Disclaimer: I don't think I put one of these into the beginning, so I will now. Nothing belongs to me, not even the nursery rhyme. It's all property of J.K. Rowling, no matter what Warner Bros. says. Except Lizyrd and Denae. They belong to me. Oh, and Nodd. Yeah. Um, the Veritas curse was invented by Cassandra Claire. Thanks Cassie, and get the next part up, dammit.
As always, this fic is rated PG13 for perhaps some violence, perhaps some snogging, and perhaps some innuendo. For those who do not know what snogging is, it is NOT.. well, for lack of a better phrasing, it is not getting it on, or having sex. It's prolonged kissing and perhaps some touchy-feely, (not dirty touchy-feely). I don't really know, I've never done it, and PadfootMew was absolutely horrified when I asked her. Everyone has their different opinions on exactly what snogging includes, but we all agree, it's not having sex. Kapish? So don't flame me and tell me I'm sick. (coughcough-EventhoughIam-coughcough).
Reptilian Nature Chapter 2: In Which it Gets Interesting
"Oh, that?" Lizyrd crossed the room in two long strides. "It's a Schlagger."
"A what?" Draco was now seriously confused. "Maybe Muggles have a different name for them, but I've always known them just as 'swords'."
"It's a type of light rapier," Lizyrd explained, warming to her subject with alarming rapidity. "Used in the sixteenth century, men-- and occasionally women-- would carry around a long, easy-to-use type of mostly stabbing sword. It only took two pounds of pressure to drive it through someone, and because no one was wearing armor at court, it was indefinitely more practical--"
"And why," Draco interrupted hastily, before, he suspected, she could really get going, "do you have a centuries-old sword in your closet?"
"It's not centuries old," Lizyrd said, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth. "It's a modern remake. I fence."
"Oh." That explains why she's so graceful. "And do you enjoy stabbing people?"
"We use bates," the girl shrugged, and gestured at the thick, orange rubber stopper on the end. "And protective gear. It's safe. And yes, I do enjoy it immensely. I find metaphorically killing people to be very therapeutic. Not to mention exercising."
Draco privately scoffed at this last statement. The modern swords were obviously lighter than the old ones; everyone knew knights had visible muscles.
"Go on, pick it up," said Lizyrd, as if she had read his thoughts. She was definitely grinning now.
Draco reached down... and his eyes widened with amazement as he made a sound suspiciously like "ooof". The sword was much, much heavier than it looked, but the feel of it in his hand was good, and balanced, and it thrilled his blood, although his arm muscles could not be termed the same. Lizyrd held out a hand for it, her eyes alight. Draco passed it over with some reluctance.
She just held it for a moment, fingers curled around it, the tops of them just brushing the bottom of the bell guard. Then she made a move with sudden violence, lunging across the room with astonishing speed, slamming the point against the wall calendar with precision and coming back to en guard position with the same swiftness. Draco was now very, very impressed.
"You're good," he said admiringly. She laughed, and dropped the sword into his grasp again.
"Not really. I'm only a student. But fencing is what I'm best at."
Draco looked at her, really truly looked at her for the first time, noticing things he would probably overlook at any other time. He noticed the smooth plane of her cheekbones, the pert, short, upturned nose, the liquid brown eyes that always seemed amused or happy, the delicately uplifted eyebrows, the luster of her hair, the rose of her cheeks, flushed with excitement, and decided she really was fairly pretty.
What am I thinking? She's a bloody Muggle! I have to get back to Hogwarts.
"So," he said casually, "it's been fun and all, but, you know, I should be going."
Lizyrd stared blankly at him.
"After all, I might have missed classes," he urged, "come on, if you know me, you must know Hogwarts. Perhaps you might be so kind as to take me back?"
She spoke, and her words were a knell of doom. "I can't do that."
***
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were indeed thick, but not so thick as not to know what to do when "Master Malfoy" vanished into thin air. Well, that wasn't strictly true. It looked more like he was being sucked down a drain-- he thinned, his image swirled once or twice, became translucent and then he vanished into thin air.
Anyway, they told Snape.
"Disappeared, you say," said Snape, frowning, pursing his lips and stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "Very interesting."
"D'you want us to tell Dumbledore?" asked Goyle, furrowing his unibrow.
"Tell Dumbledore?" Snape repeated silkily. "I see no reason to-- after all, young Mr. Malfoy will be found without trouble... and I'm sure neither of you two would say anything that could possibly lose me my job..."
At once, Snape realized his mistake in telling the two cronies that his position at the school was precarious indeed, for Dumbledore was not quite as trusting as most made him out to be, and with the Dark Lord on the rise again any little thing and the headmaster would whisk him away from his precious innocent students. But as Crabbe and Goyle shook their heads stupidly and muttered no, nevers , he felt increasingly confident that they were too stupid to do anything that might endanger his status.
"Go along to classes, now," he said smoothly, and the duo of goons hurried away, muttering to each other.
As soon as they were out of sight, Snape slouched back into his dungeon and began to search his shelves. This was not good. His prize student was gone, and if Dumbledore found out, the headmaster would not be happy at all. His only hope was to set up a Locator charm, and that was a complex, very long process involving a tricky combination of a Potion and a spell.
But currently, it was his only option. Thank God it's Saturday, thought Snape worriedly. If I had classes--
A loud bump in the corridor outside disturbed him. Snape strode over to the door and cautiously poked his head out, in case it was a vengeful student ready to hurl a curse at him.
The hallway was empty. Of course, there were plenty of niches a wary pupil could duck into, but Snape really didn't want to wasted the time it would take to check them.
A loud scraping noise, almost like a boot against stone, reverberated through the corridor. Snape shrugged; perhaps it was the air vents. They had been making strange noises lately, noises which Snape had never heard before. Creaks and scuffs, sort of. But then, the building was old, well beyond ancient.
In a small wall recess about twenty feet from Snape, a tall, red-haired girl, limber and bright-eyed, smiled and scrabbled for a foot-hold in the smooth stone wall, her leather shoes sliding down the wall a little, and levered herself up to a duct opening. She knew Dumbledore would be interested in what she had heard of the conversation.
***
"What'd you mean, you can't do that?" Draco stared incredulously.
"I mean what I said. I can't do that." Lizyrd shook her head, sat down on the edge of the bed, and lay back, yawning as if tired.
"Oh. I get it." He repressed an urge to shake her. "All right, I understand, truth spells are draining. I'll wait around until you're back on your feet." He tried to force a smile, but it might have been a grimace. "After all, what are friends for?"
"No, no," Lizyrd corrected, covering a jaw-cracking yawn with one hand. "I mean I actually can't do that. Oxford definition. As in, physically and mentally unable."
"But..." Draco cast his mind around desperately. "You must have some sort of.. telepathic transportation device. Floo powder? An owl?"
"Not unless you know the e-mail address of Hogwarts. Most I can do for you is snail-mail J.K. Rowling. She might be able to help."
"What? What's--"
"Nothing."
"What am I supposed to do ?" asked Draco rhetorically, glaring at Lizyrd.
"Meditate on it?" suggested Lizyrd. "Actually, I think this is the part where you're supposed to swear a whole bunch, and then I'm supposed to compliment you on your imagery. Something about sharp gratings, brooms, and very heavy hats or something. No, that was a threat. Sorry."
"I swear, you know more about me than I do," said Draco, amused. Then he sobered. "But the question remains: how do I get home? Or, at the very worst, to Hogwarts? Hell, to Scotland would be an improvement."
"There's no way to tell by just looking, and going up asking random strangers 'do you have any magical ability?' is going to get you burned at the stake."
"Pretty much," Lizyrd acknowledged grimly. "If only it weren't Tennessee! I have a feeling we'd only get the wrong kind of magic."
"What do you mean? Surely there aren't that many Dark--"
"Oh, no, not like that. Wiccans, Pagans. Muggle versions of magic, having to do with physic abilities. Nice people, but they can't really help us much. At least, not in this situation. And anyway, I'm not sure there are any of your sort in Tennessee. We're definetly the least accepting state for things like that, and if there were they'd probably be either so well hidden we couldn't find them or Dark Arts practitioners so we wouldn't want to find them."
"But-- Professor Snape--"
"Of course!" Lizyrd bounced off the bed and landed with a thump on the floor. "I'm so stupid! They'll search for you! All we have to do is wait. I'm sure they'll search Tennessee top to bottom within the next, oh, say, sixty years or so. Not much of a wait, eh? Hey, you might even learn to fence by then. I could teach you. No, seriously, Malfoy, what're they gonna do, put an ad in the bloody paper?"
"Kid," said Draco wearily. This girl tired him out. "It's serious. As in, nothing to make jokes about."
"I wasn't joking, I was being sarcastic. There's a difference," she grumbled, but shut up briefly. Draco took the chance to ruminate. Then:
"Malfoy, what spells can you do without a wand? I sort of need to know so I can plan our strategy."
"Strategy?"
"Well, I'm not going to turn you out on the streets, and knowing what we've got to work with would be helpful."
"Doubtless. But what about your family?"
"Luckily, they're gone for most of the day, during the summer holidays. We can fend for ourselves well enough, I guess, and we can--"
"Whoa," interrupted Draco quickly. He picked up a hackey-sack that had been lying on the floor and began to squeeze it angrily. He felt irrationally annoyed; usually it was he who did all the planning, and to have a younger girl, of all people, step in and start, not only being friendly, but helping him, was disorienting. "There is no "we". There is no "ourselves" involved here. This is me, and you are assisting because you want me out of here, kapish? I take care of me, you take care of you. I am my top priority, you are your top priority."
"If that's the way you want it, fine," said Lizyrd, but she looked dubious and maybe a little hurt, he couldn't tell. "Malfoy," she added viciously, comtempt showing through her semi-neutral tone. "And I still need that list."
"Listen, I thought I told you, kid--" he broke off, and sighed. He had a feeling Lizyrd was determined to get it. "All right. We-- that is, you, know first-hand I can do the Truth spell. I can also do an advanced form of an Opening Charm, set things on fire, and levitate small objects."
"That's it?"
"Yes, that's it. I'd like to see you do any better."
"Well..." Lizyrd drew out the word thoughtfully. "Um... I can see auras."
Draco dropped the beanbag. "See auras?"
"Yes, see auras."
"And what practical purpose does that serve?" he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. Unfortunately, he got one.
"Virtually none," she admitted. Then her expression cleared. "Oh, and I can juggle."
"I repeat my question."
"You never know," she said defensively. "But none of these things, neither yours nor mine, seems to help us much. The real question is: what are we going to
The query hung between them, almost palpable, for a long, long time.
Then Lizyrd snapped her fingers.
"I've got it."
***
Anyone who happened to be around the third corridor on the second floor of Hogwarts at midmorning that particularly interesting and fateful Saturday would have been, to say the least, surprised. An old, cracked statue of Rowena Ravenclaw slid aside, revealing a passageway underneath, through which a girl crawled out. She wore, not the standard black robes of normal Hogwarts students, but loose, blue cotton breeches, a sturdy, sand-colored tunic, and scuffed leather boots. The girl's hair was so red it was almost black, and her dark blue eyes sparkled with childish delight.
Humming a song to herself and absently running her fingers through her snakey locks, the girl all but skipped to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office at the end of the corridor and took out her wand. She ran her fingers over it briefly, then jammed it forcefully up one of the poor gargoyle's nostrils.
The depiction sprang aside, plucking the wand out from its nose with much grinding and scraping of rock. Muttering furiously about the "damn security recognition system", it opened the door for her and showed her into the stairwell, then promptly and with undue haste abandoned its guest to take up the guard position at the door again.
The girl shrugged, and started up the staircase without waiting for the automatic mechanism to kick in. It started with a lurch, as though offended by her impatience.
It would have propelled her through the door into Dumbledore's office, had not she grabbed the rail to steady herself. She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open without her assistance and the headmaster himself smiled down his crooked nose at her, his light blue eyes twinkling kindly but penatratingly down at her.
"Ah, Miss Denae Gordon, I was expecting you. Step right in and have a seat," he said, and went back to his carved chair behind the large oak desk. The girl nervously tried to smooth her smock before she sat down facing him. Dumbledore looked consideringly at her for a moment, then spoke to the house-elf in the corner.
"Nodd, would you bring some food for our guest, please? She looks famished."
The house-elf, Nodd, blinked, bobbed his head respectfully and scampered off, his tea-towel flapping. Denae Gordon grinned and winked at him as he shut the door. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had always insisted that the only thing he knew how to do when he wished to express gratitude was to feed people, and thus she nearly always got a meal when she came to see him.
"Denae," said Dumbldore suddenly, leaning forward, "am I wrong to suspect you came to me for more than to be fed?"
"No, no," Denae told him, feeling suddenly a little uncomfortable, "you're not wrong, Master Albus. You hardly ever are, after all. I've got some more information. About Snape." She swallowed. "I overheard him and two of the students, I don't know their names."
"Describe them," Dumbledore ordered.
"I didn't see them. I'm sorry, Professor. I couldn't even say what their voices sounded like, or what age they were. I know it's not at all up to my usual par, but..."
The headmaster looked grave, but he urged her to continue. "That's quite all right, Denae, anything you overhear or find out may be of use to us. In times of war, a wise soldier must trust his comrades completely, but it is a foolish commander who does the same. Especially those soldiers who happen to have a very interesting background."
"So you don't trust Snape?" asked Denae curiously.
Dumbledore regarded her for a moment. "Well, since you're not a student I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. No, I trust Severus, as far as matters of free will go."
Denae shook her head. "I don't understand."
"He could very easily be acting under the Imperious Curse, and be unable to fight it off, or indeed warn anyone. Or he could be acting under the threat of the Cruciatus Curse, or even Avada Kedavra. Under a Truth Spell, or the influence of Veritaserum, even the most guarded is vulnerable. Which is exactly why he is privy to only the most minor of my plans."
"Why is it you mistrust only he out of all the other teachers?" Denae queried.
"Because of old ties." Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Old connections, old friends, old allies, old enemies.) The Dark Mark. The Sepultura curse, which Voldemort uses to burn his mark in the flesh of his followers. Even I do not know what bonds a lasting spell like that brings to a man and his master. They could be tracking him down right now for all we know, or they could be unable to find him because he used to be the Dark Lord's servant. We have no idea, only guesses, and for now we must be on our guard. But excuse me, I seem to be raving. Carry on with your information, please."
"Master Albus, I'm afraid there's not that much to tell. I was roaming the dungeons, keeping an eye on things as you asked me, and I practically walked in on Snape and two of the students, as I said. I didn't hear the beginning of their little conversation, but from what I heard, it sounded like someone was missing. Then Snape mentioned something about losing his job, and the students said something too quiet to hear, and that's all."
Dumbledore leaned across the desk and fixed the teenager with his piercing gaze. "Are you sure you don't know who is missing?"
"I don't, Professor, I swear it. I should think it would be a Slytherin, but I'm not one hundred per cent sure on that."
"That's quite all right." Dumbledore templed his hands under his chin and thought while Denae chewed hungrily on the fruit and cheese Nodd the house-elf had brought. After a moment, he spoke again.
"I believe we can find out whom they were talking about easily enough. Now, would you be so kind as to run to Diagon Alley and pick up a few things for me?"
Denae hastily swallowed and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, disregarding the napkins Nodd had carefully arranged on the table. "Of course."
***
"Got what?" Draco blinked. He had been broken out of his wistful reverie of life at Hogwarts with people he knew inside and out by Lizyrd's exclamation of delight.
"How to get you back, of course."
"Well, how?" Somehow, Draco couldn't muster up her enthusiasm.
"If I can see auras, perhaps I can detect something that distinguishes you from ordinary Muggles in your aura. If that's the case, then it should be no problem to find a witch or wizard. I'll simply look at their aura."
"And what if you can't tell the difference?" he demanded.
"We-- I'll --burn that bridge when I come to it. It'll probably work." Lizyrd sighed, but it didn't seem to be a sigh of annoyance that he'd pointed it out. More of a sigh of sadness, although sadness at what was beyond him.
Instead he asked, "What do I have to do?"
"Just sit against that wall, there," said Lizyrd. "Right about-- there."
She sat him down on the edge of the bed, the white wall behind him, and turned on the lamp over her desk. "All right. I'll need you to hold two fingers up about six inches away from the wall.." Lizyrd took his hand, and, holding it lightly, just barely touching his fingers as though they were made of glass, arranged them carefully around a pencil she produced out of her dresser drawer, then jerked back as if his ordinary flesh were molten metal.
Looking visibly relieved to be out of close quarters with him, she settled herself gracefully and closed her eyes. Draco wondered how she was supposed to see his aura if she had her eyes closed, but decided not to intrude. Lizyrd certainly acted like she knew what she was doing, and if she didn't, well, her excellent imitation of knowing certainly deserved the benefit of a doubt.
This might take a while, Draco realized, so he closed his own eyes and relaxed, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts or worries and drift blissfully in the peaceful, open blackness behind his eyelids.
But it wasn't black. Colors swirled in front of him: emerald greens, the color of leaves in the high summer, deep royal blues, like the ocean, laced with soft fawn browns like live wood in the beginning of spring and shot with threads of silver, gold and copper.
There was a starburst of silver behind his eyelids and, surprised, he opened them. And gasped.
The same colors drifted around the girl on the floor, coalescating into a glorious whirl and dance about her head, shoulders and hands. Slowly Lizyrd opened her eyes and looked-- or rather, looked past-- his fingers. A number of different emotions crossed her face; hope, quickly followed by disappointment. The bright hues around her faded a little.
Draco must have been frowning without realizing it, for her gaze transferred to his face and a real grin, not a bitter or a sarcastic one, broke over her face. It was infectous; soon Draco found he was smiling as well. She extended one finger gently toward him and a wave of brilliant green fire broke from it to wash over him, dousing him with a delicious warmth. It circled around to gather into a sphere of light in his lap, and he heard Lizyrd's voice, as if from far off.
"I give you a small serenity."
And then, as if a door had closed, it was gone-- the colors, the warmth, the fire. His anxiety and anger returned in a different kind of wave; a tidal wave, crashing into him. In his haste to find out if he could get home or not, Draco almost forgot the gift.
"Did you see anything?" he inquired eagerly.
Lizyrd sprawled on the carpet, looking very, very dazed and perhaps a little drunk. She shook her head to clear it and replied unsteadily, "No. I saw blacks, greys, silvers, reds and greens. That is only to be expected. There was no gold, or anything else that would indicate unusual abilities."
"So it didn't work." Draco slammed his fist furiously into the mattress.
Lizyrd sat up, and reached a hand toward him timidly, but pulled back so swiftly it was almost rude. "I'm sorry, Draco." The way she phrased it, it wasn't an offering, as most apologies were, but a firm statement.
"Don't apologize," he growled. "I don't, why should you?"
"Well, aren't we an ungrateful bastard today? And you do apologize." Lizyrd grinned again. "You did, when you first met me. The Veritas curse. Odd, isn't it, how you'd apologize to me when you barely knew me and won't do it now?"
"Shut up, you smart-assed wench," said Draco, but he said it amicably.
"Ungrateful bastard."
"Smart-assed wench."
"Bastard."
"Wench."
"Bastard."
"Wench."
Lizyrd burst out laughing.
Draco felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He could see what she was laughing at, in a way. And it was refreshing to have someone who wasn't scared to argue with him. A sort of challenge, but this time, he felt it had pretty much been a draw.
***
Snape emptied a small vial of bluish liquid labeled "elves' tears" into a huge stone cauldron, etched and chased with weird silver symbols, and watched as it hissed and blended with the thin red brew. Absently he kicked a burning branch back into the green-tinted fire, the emerald light throwing strange designs on his half-shadowed face as he watched the pot intently. As the concoction boiled and seethed, he bent to examine one of the many drawings on the cauldron's side.
The Potions master reached out and touched one. It was a small pentagram, the graven lines that formed the star filled with mercury. As his finger came in contact, a golden spark raced around the edges of the shape, then disappeared. Snape smiled slightly and straightened up. The wards protecting the cauldron from all eyes but his were still in place, although they would wear off in another hour or two. Now he all he had to do was wait.
He went to his desk, took out parchment and quill, and began to write.
It was perhaps five minutes later when the smell of smoke reached him. With a muffled yell and a not-so-muffled curse, he jumped out of his chair, not bothering to retrieve the paper which had fluttered to the floor in his haste, and raced over to the cauldron. A fresh wave of thick vermillion smoke enveloped him when he reached it, and, swearing, he knelt by it to see what damage had been done.
Bugger, thought Snape with feeling. I see what happened. Something disturbed the firespell and it malfunctioned. If the crucible hadn't given way, the whole thing could have gone up in flames. But how? And what could have caused the firespell to go beserk like that?
He fumbled in his robes for his wand, pulled it out and tapped the cauldron once. Instantly, all the enchantments surrounding it flared into sight.
Snape started violently. The reason for this was clear; the blue pentagram that showed the wards he had put up around the cauldron to protect it from sight was now intertwined with the green cage of the spell he put on the fire to maintain it. The wards would now last only as long as the fire kept burning, and the firespell was by no means a permanent one. He tried to pry them apart with several tricky spells, but was unable to.
After a closer examination, Snape determined that what had fused the two looked suspiciously like an Advanced Opening Charm and an Invisibility Incantation. He sighed; there was only one easy way to solve this, but unfortunately it might also ruin his Locator potion. However, currently it was the only option.
"Finite--"
A heavy silver hand clamped over his mouth and a Stunning spell hit him in the back with bruising force. Severus Snape slumped to the floor, his wand falling from his suddenly limp fingers. His glassy eyes slowly closed, his ears unable to hear the high laugh that issued from under the hood of his cloaked attacker.
As the figure carefully cast a spell of Invisibility, and stepped out into the corridor, levitating Snape before him, the fire behind them sputtered and died.
***
Denae wandered Diagon Alley worriedly. It was almost dark, and the most of the streets were empty, and the shops closed, but she had everything she needed and was now just looking for the way out. She'd never been to the wizarding district before, and it was all very confusing. The few places that were open were mostly pubs and restaraunts, and their cheery glow was more and more welcome as the sky above faded to navy blue velvet.
As she went farther and father, the occasional street lamps got fewer and fewer. The full moon's light was the only illumination now, and it glinted off of a signpost at the corner. It was too dim to read the first word, but the second one was definitely "Alley". Denae frowned. Was it possible she had gone astray, off the main road and into some other little road? She squinted down the road. It was definitely narrower, and it seemed darker, although that might have just been the night. But far down, at the very end of it, she thought she could detect a glow. A very unpleasant, reddish glow.
But perhaps that was the Leaky Cauldron, and the glow was merely the light of candles behind the crimson curtains? There was no way to know but to go to it.
She began to walk quickly down the street, and as she went, the glow resolved itself, not into candles, but a huge bonfire. There were figures dancing around it and even from this distance, the sound of chanting could be heard. She ran toward it now, and stifled a cry of pain when her shoulder banged hard into the open door of one shop.
But it was already too late. Her cry had attracted the attention of the dancers, and they came toward her, backlit by the fire, a terrifying mass of hideous creatures; hags and trolls and other things she did not recognize, things with blonde hair and beaks and things that looked like wolves with long, angular snouts.
Denae chanced a glance behind her. More of these…haunts had poured from shops and her way back was blocked as well. There was no escape.
A heavy hand descended on her shoulder, and she was yanked back into the shadow of a building. Someone covered her mouth, and she spun to face her captor.
He was barely distinguishable from the night itself, dressed in robes of midnight blue, a blue belt, blue gloves, and a blue hood, wrapped around with a blue scarf. Even the veil that covered all of his face but his eyes was blue, and he was so wrapped up in cloth as to be sexless, but the voice that came from under the fabric a moment later was definitely male.
"Don't scream. I'm here to help you. Just come this way."
The gloved hand was removed from her mouth, and Denae, puzzled but willing to risk it, was led through a back door into a large shop. The shop was dark, but the man lit a candle and watched with amusement as Denae stared around her in horrified amazement.
There were dead spiders adorning the walls, three glass eyes in cases, a silver cross in the corner, a snake carved out of solid emerald, to name but a few. Everything in the store was ugly or cursed or served some evil purpose. The man let her look her fill, then turned she turned her attention back to him.
"Who-- what are you?"
"Well, that's a very interesting question. I think it would be more appropriate for you to see my face and answer your own question."
The man turned his back and did something with his hood and veil, revealing longish black hair, then he turned to face Denae again.
And she screamed.
A/N: I'm evil. But we already knew that. Next chapter: why is Denae so frightened, and what's so scary about this dude in blue? And who was the evil tosser who kidnapped our favorite Potions master, and why did he do it? And what will the cauldron do for entertainment, sitting there on its own? What was Snape writing? Will Crabbe and Goyle tell? Will Draco and Lizyrd ever hook up, or indeed even be particularly friendly to one another? What is the nature of the relationship between Denae and Dumbledore, and why isn't she at Hogwarts? Will Harry and Hermione and Ron ever BE in this story? Will Harry's ego die of shock if he isn't? All (or most.. or none) of the these questions answered, well, as soon as I get around to finding out and writing it!
Thanks section: Orpheus, PadfootMew, Lana Mavi, Bob Spelled Backwards (sorry you'll have to resign, it's been great), and Miss Liss, schnoogles to you for being my betas, and for reviewing, etc. Thanks also to Sailor Courtney V, Kelly (sorry, I think I missed you in the last one), Devony Stratton, Someone, Gem, Netsurfer77, Trinity, Jo, Nunya, *Star**Kitty*, Harrys Crush, SaltineRitz, Dewi, and Roxanne Malfoy. Thank you all!