Disclaimer: *sigh* This gets boring after the first twenty or so fics. I DON'T OWN IT!
A/N: Ooookay. Part six. Yep. This has continued for WAAAAAAAAY longer than I thought it would. Just as a
warning, this is going to be ONE LONG NOTE. Feel free to scroll right on past this, but I feel an
uncontrollable desire to babble for another good paragraph.
Right, so I'm sick. Yes, still. I dropped the cold medication after going to the doctors' office. They
gave me little pink pills that are supposed to help me feel better, and I was like, "Oh, cool! Now the
fic's going to be called, 'The Effects of Antibiotics on Writers' Block'!" But unfortunately, an hour
after taking, I realized in a quite unpleasant manner that I'm allergic to them. So, back to the
wonderful cold medication that inspired this fic! And who knows how long I'll be taking it??? *goes and
re-reads what she's just written, slaps forehead, and shakes head* What posessed me to spill out my
whole life story? I honestly don't know...
Okay, I'll shaddup and let you read the fic now, if you've not just scrolled past this nonsense. If you
actually take the time to read this, go get yourself a nice big piece of chocolate, and tell yourself
it's from me. ^_^
~ Veralidaine
Lost
Part 6
by Veralidaine
Upon instinct--he supposed that was what happened after spending over six years as "The Boy Who Lived"'s
best friend--Ron grabbed his wand and shot a rather badly-aimed stunning spell into the dark corner. It
lit up the landing and whoever it was yelped and went into a duck-and-cover position. Ron practically
leapt off of the couch, Hermione right behind him, and stalked over to the landing, wand at the ready.
There was much shuffling, then:
"P-Please don't shoot tha' again, mate."
"Who're you?"
The man stood up, and Ron saw, with some relief, that it was just a common Muggle burglar, dressed all
in black and carrying a rather bulky sack and a crowbar, and shaking rather uncontrollably. "Please, sir,
I was jus'..."
"You 'was jus'' what?" Ron growled, still pointing his wand at the man. "Breaking into the house? Oh, is
that all? What all did you take?"
He was fumbling awkwardly with his bag, and Ron just kept his wand pointed at him, not really scared,
now that he knew it was only a harmless Muggle he was dealing with and not some masked, violent,
Unforgiveable-Curse-happy Death Eater. He sighed, keeping a firm hold on his wand.
***
There was something amiss; she knew it. The trouble was, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Hermione racked her brains, trying to think. What incredibly important, possibly life-threatening detail
was she overlooking?
*...aiming his highly polished wand at them...*
Wand? But Muggles didn't have wands...It must have been the crowbar. But then, this was a Muggle burglar
they were dealing with. And Muggles, who did illegal things like this, usually carried a weapon...
Everything slowed down, so she saw every detail. The man fished about in his bag momentarily before his
eyes lit up in unmistakeable triumph. He started to take the gun out, obviously at the ready, and Ron
was still standing, oblivious, wand pointed at him. Ron didn't know about guns--how was he supposed to
defend himself? Finally, Hermione came to her senses and dove forward, pushing Ron away--
BANG!
***
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
Sparks shot from Harry's wand, hitting the burglar, but not before Ron yelped and clutched at his arm,
directly after the gun went off. The gun itself fell to the floor, along with the burglar, who looked
quite confused at not being able to move at all, save for his eyes, which were darting around nervously.
Obviously, he didn't understand why some boy pointing a stick and yelling funny words could do this to
him.
Breathing heavily, Harry ran out over to Ron, who had slid down the wall, was clutching his arm just
below the shoulder, where blood was darkening his shirt sleeve. One look told Harry that Ron had just
been moved in time--one second longer and he could have been shot somewhere in the lungs or heart...Ron
groaned and gritted his teeth, looking to be in terrible pain.
"Oh..."
Harry glanced over at Ginny, who, of course, had woken up due to the commotion. She had one hand up to
her mouth and looked quite pale. "Ron...Oh, no, oh...What're we going to do? What about...Oh, no..."
Hermione seemed to have recovered from the shocked state she'd been in, sitting on the floor where she'd
fallen after pushing Ron away. She sat up, brow furrowed in worry. "Ginny, do you have a telephone?"
The younger girl nodded silently. Hermione sighed. "Take Harry to it, and get him to call the nearest
hospital--Muggle OR Wizarding..."
Harry helped Ginny off of the ground and followed her into the next room. There was an old-fashioned
sort of telephone sitting on a table, and Harry picked it up, checking for a dial-tone. Then it occurred
to him that they didn't have a phone book.
"How can we...?"
***
Ron groaned, swearing to himself quietly. Hermione crawled over on her hands and knees. "Ron, take your
hand off; we've got to bandage it or something."
"'S Harry gone to call a hospital or what?" He shook his head, trying to clear it. His vision was
swimming, and he was unable to focus on anything. The pain in his shoulder was overwhelming, though he
had a pretty good idea that the--What was it called? Oh, yes, bullet--hadn't gotten stuck in him.
Hermione nodded, looking close to tears. It didn't really annoy him or anything, but he wished she
wouldn't. "'Mione, don't go and cry over this, okay? And tell Harry just to send an owl to St. Mungo's.
It's the easiest thing to do."
She slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course! How stupid...? Ugh...I'll always be a Muggle at heart, won't
I?"
Ron cringed again, squeezing his arm with one hand and trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore the intense
pain. Any moment now, he was sure he'd pass out...
Hermione frantically returned a moment later with her wand, and crouched down next to him, trying to pry
his fingers gently off of his arm. "Lemme see, just for a moment..."
Part of him was telling him to stop being such a baby and take his hand off, but the other part was far
too concerned with the increase in pain if he did. Finally, though, Hermione wrenched his hand off, and
he felt his arm stinging unbearably and breathed in sharply, causing Hermione to cringe slightly and
apologize.
"Ferula," she muttered, and bandages spun around his arm and shoulder, far more effective than his hand
had been. Hermione helped him stand up--it ached him to try--and he felt like collapsing. He vaguely was
aware of her leading him over to the couch before he practically fell into it and--blissfully--lost all
consciousness.
***
Hermione took several deep breaths--Ron may have been thin, but he was much taller than her and weighed
quite a bit. When he'd collapsed a moment ago, she'd been worried he'd injure himself further and had
tried to help lower him to the couch. It had proved to be much more difficult than she'd expected.
But then, she wasn't exactly the perfect weight-lifting specimen herself...
She sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him, extremely worried. The bullet had only grazed his
arm, from what she'd seen while bandaging it. Granted, she'd only seen it for a few seconds, as Ron had
refused to take his hand off long enough for her to get a good look at it. However, it hadn't gone into
his lungs or heart, obviously, as she'd pushed him out of the way in time, but he was still in severe
pain, and possible danger if he didn't get medical attention. And soon.
So, as could be imagined, she was quite relieved when several wizards--a few from St. Mungo's, and a few
from the Ministry--Apparated into the front hallway of the house. The hospital wizards conjured a
stretcher and carefully lifted Ron onto it, while one of the ministry wizards performed a quick memory
charm on the burglar and the other questioned Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, promising to take them all to
St. Mungo's as soon as they'd gotten all of the information they needed.
***
Harry blinked slowly, trying to stay awake as the ministry car zoomed along the roads. They were still
underaged, so they couldn't Apparate, and St. Mungo's didn't allow the use of Floo Powder in order to
monitor the visitors to the hospital. As a portkey hadn't been previously arranged, they were stuck
using the old Muggle way of transportation.
He glanced at his watch. 3:45 AM. It was late. Or early--whichever way you looked at it. He sighed and
rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. He had been informed before they left that Ron was doing
fine at the hospital, and that his parents had been notified that he was there, and that in general,
everything was okay again. And that kept Harry from worrying too much. However, there was still that
nagging thought at the back of his mind: Why had his scar hurt?
He was fairly sure it wasn't the burglar. After all, having a burglar come to the house had nothing to
do with Voldemort. So it didn't make any sense. At all. As his tired mind puzzled over this, the car
pulled into a rather odd parking lot, in front of a large white building. As Harry stepped out of the
car and looked around, no highways were visible--the place looked as if it was in the middle of a forest
rather than the city, like most hospitals. But then, Harry reminded himself, this WASN'T most hospitals.
***
Muttering swear words that were fairly nasty, even for him, Ron opened his eyes. Darn it, he'd regained
consciousness. And the pain was horrible. However, it wasn't just in his arm anymore. It was all over,
and Ron strongly suspected they'd given him some sort of healing potion. This suspicion was confirmed
when he found the little pinprick on his uninjured arm--yep, they'd injected it.
He sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the white quilt covering him. Well, now both his arms hurt. How
was it that Muggles would keep the pain in one area of your body, and still heal it, but Wizards felt
compelled to spread it EVERYWHERE, and then heal it? It didn't make much sense to him, but then, it may
have just been the medication. (A/N: We all know the feeling, right? ^_^)
Vaguely, he wondered what his Mum would say. She didn't like leaving her children alone, even BEFORE
this little incident. NOW what? She'd probably never let Ron leave her sight. Or Ginny. Ron sighed yet
again and stopped unstitching the quilt. So much for freedom. Knowing his Mum, she'd not leave him alone
until he was forty-five or so. Speaking of...
The door opened and his rather frantic mother came hurtling through, tears streaming down her face and
Sirius following behind, looking nervous. Ron rolled his eyes as his mother threw her arms around his
neck, talking a mile a minute about how scared she was, and how dangerous it was to try and deal with it
on his own, and how she shouldn't have left them home alone all night, and how... Ron eventually tuned
it out after awhile, sighing deeply and shooting glares at Sirius, who was laughing at the facial
expression he wore.
Finally, Sirius gently helped pry Ron's mother off of him, leaving a very grateful Ron to lie back down
on his bed, shaking his head. "Mum, I'm fine, really." She continued to babble on for awhile, and Ron,
feeling slightly insensitive, shushed her. "Mum!" She stopped abruptly and looked at him. Ron sighed. "I
am FINE, okay? Keep your hair on."
He was spared from hearing her reply as the door opened again and a very tired-looking Harry and
Hermione stepped through, followed by a Ministry wizard.
***
"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione said, in perfect sync with Harry. She looked at him and they both laughed.
She turned back to Ron, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, despite the fuss his
mother was making about it.
"Yeah. 'M fine." Using his good arm, he ran his fingers through his hair. "It hurts a bit, but I'm okay.
What exactly did they give me?"
"They told us it was basically some pain-killer and...uh...something purple," Harry said, rubbing his
eyes. "Not skele-grow, but, like, the muscle equivalent. I dunno what it was called."
"Well, whatever it was, it's not pleasant," Ron muttered.
Hermione sat carefully down on the foot of his bed. "So d'you feel ANY better?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
Hermione nodded. "Well, I tried to push you out of the way in time, but I was too stupid to realize what
he had in that bag."
"What, you were going to take that bullet for me?"
Embarrassed, Hermione shrugged. "I s'pose." She looked down at the floor, not sure exactly what to say
next. A hand gripped hers and she looked up to see Ron staring at her with an odd look on his face. She
swallowed the lump in her throat and was about to say something, when the door flew open again.
Everyone turned expectantly, and Mr. Weasley rushed inside, panting. "The house..."
Mrs. Weasley stood up, looking frantic. "What happened, Arthur?"
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The house is in shambles, with the Dark Mark hanging over it. I arrived
after most of the officials, and apparently the house was attacked by a mob of Death Eaters. No one was
there, though, so they ransacked the house and left." He swallowed roughly and looked at Ron. "I hope
you aren't too offended, but I have to contact Dumbledore immediately."
Hermione shook her head. Death Eaters? She shuddered involuntarily. They'd done the same thing to the
Weasleys' house as they'd done to hers, only thankfully no one was there to kill. Still...Had it been
Harry that they were coming for? No, Dumbledore kept his whereabouts strictly secret. He'd had a special
charm put on him so that no one could find him. So then, if not Harry, the only other person there who
they would be looking for was...her. So now what?
A/N: Well. Sorry this took so long to write, and it's absolute crapola, I know, but oh, well. I've been
taken off of my cold medication, so I don't know WHAT I'm going to do...Maybe I'll just have a nice cup
of caffeinated tea and see what happens...^_^
Okay, if you didn't like it, don't flame. Constructive criticizm's okay, but I really dislike getting
flames. It totally cancels out twenty good reviews. So don't, okay?
Please do review, though, if you did like it!
~ Veralidaine
A/N: Ooookay. Part six. Yep. This has continued for WAAAAAAAAY longer than I thought it would. Just as a
warning, this is going to be ONE LONG NOTE. Feel free to scroll right on past this, but I feel an
uncontrollable desire to babble for another good paragraph.
Right, so I'm sick. Yes, still. I dropped the cold medication after going to the doctors' office. They
gave me little pink pills that are supposed to help me feel better, and I was like, "Oh, cool! Now the
fic's going to be called, 'The Effects of Antibiotics on Writers' Block'!" But unfortunately, an hour
after taking, I realized in a quite unpleasant manner that I'm allergic to them. So, back to the
wonderful cold medication that inspired this fic! And who knows how long I'll be taking it??? *goes and
re-reads what she's just written, slaps forehead, and shakes head* What posessed me to spill out my
whole life story? I honestly don't know...
Okay, I'll shaddup and let you read the fic now, if you've not just scrolled past this nonsense. If you
actually take the time to read this, go get yourself a nice big piece of chocolate, and tell yourself
it's from me. ^_^
~ Veralidaine
Lost
Part 6
by Veralidaine
Upon instinct--he supposed that was what happened after spending over six years as "The Boy Who Lived"'s
best friend--Ron grabbed his wand and shot a rather badly-aimed stunning spell into the dark corner. It
lit up the landing and whoever it was yelped and went into a duck-and-cover position. Ron practically
leapt off of the couch, Hermione right behind him, and stalked over to the landing, wand at the ready.
There was much shuffling, then:
"P-Please don't shoot tha' again, mate."
"Who're you?"
The man stood up, and Ron saw, with some relief, that it was just a common Muggle burglar, dressed all
in black and carrying a rather bulky sack and a crowbar, and shaking rather uncontrollably. "Please, sir,
I was jus'..."
"You 'was jus'' what?" Ron growled, still pointing his wand at the man. "Breaking into the house? Oh, is
that all? What all did you take?"
He was fumbling awkwardly with his bag, and Ron just kept his wand pointed at him, not really scared,
now that he knew it was only a harmless Muggle he was dealing with and not some masked, violent,
Unforgiveable-Curse-happy Death Eater. He sighed, keeping a firm hold on his wand.
***
There was something amiss; she knew it. The trouble was, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Hermione racked her brains, trying to think. What incredibly important, possibly life-threatening detail
was she overlooking?
*...aiming his highly polished wand at them...*
Wand? But Muggles didn't have wands...It must have been the crowbar. But then, this was a Muggle burglar
they were dealing with. And Muggles, who did illegal things like this, usually carried a weapon...
Everything slowed down, so she saw every detail. The man fished about in his bag momentarily before his
eyes lit up in unmistakeable triumph. He started to take the gun out, obviously at the ready, and Ron
was still standing, oblivious, wand pointed at him. Ron didn't know about guns--how was he supposed to
defend himself? Finally, Hermione came to her senses and dove forward, pushing Ron away--
BANG!
***
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
Sparks shot from Harry's wand, hitting the burglar, but not before Ron yelped and clutched at his arm,
directly after the gun went off. The gun itself fell to the floor, along with the burglar, who looked
quite confused at not being able to move at all, save for his eyes, which were darting around nervously.
Obviously, he didn't understand why some boy pointing a stick and yelling funny words could do this to
him.
Breathing heavily, Harry ran out over to Ron, who had slid down the wall, was clutching his arm just
below the shoulder, where blood was darkening his shirt sleeve. One look told Harry that Ron had just
been moved in time--one second longer and he could have been shot somewhere in the lungs or heart...Ron
groaned and gritted his teeth, looking to be in terrible pain.
"Oh..."
Harry glanced over at Ginny, who, of course, had woken up due to the commotion. She had one hand up to
her mouth and looked quite pale. "Ron...Oh, no, oh...What're we going to do? What about...Oh, no..."
Hermione seemed to have recovered from the shocked state she'd been in, sitting on the floor where she'd
fallen after pushing Ron away. She sat up, brow furrowed in worry. "Ginny, do you have a telephone?"
The younger girl nodded silently. Hermione sighed. "Take Harry to it, and get him to call the nearest
hospital--Muggle OR Wizarding..."
Harry helped Ginny off of the ground and followed her into the next room. There was an old-fashioned
sort of telephone sitting on a table, and Harry picked it up, checking for a dial-tone. Then it occurred
to him that they didn't have a phone book.
"How can we...?"
***
Ron groaned, swearing to himself quietly. Hermione crawled over on her hands and knees. "Ron, take your
hand off; we've got to bandage it or something."
"'S Harry gone to call a hospital or what?" He shook his head, trying to clear it. His vision was
swimming, and he was unable to focus on anything. The pain in his shoulder was overwhelming, though he
had a pretty good idea that the--What was it called? Oh, yes, bullet--hadn't gotten stuck in him.
Hermione nodded, looking close to tears. It didn't really annoy him or anything, but he wished she
wouldn't. "'Mione, don't go and cry over this, okay? And tell Harry just to send an owl to St. Mungo's.
It's the easiest thing to do."
She slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course! How stupid...? Ugh...I'll always be a Muggle at heart, won't
I?"
Ron cringed again, squeezing his arm with one hand and trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore the intense
pain. Any moment now, he was sure he'd pass out...
Hermione frantically returned a moment later with her wand, and crouched down next to him, trying to pry
his fingers gently off of his arm. "Lemme see, just for a moment..."
Part of him was telling him to stop being such a baby and take his hand off, but the other part was far
too concerned with the increase in pain if he did. Finally, though, Hermione wrenched his hand off, and
he felt his arm stinging unbearably and breathed in sharply, causing Hermione to cringe slightly and
apologize.
"Ferula," she muttered, and bandages spun around his arm and shoulder, far more effective than his hand
had been. Hermione helped him stand up--it ached him to try--and he felt like collapsing. He vaguely was
aware of her leading him over to the couch before he practically fell into it and--blissfully--lost all
consciousness.
***
Hermione took several deep breaths--Ron may have been thin, but he was much taller than her and weighed
quite a bit. When he'd collapsed a moment ago, she'd been worried he'd injure himself further and had
tried to help lower him to the couch. It had proved to be much more difficult than she'd expected.
But then, she wasn't exactly the perfect weight-lifting specimen herself...
She sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him, extremely worried. The bullet had only grazed his
arm, from what she'd seen while bandaging it. Granted, she'd only seen it for a few seconds, as Ron had
refused to take his hand off long enough for her to get a good look at it. However, it hadn't gone into
his lungs or heart, obviously, as she'd pushed him out of the way in time, but he was still in severe
pain, and possible danger if he didn't get medical attention. And soon.
So, as could be imagined, she was quite relieved when several wizards--a few from St. Mungo's, and a few
from the Ministry--Apparated into the front hallway of the house. The hospital wizards conjured a
stretcher and carefully lifted Ron onto it, while one of the ministry wizards performed a quick memory
charm on the burglar and the other questioned Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, promising to take them all to
St. Mungo's as soon as they'd gotten all of the information they needed.
***
Harry blinked slowly, trying to stay awake as the ministry car zoomed along the roads. They were still
underaged, so they couldn't Apparate, and St. Mungo's didn't allow the use of Floo Powder in order to
monitor the visitors to the hospital. As a portkey hadn't been previously arranged, they were stuck
using the old Muggle way of transportation.
He glanced at his watch. 3:45 AM. It was late. Or early--whichever way you looked at it. He sighed and
rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. He had been informed before they left that Ron was doing
fine at the hospital, and that his parents had been notified that he was there, and that in general,
everything was okay again. And that kept Harry from worrying too much. However, there was still that
nagging thought at the back of his mind: Why had his scar hurt?
He was fairly sure it wasn't the burglar. After all, having a burglar come to the house had nothing to
do with Voldemort. So it didn't make any sense. At all. As his tired mind puzzled over this, the car
pulled into a rather odd parking lot, in front of a large white building. As Harry stepped out of the
car and looked around, no highways were visible--the place looked as if it was in the middle of a forest
rather than the city, like most hospitals. But then, Harry reminded himself, this WASN'T most hospitals.
***
Muttering swear words that were fairly nasty, even for him, Ron opened his eyes. Darn it, he'd regained
consciousness. And the pain was horrible. However, it wasn't just in his arm anymore. It was all over,
and Ron strongly suspected they'd given him some sort of healing potion. This suspicion was confirmed
when he found the little pinprick on his uninjured arm--yep, they'd injected it.
He sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the white quilt covering him. Well, now both his arms hurt. How
was it that Muggles would keep the pain in one area of your body, and still heal it, but Wizards felt
compelled to spread it EVERYWHERE, and then heal it? It didn't make much sense to him, but then, it may
have just been the medication. (A/N: We all know the feeling, right? ^_^)
Vaguely, he wondered what his Mum would say. She didn't like leaving her children alone, even BEFORE
this little incident. NOW what? She'd probably never let Ron leave her sight. Or Ginny. Ron sighed yet
again and stopped unstitching the quilt. So much for freedom. Knowing his Mum, she'd not leave him alone
until he was forty-five or so. Speaking of...
The door opened and his rather frantic mother came hurtling through, tears streaming down her face and
Sirius following behind, looking nervous. Ron rolled his eyes as his mother threw her arms around his
neck, talking a mile a minute about how scared she was, and how dangerous it was to try and deal with it
on his own, and how she shouldn't have left them home alone all night, and how... Ron eventually tuned
it out after awhile, sighing deeply and shooting glares at Sirius, who was laughing at the facial
expression he wore.
Finally, Sirius gently helped pry Ron's mother off of him, leaving a very grateful Ron to lie back down
on his bed, shaking his head. "Mum, I'm fine, really." She continued to babble on for awhile, and Ron,
feeling slightly insensitive, shushed her. "Mum!" She stopped abruptly and looked at him. Ron sighed. "I
am FINE, okay? Keep your hair on."
He was spared from hearing her reply as the door opened again and a very tired-looking Harry and
Hermione stepped through, followed by a Ministry wizard.
***
"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione said, in perfect sync with Harry. She looked at him and they both laughed.
She turned back to Ron, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, despite the fuss his
mother was making about it.
"Yeah. 'M fine." Using his good arm, he ran his fingers through his hair. "It hurts a bit, but I'm okay.
What exactly did they give me?"
"They told us it was basically some pain-killer and...uh...something purple," Harry said, rubbing his
eyes. "Not skele-grow, but, like, the muscle equivalent. I dunno what it was called."
"Well, whatever it was, it's not pleasant," Ron muttered.
Hermione sat carefully down on the foot of his bed. "So d'you feel ANY better?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
Hermione nodded. "Well, I tried to push you out of the way in time, but I was too stupid to realize what
he had in that bag."
"What, you were going to take that bullet for me?"
Embarrassed, Hermione shrugged. "I s'pose." She looked down at the floor, not sure exactly what to say
next. A hand gripped hers and she looked up to see Ron staring at her with an odd look on his face. She
swallowed the lump in her throat and was about to say something, when the door flew open again.
Everyone turned expectantly, and Mr. Weasley rushed inside, panting. "The house..."
Mrs. Weasley stood up, looking frantic. "What happened, Arthur?"
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The house is in shambles, with the Dark Mark hanging over it. I arrived
after most of the officials, and apparently the house was attacked by a mob of Death Eaters. No one was
there, though, so they ransacked the house and left." He swallowed roughly and looked at Ron. "I hope
you aren't too offended, but I have to contact Dumbledore immediately."
Hermione shook her head. Death Eaters? She shuddered involuntarily. They'd done the same thing to the
Weasleys' house as they'd done to hers, only thankfully no one was there to kill. Still...Had it been
Harry that they were coming for? No, Dumbledore kept his whereabouts strictly secret. He'd had a special
charm put on him so that no one could find him. So then, if not Harry, the only other person there who
they would be looking for was...her. So now what?
A/N: Well. Sorry this took so long to write, and it's absolute crapola, I know, but oh, well. I've been
taken off of my cold medication, so I don't know WHAT I'm going to do...Maybe I'll just have a nice cup
of caffeinated tea and see what happens...^_^
Okay, if you didn't like it, don't flame. Constructive criticizm's okay, but I really dislike getting
flames. It totally cancels out twenty good reviews. So don't, okay?
Please do review, though, if you did like it!
~ Veralidaine
