*peeks into the room* hellooooo? babies? it is I, the long-delinquent rave! bearing chapters! full of half-naked Draco!
short A/N today to make up for the hugely enormous thanks section. *g*
WARNING WARNING WARNING: This story contains a bisexual canon character. that means there's a little glimpse of two BOYS getting it on in a bathtub. If that offends you, I feel sorry for you. No, I really do. Go home. If not, read on, brave soldier.
you've now, i feel, been amply warned. It's not a major plot point--yet--but the content IS there. So don't be too shocked.
next warning: just because this looks like H/H don't mean it will remain H/H. all bets are off, in the tll universe. (except no intergenerational ickiness. that tends to squick me. Sirius/Hermione, for instance...*shudder*. Though Harry/Hedwig would presumably be a possibility--just for you, Simon.)
have fun...
Three Leaves Left--Part III
Take These Things for Granted
I'm listening:
Music in the bedroom,
Laughter in the hall,
Dive into the ocean,
Singing by the fire...
Running through the forest,
And standing in the wind
In rolling canyons--
I will not take these things for granted,
I will not take these things for granted,
I will not take these things for granted anymore.
-Toad the Wet Sprocket
Anika's eyes snapped open to the sudden press of a board-like pallet under her back, the rough hard colors of the sunlit
ceiling burning into her brain. She shut them again quickly and passed a shaking hand over her forehead, trying to hold back the flood of repressed memories for as long as she could.
I've got to go out, Ani...
[i ought to be back in an hour or two]
It's all right, Ani, no one's going to hurt you...
[oh, you know, work]
They put him in Azkaban, but he was innocent...
[don't worry about it, love]
What day is it today? What year?...
[i love you]
Answer!
[you look so beautiful tonight]
She gasped as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over her head and sat straight up, throwing her legs off the side of the pallet and feeling the sudden, jarring shock as they hit the floor several seconds before they should have. It wasn't a bed, she realized dully, it was just a mattress on the floor. This was...Remus's house. She'd been in the kitchen, just a moment ago...she'd seen Sirius...
Oh God.
Unless that was part of the dream. It was so confusing, sorting dream from reality. She remembered, vaguely, hearing a story once about a poet who dreamed he was a butterfly and then awoke not knowing whether he was man or insect.
Well, thought Anika blearily, at least I'm sure I'm not a butterfly. That's something of a relief.
She shook her head violently, refusing to think too long about these disturbing metaphysical anecdotes, and leaned over to absently massage her ankles. Her spine creaked warningly, and she gave a stifled gasp as a muscle in her shoulder spasmed painfully and then said, just for the sake of hearing something, "Shit! Ow!"
Her voice rasped and hurt on its way out of her throat. She swallowed hard.
Slowly she stood up, steadying herself on a forlorn, cheap little chest of drawers. There was an unfamiliar weight on her head...my hair, she realized with mild surprise. I never noticed how heavy it was. I guess I never grew it long before. It's going to be hell, trying to brush out this mess. I'll have to get it cut. She wondered, groggily, if they still had hairdressers in this strange new world.
So Azkaban wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been, not with this mass of tangled black evidence it had left on her. This was something of a rude shock. Anika pushed it forcibly to the side of her mind and flatly refused to think about it. If what Remus said wasn't a dream, then I've thought plenty about Azkaban for the past fifteen years.
Sirius sirius sirius.
No. He probably had never been here--that had to be part of the dream. After what he'd done, surely Remus would never let him back near him...ever. Of course not.
A cool drink of water. Yes. Before I think about any of this, before I let it into my mind, I should go get something to drink.
I can, now. I'm free to...I...
No no no no, she couldn't think about freedom. She didn't want to cry...God, she hated to cry. Free. I will not let it overwhelm me, I refuse...
She tottered out the door on unsteady legs and headed for the kitchen.
It wasn't hard to find, being right across from her room, and there were already a pile of apparently clean glasses on the counter.
Damn. She'd kind of been looking forward to doing dishes again. She would have laughed at this revelation, but her throat hurt too much.
She shoved one under the tap and turned it on, drumming one hand on the side of the sink as she did so. God, the tap was an amazing invention, wasn't it? The soothing, liquid sound it made...she'd forgotten how much she missed these so-ordinary things.
When the glass was full, she turned off the water and took a long, grateful sip, feeling the cool liquid wash over her parched lips and mouth....
She didn't quite know why the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, as though she could feel someone's gaze on her back...but she turned, and she saw him standing there, and all the comfortable pretense of normalcy she had tried to erect around herself fell away.
*
Hermione gave a little sigh of relief as she slipped around the corner. Harry was wonderful company, and he was smart and he was funny but she didn't want to spend her entire vacation talking to him about Quidditch matches. A girl had to have some lone time. Anyway, he'd said he wanted to go up to the Owlery to send a message. Probably something for Sirius, she thought.
He couldn't honestly think that she believed Quidditch was the only thing on his mind, could he? She knew better. It was perfectly obvious that something was seriously wrong in Harry's soul and it had nothing to do with the Chudley Cannons' losing streak...
The hall was long and lit grey with winter morning sunlight, shafting through the tall windows on one side. Right now, the room at the end of it was nirvana; right now, all she wanted was a nice, warm bath, one that smelled good and felt good and soothed away all the nightmares.
The door to the East Prefects' bathroom was small and unimposing, with the Hogwarts crest inscribed above it. It responded to a spoken password, but there was also a little silver keyhole, and Hermione, for her own probably-neurotic reasons, liked using the key. It made her feel...official. She drew the little silver latchkey on its thin chain out of her robes and turned it in the keyhole, savoring the musical little click it made. And then, pushing the door open, she heard the voice inside and froze.
"...you came?"
A splashing. Two bodies splashing.
Hermione's eyes widened. She'd never considered herself much of an eavesdropper, but she found herself too fascinated to do the Honorable Thing, which would be to close the door and run like hell for the South Prefects' Bathroom instead. No, she was just standing there like some kind of sick voyeur, listening to--What had the first voice just said?...
"...said you wanted me." Hermione recognized the tones--it was the Head Boy, Alex Blake. Nice, for a Slytherin, with a distinctive, rich baritone. What was he doing in the bath with--
"Don't make this into a lie." She couldn't tell anything about this voice. It could have been male, female, anywhere from fifteen to thirty. Still, it sounded oddly familiar...maybe the echoes, the tiles, had distorted it--
Thirty?
Oh my god.
Leave! Hermione's mind shrieked at her. Things are happening here! Bad things! Things of which your mother would very strongly disapprove!
It was this last argument that prevented Hermione from taking to her heels immediately.
There was a longer session of splashing, and then a short, low, moaning, human sound. Hermione squinched her eyes shut, felt her ears burning, but her feet were quite firmly glued to the ground. I'm not a pervert! I want to leave, I just can't...
There was a very long silence, and then Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder.
She opened one eye.
A dripping wet Draco Malfoy, clad only in a white towel slung carelessly over narrow hips, stood in front of her, eyebrows arched.
"Oh," said Hermione weakly, opening the other eye.
"There's no more room in the bath," said Malfoy sweetly, "if that's what you were wondering."
"I--you--not supposed to--more than one person in the bath," stammered Hermione, trying to act like a proper prefect. "I'll have to report you--as a prefect, you ought to have known--er--"
A grin tinged the edge of Malfoy's mouth. Hermione, to her own horror, found herself reacting to the fact that he was strangely attractive, if a bit skinny--well-defined muscles, white-gold hair made tousled by the water, smooth, pale skin and long, upswept blue-grey eyes.
Well, she thought darkly, I guess it was about time. As far as she knew, she was one of about three girls in Hogwarts who hadn't yet fallen for Draco Malfoy. At the moment, it was Cassandra Izcovich, an exotic-looking Ravenclaw redhead with the kind of looks that made grown men weep; this had lasted for about two weeks so far, which was probably some kind of record. Even Parvati Patil had done a requisite week of dating, which had ended in floods of tears and many, many torn up pictures of Malfoy all over the girls' dorm. I was starting to think I was abnormal.
Girls...
But Malfoy was in the bath with...
Whoa.
Malfoy tilted his head to one side and regarded her through half-closed eyes, the grin becoming sardonic. "Are you leaving yet?"
Hermione's face was so hot that it almost hurt. Seeming to float momentarily outside of her own body, she imagined herself as a giant, overgrown Rudolph's nose, beaming humiliated Christmas cheer into every corner of the Prefect's bathroom. "Y-y-yes--I--" Why was she letting him make her feel as though she was the one who ought to be embarrassed?!
"Lovely," said Malfoy, picking up the nearest bottle of shampoo and shoving it into her hands. It was kiwi-strawberry-flavored; there was about half left. "Take this as a farewell gift. Ta."
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, clutching the bottle, burning with embarrassment and utterly unable to move.
Malfoy regarded her for a moment more, and then said in tones that sounded almost sympathetic, "Here. Listen close. I have a suggestion for you." He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "A good thing to do now would be to turn around--that's right, like that--and open that door--very good--and go out."
She was in the hallway.
"You're a quick learner," drawled Malfoy. "Bright girl. Unfortunately--" He leaned forward, one long finger just brushing her jaw, tantalizing--what the fuck did he think he was doing? She wanted to slap him, the bastard--she would slap him, but her arm muscles were betraying her and refused to move. "This bathroom's quite full. Go take a bath in the Hufflepuff corridor. Do you need directions?"
Enough is enough, thought Hermione furiously. "No, I do not need directions, Malfoy. But shall I fetch the two of you a condom while I'm out?"
Malfoy grinned at her and, without missing a beat, said, "No thanks, I've already got three."
"Well. You are being foul today, aren't you?"
He bowed mockingly. "And the sun rose in the east. Any other breaking news you want to deliver?"
She forced a grin-- "Only that your towel is slipping."
Draco's smile, unlike his towel, didn't slip an inch. "Why, lucky you."
"I hate you," said Hermione dully, as if by rote.
"Good. I hate surprises." Draco smiled at her. He had a wide, white, sardonic smile; a dimple creased in his left cheek, almost incongruous in the lean, bleached face.
Hermione tossed her head, gathering what sad small scraps of dignity she had left about herself. "That makes two of us. And I had to run into you, naked, so I've taken my quota of unpleasant surprises for the day." That wasn't so unpleasant, you liar.
Well, the circumstances were pretty goddamn awful.
Draco threw his head back and laughed, a short, sharp bark of noise, with a note of something that was almost surprise and almost gratification. When he lowered his head again, there was a hint of mirth in the cold gray eyes. "All right. If I pretend you won this exchange, will you go away?"
She nodded stiffly. "But I want your solemn word as a Malfoy that I won. Or that you won't fire some kind of cheap parting shot."
The dimple crept into his cheek, almost a genuine smile there for a moment. "All right. On my father's deathbed--may it not be long off. You win. No cheap last laugh. But I'm the one slamming the door here." And he winked abominably at her and shut the door.
Hermione turned around and didn't stop running until she'd reached the exact opposite end of the castle, where she collapsed against the legs of the statue of Boris the Bewildered and hid her face in her hands, utterly humiliated.
"What'd you do this time, Granger?" asked an oily voice from around the ceiling region.
"Go away, Peeves!" said Hermione furiously. "Go away or I swear I'll make you sorry!"
"Oooh? What're you going to do, Goody-two-shoes Granger? Hit me?" inquired Peeves nastily. Something whacked her on the top of the head and bounced to the floor. She picked it up and glared at it.
It appeared to be a raisin.
"Leftover," explained Peeves cheerily, pelting her with several more, "from the preparations for the Christmas feast, you know. So," and he flipped upside-down and grinned at her through his legs, "who'd you embarrass yourself in front of? Did you walk out of the bathroom with your robes unbuttoned? Misfire your decoration spell and end up with an ornament up your conk?" Another raisin. Several raisins in a row. Trying to ignore the poltergeist, Hermione picked them absently out of her hair and tossed them moodily down the hall. "And who'd you do it in front of, eh? Who's that important? Was it--" Peeves's voice took on the low, slimy tone it always did when he was about to say something particularly odious "Potty wee Potter, perhaps?"
Without even looking up, Hermione hurled the bottle of shampoo.
Her aim was impressive. It struck Peeves full in the face and burst, showering him with strawberry-kiwi-flavored bath product and sending him cursing down the hall.
It was so satisfying that she almost smiled.
*
The first thing in Anika's mind was raw terror.
peter lily james
no no no no no NO
She scrabbled desperately behind her for a weapon, something, anything, and her grasping hand fell on the serrated bread knife lying on a cutting board just behind her. She seized it and thrust it out in front of her, wobbling slightly, and said, as steadily as she could manage, "Don't move a step further. Don't."
He stopped, dark eyes wide in horror and surmise, and stumbled backwards--but there was something else in those eyes, something like the hurt and the betrayed anger in her own.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly, cursing her voice for the way it would wobble up and down the scale with no regard for her own dignity. "Are you back to finish the job you started?"
Sirius looked away from her, wide mouth set in a tight line, and closed his eyes. "You don't know..."
"I know everything," said Anika bitterly. "I know where I am. I know about the fifteen years in Azkaban, I know about Peter and Lily and James and most of all I know about you, you traitor, you fucking coward!"
He sank slowly against the wall, face hidden in his hands. It hurt, it hurt so much to see him like that but how could he have done what he did? How could he have betrayed them all? What kind of fucking God-given right did he have to take the easy way--
[He didn't kill them. He was framed, Ani, it was Peter killed them...Sirius was innocent...they put him in Azkaban, but he was innocent...]
Was that...
Not the dream...
The knife trembled. Sirius's chest hitched convulsively. Was he crying? No, he couldn't be. Sirius never cried.
Something stronger than sense or memory made her hand go slack and the knife dropped to the tiles with a clatter but she paid it no mind--her only thought was to comfort him, and her arms went around him and his thick hair brushed her cheek, maybe, maybe--
He looked up suddenly and she almost choked with the sudden shock of seeing him full in the face for the first time.
He was as she remembered him, in all the ways that were first evident--the hair, as thick and unruly as thistle, tumbling in those beautiful multicolored eyes, the long lean limbs, the wide, playful mouth. But he was different from the picture she had stored in the back of her mind for fifteen years--different in the way he held himself, even when kneeling: his body tenser, anticipatory of danger. And his eyes, the same difference in them that she could feel somehow in her own: that shadow, that crawling mist of blackness that haunted the pupils, capturing the light from the small kitchen windows. The sunlight slanted over him, catching the curve of a broad shoulder, a catlike muscle. He was not smiling.
"Did they lie to me?" she whispered. "Was it you at all?"
"What kind of a fucking question is that?" asked Sirius, with an attempt at a smile. "If it was me, how could I possibly tell you so when you're looking at me like that?"
Of course it wasn't Sirius. How could I have possibly believed that Sirius could ever...
She had to look away, could no longer look in those eyes without calling herself the traitor.
He swallowed, hard; she saw the muscles working like tiny pistons under the newly-tanned skin. He'd never been tan before. This, too, was disorienting. "Do you forgive me?"
She laughed softly; it was hard to laugh through the painful lump in her throat, but it was better than crying, which seemed to be the only other alternative. "I don't know." She felt so, so tired. All she wanted was just to sleep, not to have to face up to this sudden future that she had been dropped into. "I don't know, Sirius. I wanted you to trust me, and I trusted you more than anything else in the world--I wish you could just have told me, and maybe I could have--could have helped, or something--"
"I didn't know what to do!" One of his hands crept into her hair, pulling her tighter against him. She thought about resisting, and then decided against it. She had very long fingernails, after all, if he should try something. "I'm not used to that. I'm not used to not knowing who to trust."
Maybe if he hadn't said the last word--trust--she wouldn't have felt that sudden drop in her stomach that made her pull away, but he had, and she did. "Why didn't you trust me?"
"Fuck that," said Sirius softly, "I didn't trust anyone. I didn't trust Dumbledore, for Christ's sake!"
"You weren't sleeping with Dumbledore! You weren't engaged to Dumbledore!" A short pause. "Right?" And stop saying fuck. It makes me think you're still the same person.
Sirius made a short hacking noise that sounded a bit like an attempt at laughter, but it slid away quickly. He grasped her wrist in a painfully tight grip, locking eyes with her. "Ani, I didn't even trust myself."
"But you trusted Peter."
Sirius shook his head, slowly, bitterly. "Bullshit I trusted Peter. You know what? The reason I told Lil and James to choose Peter was because I felt sorry for him. All he ever wanted to do was hide, that's what I thought, and I could just give him a good reason to do exactly what he wanted, and I wouldn't have to worry about betraying my best friend. But I betrayed you and I knew it. I knew it. Ani....sweetheart..." His voice broke.
Something crumpled inside her, something very basic and essential, and she suddenly couldn't keep back all of the sounds and the words and the images, flash-flash-flash as quick as lightning, blasting through her mind like knives, every single moment they'd spent together, every quick, preoccupied kiss, every selfish shouting match, everything. She felt, rather than heard, the little moan that burst from her throat, feeling like she was falling through a million years of cold, black water, drowning in the flood of memory--
But his arms were around her, and the water swirled angrily, hungrily, around her feet, while those arms kept her from falling.
When the first slipping tears came, she didn't even notice them because she was laughing at the same time. The novelty of laughter, true laughter, made her lightheaded--or maybe it was Sirius who was making her vision swim and her muscles weak. He was smiling--oh God, he was smiling. It was amazing, that smile. What could she have done to make him smile?
She closed her eyes against its brilliance just as he kissed her.
It was a soft, unobtrusive, melting sort of kiss. There were no trumpets, just a cool, silky blue calm, a peacefulness against the cruel tide of recollection. She spent the first two seconds trying to remember what to do with her nose, and then lost herself for a moment in the soft building sweetness of it--and then she found herself smiling against his lips. It was so...well, the last thing she'd expected was for it to be so comfortable, almost routine, almost boring, but so it was: like breathing in, like reflex. To her own horror, she found herself craving a sesame-seed bagel. And a cup of coffee. She almost laughed again.
"Cough," said someone, with warm humor. "Whoops! Cough. 'Scuse me."
"Hello, Remus," said Sirius against her forehead, and she felt his silent laughter against her own chest. She gripped him just a little bit tighter, and rested her head against his chest. There was a white-hot tightness behind her eyes, and she didn't know why; maybe it was the conspicuous absence of James and Lily.
And only Harry left, tiny baby Harry, to take Prongs' place, and Lil's. Not so tiny anymore. Maybe he looks just like James; maybe he has his own Lily. She didn't know. She didn't know anything about him and he was her almost-son.
And that was why it couldn't be quite right, she realized, because of those missing years that should have been Harry's, that should have been spent helping him and teaching him and showing him what his father would have done. That was why it could never be quite right--and now she was truly crying, her breath hitching in painful sobs as she finally let herself crumple the way she'd wanted to before, not even noticing how tightly Sirius held her or the inaudible words of comfort he whispered into her ear.
*
Hermione was singing.
This was not, Harry thought, a very good choice on her part. Though well-engineered for talking louder than anyone else in class, when it came to carrying a tune Hermione's voice was a bit less adept. She could, he thought with a slight wince, hit the notes, if you took a very loose definition of "hit;" somehow, however, that didn't make the tune (such as it was) any easier on his suffering ears.
"Herm," he called from under the pillow, unplugging one thumb from his ears, "what is that?"
"Like a child, you whisper softly to me...da dum hmm hmm, just like a chiiild..."
"Herm? Can you hear me?"
"It's like a dream, no end and no beginning, you're here with me, it's like a dream, let the choir sing!"
"Do you think," Harry yelled, "the choir could maybe not sing?"
"When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there! In the midnight hour, I can feel your power, just like a prayer, you know I take you there! When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there! In the midnight hour, I can feel your power, just like a prayer, you know I take you there! Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh--"
Harry gave a sigh of exasperation and rolled out of bed with a thump, shoving his head out the door and staggering down the staircase to the common room. Hermione was sitting in one of the poufs by the fire, a strange quicksilver glow hovering around her ears, her eyes squinched shut, giving an impassioned rendition of the song with accompanying dance moves.
"Life is a myyyyysteeery, everyone must staaand aaaalone, I hear you caaaaalll my name, and it feels like home. Just like a prayer, (oooh) your voice can take me there! (ooh) just like a muse to me, (ooh) you are a mystery, (oooh) just like a dream, (ooh) you are not what you seem, (oooh) just like a prayer, no choice your voice can taaaake meee--"
Harry, showing admirable restraint, tapped her on the shoulder.
Hermione yelped and fell out of the chair, the green glow dissipating with a little poof from around her ears. "Jesus, Harry!"
"I'm sorry. It had to be done." He grinned at her and leaned against the wall.
Struggling to her feet, Hermione planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to set up that charm? Just so I could listen to some music?"
"I'd sacrifice any amount of hours not to listen to that music," Harry pointed out. "What was it, anyway?"
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "You iggerant bastard. Haven't you ever heard of Madonna? And you call yourself a Muggle!"
"I never called myself a Muggle!" said Harry in mock outrage, and then, mimicking Hermione's tones, "Do you have any idea what you sounded like?" He modulated to a creaky falsetto: "When you call mah nayum, it's lahk a litt-uh prayuh--"
A crimson-faced Hermione lunged forward with the obvious intention of boxing his ears, but Harry, laughing, skittered out of her reach, swatting her hands away with his own. She, not to be deterred, leapt off the floor with surprising dexterity and kicked him in the shins. He tripped over her feet and landed hard on the carpet, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.
There was a tap on the window. Hermione stuck out her tongue at Harry and stepped over his prone, gasping body to flip the latch.
She had a sudden impression of flying silver talons, a pinwheel-scatter of black feathers, and threw her arms across her face just in time as something raked through the air with an unholy screech. There was a sudden searing streak of pain down one cheek. That's not an owl!
Harry was on his feet in an instant, his laughter snapped off as suddenly as it had begun. "What the hell--?"
The bird swooped through the air to perch atop the fireplace, ruffling its feathers and fixing both of them with one glaring red eye.
"All right," said Harry dangerously, groping with one hand for the poker. "Out of my common room, you stupid animal."
It was a raven, Hermione realized. Nevermore, and she felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to choke her. Something warm and sticky trickled down one cheekbone. She raised one finger to it, dazed; it came away glistening and red. That must have been deep, she thought hazily. For some reason she felt sick and nauseous, as though someone had hit her over the head instead of just scratching her along the face.
Harry jabbed at the raven with the poker. It hopped out of the way, cawing maliciously. There was a small brown paper package tethered to one leg that dragged along the mantle as it moved, rustling.
"Don't," mumbled Hermione, trying to stop her head from pounding, "don't scare it..."
Harry, unheeding, swiped at the bird with the poker--
and it vanished.
Harry gasped and dropped the poker onto his own foot. The package remained on the mantlepiece, ostensibly harmless but somehow ominous.
"That was weird," said Hermione, insightfully. With the disappearance of the bird, the sick feeling had cleared from her head, but she still felt vaguely dizzy, and her feet felt very far away.
"D'you want to open it?" asked Harry, eyeing the packet rather nervously.
"It says 'Harry Potter,' and I'm a coward," said Hermione reasonably.
He turned--maybe about to laugh, and then the dark green eyes raked over her face and went wide in shock. "Herm! It cut you?"
She rubbed her hand absently over her cheekbone. "Yeah, I guess it did..."
He reached out one brown hand, tanned face full of concern, and traced over the cut with one thumb.
It almost shocked her that he had to lean down to examine the thin line of blood. She had this bizarre conception of his being four feet tall and childish, and now he was sixteen and lean and tanned and maybe two feet taller than her recollection of things. Those ridiculous glasses, she thought rather affectionately. That's why. They make him look twelve.
No, it wasn't the glasses, she realized suddenly it was the eyes themselves, because they were so goddamned trusting, so utterly without cynicism, so different from...well, from other eyes she'd had occasion to stare into earlier in the day.
He coughed abruptly and pulled his hand away from her face. "Oh--er--do--do you want a band-aid or something, I mean, you probably don't, but I should do a charm--or something--oh, hell. I don't know any first aid charms. Do you--"
"'Sokay," she interrupted, grinning at him. "No big deal. It's shallow, and it doesn't hurt." Hermione gestured towards the package. "Shouldn't you open that?"
Harry glared sideways at her. "Huh. Well, if this tower goes up in flames in ten seconds, don't blame me--" and he reached for the package, dangling it gingerly between finger and thumb as though it might explode any second. He ripped it open.
Something small and silvery fell out and clanged to the hearthstones, rolling in a tight, metallic circle before spinning to a halt.
Harry stared down at it--picked it up--and then nearly threw it away again, his face abruptly very pale and very tight--
"No," he said shakily, "no--" and then turned and ran from the room, leaving Hermione staring, confused and frightened, after him.
Uh oh! now that Ani's remotely normal, we have foisted her madness on Harry. Sorry, y'all.
Thanks section! Huzzah! Okay, great big schnoogle-ramas go to:
Simon of many cameos, Jeremy (what song? what song?!), Amanita Lestrange, my dearest cousin Lizzy, Sherry the most magnifico, Static (can i possibly convert you to the cult of H/H?), Amethyst, Minzzer (I am a bad rave, i am *weep*) Jocetta (o_O extra...large?), Destiny Malzen (leave the slipper alone!), Thena (hee hee. i might not put Harry and Hermy together. It all depends...), Jade Chen, Sphynx (you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? ;P) Firecross (who i madly, MADLY i say, adore, and who should be pleased to know about a great big chunk o' InGreatPain!Snape is coming up) Viola (who wrote the AMAZING *dreamwalk blue*, and if you haven't read that yet, you're a very deprived person and you have my pity. go read NOW.), STINKERBELL (i miss you, stinky...*sniffle* come back!) Cassie cassie poo poo poo, Karina (hum. Remus and Sirius seem to have been somewhat distracted--but it's an important conversation, so they'll come back to it eventually), Al-o-rama (you've all been good children and read Snitch! and Time of Trial....riiiiiiiight? btw, Al, thanks a LOT for getting "dancing in the moonlight" stuck in my head for the past three days...you're a real pal *g*), my youngest cousin Hydy-O, Olivia (this is probably the longest Thank-You section yet...heh heh heh.) Soz (otherwise known as the magnificent sozzie, sozzerama, sozziepoo, &c., &c.) Moony Lupin (*cough*...or has she?), heidi t. (must i plug still more? well, I will anyway. read *a surfeit of curses.* because it kicks ass and i said so.), Zephyr, Arabella Figg (what's up, girly?), Veralidaine (hurrah for flexible r/h-ers!) Traci of the Wild Magic, Sashina Potter, Pez, Tigress Lily, whichever of my darling cousins reviewed as "Teenage Witches", Bec (... "Let's get it on?" hmm....could change the mood of the story considerably. *g*) Purnima, Crymson Tyrdrop, Siria Snape (Boxers!Sirius is coming next week...) Kate, Portia, Pipsqueak (*hides* i was working on this story, i swear i was!) Circe, Nora (yeah, Wilde rocks), Princess Lily, OrangeGoddess, and (*whew!*) Sarah D.! You all fine, upstanding citizens. I commend you. Have a virtual donut.
part four WILL be up within two weeks, barring my death or crippling.