draco, after the chaotic cut with his family. They told him to expect their detailed report within three weeks' time. And in three weeks, they sent another one along the same lines.

Draco decided that he still could look around for a house, and he also had a wedding to plan, in which Mrs. Weasley proved to be a tremendous help for him. She even offered for them to hold the ceremony and the reception at The Burrow if Draco didn't find a house by then.

Draco was happy to let her manage the details, though he was decidedly not pleased about such an arrangement. He was beginning to share his late mother's opinion about the shiftiness of goblins and decided to hire a lawyer – someone who had no previous connection with the Malfoy name – to move the matter along with the wizarding bank. He really shouldn't have been surprised that when he asked Mrs. Weasley for advice, she was instantly able to give him a name of a supposedly reliable and hard-working solicitor who, allegedly, didn't even charge that much for his services.

Naturally, the lawyer's last name was also Weasley, but as Draco found, he didn't share his father's viewpoints anymore on several things. Why should his judgements regarding the Weasley name be an exception at this point?

Time flew by, and soon, March came, and with it not only spring, but also the time of the voting Draco had been waiting for with much trepidation and anguish.

TBC

A/N: We are coming to the end of the story. Therefore, if you think there are any residual plot holes or things that demand an explanation, then tell me, so I can include it into the remaining chapters. Thank you.