REPLIES TO REVIEWERS (this only applies to people who reviewed chpt. 3)

Saerry Snape: Thankies! Hope you get your comp back soon and update, cause I really want to read the revised version of chapter 98473 or whatever it's up to now in NM. ;p Kidding. 94? Anyway, the second task. Blah. I can't think right now. Maybe I should shut up...

The Marauder's Map: Heh, like the name (it's my favorite prop from HP). Give Remey happiness? What nonsense is this? *laughs uproariously* Okay, sorry, couldn't resist -- no offense. Anyway, I'm with you -- Reme is outranked only by Sirius (*huggles Siri*) as my favorite HP character. I express my love through torture, apparently. Personally I am of the opinion that my muses are all homicidal psychos posing as innocent little angels *snort* -- but maybe it's just me. To the point: there WILL be Remus torture, and lots of it (but not as much Remus as Helen-torture)... and with the climax I've got in mind, there are two possible outcomes. One is bittersweet, the other is depressing, like a Shakespeare tragedy or a bad 70's movie, where everyone dies at the end. I'll probably write both endings, pick the best one for the main story, and post the other as an alternate. As for Helen having magic or not -- well, first: werewolves are inherently magical. Second: NO, she cannot to silly wand-waving types of magic, as Snape so eloquently put it. She's NOT a witch, she's still a Muggle -- but she's also a werewolf. You'll see what sort of magic she has later on... just don't be looking for anything big and flashy, cause it's a lot more subtle than that. There will be an ongoing dream that will be very important, I can say that much.

Eeek eek, I'll try not to ramble so much to anyone else...

Waterfall: Thanks! Once Helen started forming in my head, I just had to write the story. I like the girl a lot, she's quite endearing after a while. *g* Oh, she'll find out what it's like all right -- not just the transformations, but also the Registry, the prejudice, the everyday problems... whoo, fun, character torture. *rubs hands in anticipation* Sorry, it's my little weirdness.

Shorty: Thanks bunches, I'm so glad you like it!

Hermione Weasley: Thanks for reading! I was going for a very different approach to a Remus romance, so I'm glad I succeeded. And... weird pagan shit? Well, I'm not exactly pagan or wiccan or anything, if that's what you think. The god in this story isn't pagan at all -- you'll find out who his is much later on. I can't leave it out, because it's basically the entire foundation of the plot. Thanks for the comment, though, and please keep reading!

eliza: Glad Saerry's plug for my stuff worked so well. Carry on, stealing my erratic thought processes would probably be a blessing to everyone.... *g*

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A/N: Nothing much to say, except to reiterate that my muses are evil and terribly indecisive. They suddenly told me they wanted to work on THIS story instead of Let Others Follow. Which is okay... just annoying. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter Four: One Soft Sweet Song
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Helen spent four days in the hospital wing methodically distancing herself from the truth.

She could not be a werewolf. And there were perfectly logical reasons why she couldn't be a werewolf.

One: Werewolves do not exist.

The rest of the reasons were all irrelevant after #1, of course.

Besides, she didn't feel like a werewolf. Shouldn't something be... different? An extra presence in the back of her mind, sudden carnivorous urges, thicker eyebrows? Something? Anything?

But no, everything seemed perfectly... normal. If anything, Helen felt better -- stronger -- than she had before.

No. No. Everything was wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. She didn't understand her life anymore. It had never been easy, but it had never so complicated, either. She felt like she had been dropped into an advanced Literature course without ever having learned to read. Like being a band director and not knowing the tune... and everyone expected her to know it, but in truth she had no clue.

Like... becoming a thing of inherent magic without even truly believing in magic itself.

A Muggle werewolf. She was stuck in a world that revolved around the ability to perform spells, but she couldn't do so much as levitate a feather. From snips of overheard conversation in the Three Broomsticks, she had gathered that wizards scorned Muggles. So, she wondered, what do they think of werewolves? The only reason she didn't ask Poppy that very thing was because she couldn't find any way to phrase the question delicately.

She caught only a few short glimpses of Remus during her four-day rest -- coming and going at all times, in and out of the hospital wing, apparently allowed more slack by Madam Pomfrey than he gave her credit for. He walked heavily on the left leg, and for the first day the pain was so severe he was forced to use a cane. The fourth and final day was the only time their eyes met -- the briefest of glances contained a myriad of expressions, a thought conveyed and an emotion hammered in.

His eyes showed her pain, and they showed her regret. Apprehension was apparent in the premature lines on his young face. With a glance he told her that his sense of humor, his liveliness, his hope -- all were buried under the rubble of his life, crumbling down around him. And finally, finally, Helen was forced to face the fact: she was the cause, she was the missing link, she was the catalyst that had started the chain reaction that had led to the demise of a good man's career.

Remus broke eye contact, and the feeling faded. But still, Helen didn't doubt the truth any longer.

***
One more day down
Everybody has those days
Where one soft sweet song's
Just enough to clear my head

Fall on real life
Is anybody left there sane?
If we slide on over and accept fate
Then it's bound to be a powerful thing
***

Helen was almost dismayed when Poppy finally came to her later that day -- she suspected what the nurse was going to say, and she dreaded having to leave the routine of hospital life. She'd be thrown out of the one place where she could safely do nothing, thrown back into a world that was constantly in motion, where there was a life that she had to live.

Can I go back to the inn? she asked rather hopelessly, once Poppy had told her of her relatively clean bill of health. It was clean all but for one thing, of course: Helen's fun, brand-shiny-new medical complication.

Lycanthropy,' read Poppy's chart; transmitted by bite. Accidental occurrence due to the release of one Joseph Lupin from self-imposed restraint during transformation stage. No suspected premeditation of attack: waxing moon influential stage before transformation stage was normal. Transmitter: Registered lycanthrope Joseph Lupin, code name Remus, ID No. 98462; current employment: professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; current employer: Albus Dumbledore. Receiver: Helen Corana Levine, a Muggle of indeterminate origin; currently unemployed. Unregistered as of 18 Jan., 2002 A.D.'

Poppy sighed at Helen's question, shaking her head. She took a seat by Helen's bed and began to speak, in a quiet, unassuming voice, a voice that was meant to cushion the blow of her words. Helen, honey, she began slowly, I expect you've already talked to Remus.

A little.

Then you'll know what happened. Poppy paused. It's hard to accept, I know. But you have to understand that there's procedure to go through with at the Ministry.

Bureaucratic hoops to jump through.

So to speak.

Silence, for a long moment.

What do I have to do? said Helen, empty and cold with the unfairness of it all.

The DRCMC is separated into three divisions, you see, the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions. Werewolves are forever being shunted between Beast and Being. Right now there's a Werewolf Support Unit at the Being Division, but it doesn't receive much public support anymore, not with the Dark Lord using bound lycanthropes as... well, as weapons. The only office pertaining to werewolves that has ever remained very constant is the Registry. It's part of the Beast Division.

A memory of conversation floated up in Helen's mind. You said Remus had to leave to deal with the Registry. At the inn, when I came here.

Poppy nodded. Yes, you see now. I shouldn't have let that slip, whether I knew you were a Muggle or not. Betrayal of client confidentiality.

The Registry is under constant pressure to catalogue all the werewolves currently alive in the wizarding world. They even have operatives who go undercover as Muggles to search out those werewolves who try to hide themselves in the Muggle community. The easiest and most painless way to deal with them is to just give up and cooperate. But Poppy's face was hard, and her expression told Helen that she had never chosen the easy, painless way, and neither would any of her patients as long as she had anything to say about it.

Helen nodded. After a moment she said, You said something about the DRCMC. What's...?

Abbreviation for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Is that all I am now? A creature who has to be controlled, who has to hand her entire identity over to a government office buried in a division labeled beast'?

Poppy cleared her throat and said, You'll stay here tonight, and tomorrow we'll head to London by Floo Network, seeing as you can't Apparate...

A quiet voice interrupted the nurse's matter-of-fact speech. Let me take her, Poppy.

Remus pushed the entrance door open all the way; he had been standing behind it for the last few minutes, listening through a crack. He leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression seeming to forbid any argument.

Poppy Pomfrey stood up quickly. Remus, you know very well how much work there is to do here, and you yourself will have to go in a few days --

All the more good reason, he said calmly, unperturbed. I live under these peoples' shadow, Poppy. I know them all too well. She needs someone who, no offense, who has more experience with that place.

I know that place' like the back of my hand --

He interrupted her with a brief shake of his head. You know the system, he said; better than me, certainly. I can't count the times I've owled you about a change of process or a summons I didn't recognize. But you can't tell her which members of the board of directors can be... more easily persuaded. Or introduce her to half the others of our kind on this island, by both true and code names, with their personalities and histories all wrapped in. I know the place, Poppy. He gestured vaguely. It just has a feel to it -- the way to do something or say something just so, to whatever end.... He sighed and dropped his hands. Maybe you have to be one of us.

Poppy looked undecided for a moment; but then she caved, her mouth twitching into a smile. All right. You could always defeat my better sense. She sighed, the smile fading. She glanced from Helen to Remus, and the sadness in her gaze became more pronounced. No need to tell you to take care of her.

Remus looked past Poppy to meet Helen's eyes once again. She found herself captivated by the soft brown color, by the pure emotion that he could capture in one look. he said softly, still looking at Helen. He unfolded his arms and stood up straight. No need.

There was an brief silence -- it wasn't entirely comfortable, but it wasn't acutely awkward either. Helen found herself thinking how utterly ironic it was that the man who had caused this entire situation was now the only person she felt she could trust.

No, but that wasn't true; he hadn't caused the situation. It wasn't his fault he was a monst -- well, part animal, anyway. She was the one who had let him loose on herself... and somehow her responsibility went back even further than that, all the way back to the day a small town called McLeod had mysteriously morphed into an important wizarding community called Hogsmeade.

Poppy finally broke the silence. Well... I suppose time's getting on, she said, clearing her throat. Minerva's called a staff meeting for this evening, after classes are over.

Remus nodded absently, making a mental note. I'll be there.

She wants Helen to come. Albus is going to be there.

Remus' eyes snapped back to Poppy's. What's on the table, then? he asked sharply. I can't escape the firing squad no matter where I am?

He regretted his words instantly, as Poppy flinched and pressed her lips into a thin line. I think, she said, too blandly, that it was intended more as a welcoming committee.

I'm sorry, he muttered. I didn't mean that.

she replied coolly, not quite willing to forgive him yet. I'll tell Minerva that you and Miss Levine will be there. Now, I've got work to do.

The corner of Remus' mouth twitched as Poppy turned on her heel and left. Shouldn't have said that, he muttered under his breath. Should not have said that. He began to turn back towards the door.

Helen stopped him. Er -- wait. He turned back; but she had already forgotten what she was going to ask. She opened her mouth, lost. Um. Do you... that is, can I leave? The... the hospital wing? I kind of wanted to -- er -- see the castle. The word still sounded strange in her mouth. Castle' = home... werewolf' = self... these connections just aren't clicking.

Remus blinked. I don't see why not. He paused, then added, I'll give you the tour, if you'd like. I don't really have anything to do, not if Minerva and Timothy have been subbing for me all this time. I honestly think they like grading papers.

Helen gave him a small smile. Thanks. I'll get dressed -- er... where're my robes, anyway?

Remus quickly located the pull-out bottom part of the hospital beds for her, where clothes and belongings of the patients' were kept during long stays. He waited for her in the hall; and when she came out, fully dressed and with hair as presentable as she could get it on short notice, he smiled at her. A real smile, too; honest. She found herself liking his smile immensely.

Amends, then, had been made for her slip-up that had abruptly ended their last conversation. She wasn't sure when and how the point of forgiveness had been reached -- it could be that he pitied her, and thought that her own self-repentance was enough; but somehow that explanation didn't sit right with Helen, and she dismissed it. Maybe... maybe he was truly concerned for her. Maybe he really wanted to help. The feeling was new to Helen, to have a true friend...

More than a friend. They shared the bonds of blood and magic, enacted through ritual -- the ritual of the bite. Trust, if anything, could be the only foundation of a possible relationship. Nothing about the partnership was casual, nor could it ever be.

It never occurred to Helen to love Remus, not the way she had loved' Allan or Lewis or the others. She only wanted to be with him, near him. He was her salvation, her creator, her destroyer, and her curse... but never, not once, did it occur to her to love him in any way. She only wanted to trust him.

She wanted, very badly, to trust him.

She returned his smile, and he began the tour of Hogwarts.

---------
If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's getting so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of a chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people
-----------

The Great Hall was more magnificent than anything Helen had ever seen. The spires of perfectly shaped stone curved up towards the shadows of the ceiling, fire-lit by the dying light of late afternoon. The ceiling itself was indescribable -- like the most beautiful painting ever, but so much more real...

Michelangelo's just rolling in his grave, she breathed, craning her neck up to catch the full vista.

Remus blinked, taken aback for a moment; but then, as if startled into it, he laughed... an honest laugh. She grinned, glancing at him. He had a nice laugh.

Well, then, he said, catching his breath. That's about it.

But it's so much bigger... you know, than what you've shown me. Isn't it?

Mm. I only gave you the ten cent tour. It really is an enormous place. I didn't want it too seem too overbearing.

She nodded. He'd shown her the main halls on each level, the staff, guest, and student residences; and now this, the grand finale -- the Great Hall.

He hesitated for a moment, and said slowly, as if he were breaking some rule, Er... there is one map that's ever been made of this castle.

She looked at him, mildly surprised. I thought you said the doors and stairways changed too much -- and all the renovations --

Only one, he repeated. Three copies of it were made, and one of those was destroyed. One of the students has one copy... and I know where I can find the other, though it may require some excavation.

She blinked.

Remus shifted. I hid it in one of the hidden passages under the castle. But the passage caved in a few years ago... I'd have to see the extent of the damage before I could make a call on whether I could uncover it.

Why so much secrecy about the map? she asked, honestly curious.

Remus glanced around the hall, as if afraid someone might be listening. He led Helen back to the door to one of the smaller stairwells leading out of the Great Hall. I helped make the map, he said in a low voice. And never you dare tell anyone else that I'm telling you this -- Dumbledore and some others of the staff know already, but it's supposed to be between us few only.

Helen nodded, intrigued and a little nervous.

It's not life-threatening information, he reassured her, seeing her expression. Not within the castle, anyway. Never let on to anyone outside Hogwarts about any of this, understand?

She nodded, but stopped him before he could speak again. If it's so secure, why are you telling me?

He hesitated, looking long and hard into her eyes. I trust you, he said finally. And... it seems right. He drew a soft breath between his teeth, let his eyes go unfocused. I don't know why it's right. He shook his head. I honestly don't. But... I do trust you, maybe more than I should.

She stared. What God was there, that could curse her with a living hell all her own, and then send her this wolf in sheep's clothing -- or maybe sheep in wolf's clothing -- who was the answer to all her dreams?

Trust -- so soon? she said, and she wasn't sure where her words were coming from.

It's only what you deserve, after what I put you through.

Her lips spread into a slow, maniac grin. The laughter gurgled up from some deep place in her past -- hysterical, half-choked giggles; breathless, gasping laughter. Her side was soon sore with it. Remus, standing there hardly four feet away from her, had no idea what to make of it. He looked at her uncertainly -- concerned for her sanity, maybe.

I'm -- I'm sorry -- she gasped, choking herself to a halt. The corners of her eyes were leaking unnoticed tears. It's just... she coughed once or twice, tried to regain her composure; just... that... *ahem* She wiped her eyes. What you put me through. She shook her head, avoiding Remus' eyes. You. Werewolf. Biting me. That's nothing. You should've seen where I came from...

He touched her shoulder awkwardly, and she quieted. She shook her head. I'm sorry, she said softly. Go on... you were saying something about a map.

Remus mouthed soundlessly for a second before regaining the thread of his story. Well, the -- er -- yes, the map. We called it the Marauder's Map, actually, the four of us who created it. He allowed himself a small grin and added, The names of the four Marauders were dreaded by every staff and faculty member in the entire school, back then... we were horrible troublemakers; I really can't believe I did some of the things I did when I was a child.

Helen, absorbing this new piece of information, gave Remus yet another good look-over -- and found the entire concept of him as a juvenile delinquent to be absolutely ludicrous. She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

He grinned. Hard to believe it now. But I was one of the four -- along with James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

She shook her head. Should I know those names? I don't think I've heard of anyone... But then a thought struck, a memory from years ago -- or was it only a few days? She had heard the name Potter before, flurrying through the chinks of the crowd at the Three Broomsticks. A little whisper of a name; but it had always seemed to have some great meaning that Helen knew nothing of.

Potter -- I heard that at the pub in Hogsmeade. A lot of people, always talking about... er... some H' name? Harvey? Harold?

Remus nodded gravely. Harry. Harry Potter -- James Potter's son. It's a long and complicated puzzle of events... Do you know Harry's story yet? Poppy might have told you.

Helen shook her head.

This is going to take a while, he sighed.

-----------
One boy head strong
Thinks that living here's just plain
He's pushed down so hard
You can hear him start to sink

And it's one last round of petty conversation
You hold on boy cause
You won't go down like this
Just roll on over
Lay down till it's more than you can take
-----------

Helen's new suite of guest rooms was, in her opinion, far too large and disproportionately tall. Helen liked a nice cozy room to curl up in, and the eighteen-foot-high stone walls did not achieve any such effect.

She coped as best she could that first night with what she had, though she made a mental note to see Poppy about some changes to the decor. She had plenty to think about, which took her mind off of her surroundings -- and off of the disturbing thought of her imminent Registration, to which she was not looking forward at all. It had taken Remus nearly three hours to tell her the complete, unabridged history of the wizarding world, and of Harry Potter in particular. Helen knew he had glossed over some of the tales of his school days, but she didn't blame him -- they both had things in their personal pasts that weren't ready to face the daylight yet. The thought of Allan made Helen shiver... thought the reflex might also have had something to do with the cold draft coming in through a small crack in the window.

Helen glanced up towards the ceiling, and was once again dizzied and disconcerted by the sheer height of the walls. Tearing her eyes quickly away from the shadowed rafters, she looked instead on the carpet and fireplace with grim determination. At the moment she was sitting curled up in a deep, overstuffed armchair next to the low-burning fire, wrapped in a quilt that she had found in the linen closet in the bathroom. It was like having an entire house to herself... for Hogwarts was indeed huge enough to hold several dozen mansions, and each member of the staff had a sizable chunk of the building to themselves.

The remains of her dinner sat on the low coffee table in front of her -- she had not felt up to eating at the giant table in the dining room two rooms over. One wondered why a suite of guest rooms should even have a dining table big enough for a party of twenty or more...

She had taken her supper an hour or so before the dinner bell rang throughout the halls, calling all the regular students to the Great Hall for their meal. Now, tired as she was, Helen was determined to stay awake until the students' dinner was over, so she would still have enough energy left to make it to the staff room for the welcoming committee' of teachers and staff (as Poppy had put it).

But as she sat and mulled over Remus' story, allowing the decidedly excellent school food to settle in her stomach, she found that it was harder and harder to keep her eyelids open...

***
The end of days
Is many ways
And love's the softest one

But hurt will burn
And child will learn
That pain's the greatest done

...daughter...'

the little girl was giggling, so soft you could hardly hear her, her head bent down intent on her task

and as you passed around her you could see her with the shiny little silver toy, cutting the pretty pictures into her flesh

...my own...'

an older boy with brown hair and dark red hands is helping the wide-eyed, glassy-eyed, empty-eyed bird... the poor owl that can't stand on its own... and the boy is helping it stand on its perch --

the hammer fell again
the nail drove further in
and in the end, the good man knows
darkness swallows sin

...come back to me...'
***

Helen screamed, nearly falling out of her chair. Her sweaty hands were clenched around the quilt, and she gasped with horror and fear... she'd had nightmares before, but nothing like this, nothing so real, so vivid...

Miss? Miss!

A small, childlike voice was crying out from somewhere above her head, sounding alarmed. Helen's head snapped up, and she looked around frantically for the source of the voice, her nerves still frazzled by the terrible dream.

Who's there? she called, perhaps a bit louder than was necessary.

Are you all right, miss? said the tinny voice. You was mumblin' and stuff, and then you's shouted, and I was afraid for you'd had a bad dream...

At long last, Helen's eyes came to rest on the source of the voice -- and she froze in her tracks, mouth open, staring. She must have been too preoccupied earlier to look much at the paintings in the castle, or Remus must have forgotten to tell her about them, or something; but for whatever reason, she had certainly not expected to see a little girl with a very sincere expression looking wide-eyed at her out of a carved wooden frame hanging above her mantelpiece.

Who... who are you? Helen gasped, trying and failing to recover her composure.

And I know what bad dreams is like, I has em sometimes, and Sister Robena telled me that they're not really so bad when you wake up -- is it so bad now? -- I hope you's okay, you scared me bad when you shouted --

Hang on, said Helen, interrupting the child's constant stream of talk. Helen took a deep breath. Er -- now, who are you? Should I know you? Ye gods, I'm talking to a painting...

My name's Ana, said the little girl, grinning a somewhat snaggle-toothed grin. She didn't look older than six, and her black hair was more than a little unruly -- tangled and frizzy, with one or two twigs and leaves stuck in for good measure. She was wearing a frock that looked like it might have been new and quite nice-looking before she had gone climbing trees and hiding under bushes in it. It's for Anastasia, she went on, struggling a bit with her full name. Sister Robena said my daddy had me painted of his own daughter. My daddy was a Headmaster, she added proudly. Youngest ever. Sister Robena tolds me.

Helen dredged up the Headmaster's name after a minute of hard remembering, and asked, confused, Who, Dumbledore? He's not young at all, I saw some pictures --

Ana laughed uproariously. Not Mr. Dumbledore, miss! she giggled. My daddy was Garath Mallory. He hasn't been Headmaster for ever and ever! Ana's face darkened a bit. I haven't seen my daddy for ever and ever either, she added sadly. Sister Robena said he had to go on a trip someplace, but he never comed back. I miss him.

Realization dawned on Helen. Your father had you painted as a portrait of his own daughter... years and years ago... and you've never aged? she asked incredulously.

I'm not little! said Ana defensively, her little face with its smears of dust and grass-stains softening into a ferocious, pouty-lipped argumentative expression. I'm almost seven!

But -- er, Ana -- how long have you been almost seven? Helen asked delicately.

Ana shrugged. Dunno. A while, I guess. I don't remember anytime before being six.

She'll never age, thought Helen, shocked and a bit appalled. Isn't that cruel, to create a child who can't age? She'll never get a mental capacity for anything above a six-year-old's intelligence... and she'll never have proper parents...

Who's Sister Robena? asked Helen, suddenly finding herself interested in the welfare of this young painting. Does she take care of you?

replied Ana, grinning widely. Sister Robena belongs to the order of nuns in the mural on the fourth floor side hall. She's like my mommy, only not really -- I never knew my real mommy, but Sister Robena says she was real nice.

Helen felt a pang of pity, and was about to change the subject when she happened to glance sidelong at the clock. Dinner would be over by now for certain, and the staff was probably already waiting for her in the lounge...

Oh, Ana, I'm sorry, said Helen, her train of thought suddenly thrown off track. I have to go -- will you be here when I get back? I'd love to talk to you again...

Ana laughed again. I live here, miss silly. I'll be here forever.

Helen was taken aback by the comment, but didn't let it show. I'll be back in a while, then, she said, grabbing her cloak off the back of the armchair and heading for the door.

Miss --

What, Ana?

What's your name?

Helen couldn't resist a smile. Helen, hon, she replied, not really knowing where the hon' had come from. My name's Helen.

'Bye, Auntie Helen...

But Helen had already gone out the door, and didn't hear her new title.

---------
So one more day down
And everybody's changin'
One more head down
Just enough to reach my head

Yeah if you're weak
Can we talk about it
It's getting so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of a chance
The fiction, the romance
And the Technicolor dreams
Of black and white people

We are black and white people
--------------

A/N: The song was Black & White People' by matchbox TWENTY, and is on the album Mad Season. The poetry in the dream is mine -- MINE, I TELL YOU!! *ahem* Don't know where THAT came from.... There will be more such nightmares in later chapters, and will all contain disturbing themes and images, so count yourself fairly warned. The little girl cutting the pretty pictures into her flesh was swiped from issue #... I think it was #5 or close... of the first arc of The Sandman, Preludes and Nocturnes. Read Sandman, it's sooo awesome. Written by Neil Gaiman, one of the coolest writers ever. (Why are all my favorite writers British, anyway?)

Next chpt will probably be very short, as it will consist almost entirely of the welcoming committee. After that, guess what? -- we get to see.... *duh duh duhnnn*.... The Registry. Okay, cheesy dramatic music done now; time to go to bed. I'm about falling asleep on the spot. G'night.