Heart of the Serpent

by darkcyan

After the final battle with Galaxia, the senshi find that they have *all* reverted back to being eleven years old ... and what's this about invitations to attend Hogwarts? *ABANDONED*

9. Original Version: Ch 1 through 18

And here it is . . . the first half of the entire original version.

And unfortunately, Harry Potter and Sailormoon *still* don't belong to me.



1. An End and a Beginning

She and I died that night. But the worst part, in many ways, was not our death. We knew it would happen eventually, it had happened before, and in our line of work, it seemed a certainty that it would happen again. Being one of ten people that stand between our world and domination by ultimate evil does not tend to do good things to your projected lifespan. No, the worst part was not our death, but what had come after. The cold stares, the accusatory looks, and the knowledge that you had just betrayed the one you were sworn to protect and she knew it. Hers was not the cold or accusatory stare, because she refused to look at us, refused even to acknowledge our existence. She can forgive nearly anything, I think, but everyone has their limits, even her, and it was painfully obvious that we had finally hit hers.

And then, to discover that we had all somehow reverted to eleven years old again, even Mamoru and Setsuna, who have always been years older than us. Our happy home was gone, the four of us who had been a family, a good, happy family, before we had to go and ruin it.

We can't go home tonight. Michiru, my partner, confidante, best friend, beloved, had again spoken exactly what I was thinking, through that uncanny connection we have. Sometimes, it seems we can almost read the other's thoughts, but she's always been much better in figuring out what's on my mind than I have been, trying to figure out what she's thinking.

Her aqua hair was disarrayed, lying flat and dull against her head, falling into her face. Her beautiful cerulean eyes, too, were dulled by the recent events. She felt the scorn, the abandonment at least as deeply as I, although I had always seen her as the strong one in our relationship, with the strength of character to always go on no matter what. To see us both brought so low–Usagi's companionship had never seemed to mean much to us, but now that we had lost it . . . it was a dreadfully lonely feeling. I think the fact that we still had each other was all that kept us from completely breaking down.

I agreed, as we stood lonely in the shadows, watching the others separate and head to their own homes. They'll hate us forever . . . and at times, I can't really blame them.

Michiru sighed. Somehow, everything always ends up landing on her shoulders. We both knew who she was talking about, the blonde princess we had sworn to serve, who now refused even to acknowledge our existence. It doesn't matter what you or I do, it doesn't matter what any of the senshi do . . . she'll always be the one to take the brunt of it, and she's always the one who ends up saving us.

Michiru's right. Everything we've done . . . it doesn't really matter when all the cards are laid on the table. None of our action have ever made any real difference that I could tell, and I only wish . . . I wish that I knew that what we have done, dirtying our hands continuously, really did matter. That some action of ours, that we knew was the right one–except events turned out to show it wasn't–actually *had* made a difference.

I know I will never be the one to decisively defeat the enemy, or to banish the evil, but it would help immensely if I just knew . . . that what we have done was not as futile as it seems now, that we knew of at least one time the decision we made that she contested, was the right one. It's hard, realizing that you are useless to the team except as a source of firepower, that the life you've been living has always been a lie. That every time she said Sacrifices do not have to be made! she was right and we were wrong. So wrong.

At some point, we sat down, I think, although I have no memory of the actual act. We knew of no place to go where we would be welcomed–and it was certain that we would not be welcomed at what we had come to see as our home. So we sat there, in the park, waiting for the dawn to come. Knowing it would be a long time before the dawn came in our hearts.

We could try my parents' house. Michiru suggested quietly, as the dark surrounded us. The street lamp had winked out quite a while ago. Perhaps, the change in our ages has also changed their opinion of us. And if they've forgotten everything, since we didn't actually meet until years from now, I could just introduce you as a friend of mine. Unless you'd rather try your house . . .

I answered shortly. If being eleven now was anything like having been eleven then, I did not want to come anywhere near my parents' house. Allow it to suffice to say that my life became a great deal easier when I grew large enough to hit back. I stood up, extending a hand to help her regain her feet. It's better than waiting here all night, I suppose.

* * *

We walked. Distances seemed a great deal further, when one is only eleven years old, and the world in general was a larger, scarier place. Not much farther. Michiru assured me. She was reading my mind again, and I flashed her a quick, small smile. Just enough to let her know that truly, I didn't mind the walk–which I didn't, especially with her company.

I could tell it took her nearly all her courage to go up and ring the doorbell–she was more frightened, I think, by this than she had been by Galaxia. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, to let her know that I was there and that I would never leave her. We may have been abandoned by our friends and estranged from our families, but I refused to believe that anything could ever come between us. Even death–him we knew, and he held very little fear, at least for me, anymore. To someone who has died twice in this life alone, although I have no clear memories of either, death did not scare either of us anymore. Besides . . . if we died, we'd die together, and with Michiru by my side, nothing holds any fear for me.

Then the door opened, and a tall (I had never noticed how tall Michiru's mom was–another benefit of being eleven and short again, I guess) woman looked down at us with worry and relief. Michiru, Haruka, where have you been? You said the battle would be over long before dark, but it's almost dawn now.

I couldn't help it. I knew, even as I said it, that it was not the wisest thing to say, but my mouth ran miles ahead of my brain. You know?!

Michiru's mother frowned slightly. That the two of you are Sailor Senshi? Of course dear, you told me yourself. She bent down, to look both of us in the eye. Except . . . there's something different about you now. Your auras are all out of whack, and your eyes . . . I can see it in your eyes, the bitter knowledge that only experience brings. The bond between you has grown immeasurably as well, a strength that I only see between old married couples, usually. Yet you are both still clearly my daughter and her best friend. What happened?

Michiru smiled a bit, painfully. We both killed and were killed today, Mom . . . and neither did any good. In addition, yesterday, we were both seventeen . . .

. . . Living on our own with the two people we ended up killing, the two people we would have wanted least to ever cause any hurt to at all . . .

. . . Still friends, even if the relationship was a bit strained, with the rest of the senshi, instead of outcast . . .

. . . Completely estranged from you and the rest of Michiru's family because you disapproved of Michiru's lifestyle choices . . .

And you are now very much taller than I remember you being. I commented idly. I've always looked down on you–literally, as well as figuratively at your disinheritance of Michiru simply because she chose to spend her life with me.

A decision that I've never regretted making. Michiru added softly, turning to me with eyes that had regained a bit of their shine and squeezing my hand.

Michiru's mother's frown had become the genuine thing, instead of just an expression of thoughtfulness. A decision you should never have had to make in the first place. What in the world was I thinking? She paused. That didn't come out quite the way it should have.

I laughed, for the first time in what seems like forever. I found myself genuinely liking Michiru's mother, something I would never have thought possible before. I don't know . . . remember, we were sixteen at the time . . . and it must have been quite a shock to have your daughter bring home a nice young man . . . only to find out that he was a girl.

Still, that's no reason to disinherit anyone, much less someone as sensible as Michiru. I trust her to make the right choices.

Michiru choked up. It was obvious, just looking at her, that she could barely breathe through the lump in her throat, much less talk. Yet somehow, she managed it, throwing her arms around her mother like she would never let her go, like the eleven year old we seemed to be, instead of the aloof, standoffish teenager I had come to know and love. But seeing this side of her did not change my feelings, except to love her even more–if such a thing were possible–and envy the closeness with her mother that Michiru had been lucky enough to discover. Thank you, Mom. She whispered, a silent tear making its way down her face. You'll never know how much this means to me.

And I just stood there, desperately wishing that it was me, being engulfed by my mother's hug and all the love that hug embodied. Michiru's mother must have realized this, for she looked up from her daughter, her cerulean eyes–so much like Michiru's!–boring into my soul. I don't know what my relationship with the seventeen-year-old you was. She stated softly. I don't particularly want to know, because I'd probably end up liking that myself even less than I already do. But I want you to know this–*I* have always thought of you as another daughter. She disengaged one arm from hugging Michiru and held it out to me. There's room–if you want to join.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Like Michiru, a lump had formed, completely blocking my throat. Perhaps it was just as well–even if I could have spoken, I doubt anyone would have understood what I said, as it would have been completely unintelligible, not at all like Michiru's eloquence. I just walked over, and soon found myself being hugged by two people and feeling more beloved than I can ever remember having felt.

And that was when I realized that, even if there was a way for us to return to the age we had been only hours before, I no longer wanted to. Nothing would bring back to us the friends we had lost, and at eleven I found something that I had never found at seventeen–someone, besides Michiru, who is and always will be special, who truly loved me.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
2. A Letter Arrives

The thought was totally bizarre. Absolutely no way. I accepted Michiru's mother's word for it, when said that witches and wizards existed–why not, when what we senshi did on a daily basis could qualify easily as magic? But that I was one?! No, that just didn't work. How would you know? I heard Michiru asking. It was easy to tell by her tone of voice that she was at least as shocked and confused as I . . . it's just easier for her to cope, shunting aside inconsequentials to focus more closely on that which needs her attention. In that way, too, she is stronger than I.

That you are senshi is enough proof in my opinion. To have that strong a connection to a planet and be able to coalesce and control its energy into an attack shows a great deal of magical talent and potential. She smiled. But the reason I know for certain is that I got a letter for each of you from Professor McGonagall. She's a teacher at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, but more importantly, she has a book that lists all the potential students–all the children with magical potential in the world, and the fact that you each received an acceptance letter is proof that you are witches.

Acceptance letter? I asked. It would be nice to get away from the bad memories this place held–and I was sure none of the other senshi would miss us if we left, but England? It seemed awfully far away.

Notification that you passed the entrance requirements. If you'd rather not go, then you don't have to, but this gives you the opportunity to go if that is what you wish. Michiru's mother smiled. Don't worry, you won't have to decide for about a month yet, and when you do–I'll just send them your reply.

Michiru and I exchanged a long look. We found quite a while ago that there are many conversations which have no need for words, and this was one of them. We'd be glad to accept. Frankly . . . now that we are no longer truly a part of the senshi . . . you and your husband are the only things holding us here. I added the last part sadly. Michiru and I had readjusted somewhat to it once again being just the two of us . . . but it was still hard to think of the others, and the sadness and loneliness was nearly overwhelming when we tried. The only thing that kept us from being completely depressed was the supportive atmosphere at Michiru's–no, our house. That's how I thought of it now, our house, our parents.

Besides the memories . . . the strongest of which are the sad ones. Michiru added. It would be nice to start anew.

This time, I initiated the hug. I will miss you so much, I forced around the lump in my throat. Being your daughter, if only for this short a time, has been an experience that I will hold close to my heart forever.

It's not like I'll be that far away. She offered. Halfway around the world is still not all that far and if you're ever lonely, you can always send us an owl. And then there's Christmas and Easter and summer, when I hope you'll come back here–either that or perhaps we'll go there–I remember spending Christmas and sometimes Easter at Hogwarts. We always had fun.

What about all the supplies and such that we're supposed to have? My Michiru, ever practical–except those times when she's not. But I was curious, too, especially after having seen the list–long black robes and pointy hats, it reminded me of an old horror movie–or of MacBeth, with the three witches poised over their cauldron and cackling madly.

Then I saw that a cauldron was on the list of supplies, to. My lips twitched. Sure, it wouldn't look quite right with only a small pewter cauldron instead of a gigantic iron one, but still–

Double, double toil and trouble. Michiru murmured, and I realized she had seen the exact same thing as I. We shared a glance full of laughter.

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. I completed the thought.

It seemed Michiru's mother had read MacBeth at some point, since it didn't take her too long to catch on to our reference. Yet it didn't seem to me that our reference was *that* funny. She had fallen to the ground, her laughter was so powerful, and she couldn't seem to stop. Finally she regained control of herself. Sorry kids, she gasped, wiping her eyes. But my Potions teacher was *such* a dried up old stick and he hated every one of us. Just the thought of doing that while mixing up one of those boring old potions we had to learn . . . he probably would have docked our house at least fifty points if we had ever tried that on him.

I asked. There was time enough, later, to figure out who we' was.

She nodded. All Hogwarts students are divided into four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each student earns or loses points for his house, and at the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the house cup and is honored at the end of the year banquet.

Probably intense rivalry of some sort as well. Hogwarts began to sound more and more interesting. So, what now?

First, we send off your reply to Minerva. Then we take a short trip to Diagon Alley in London, to pick up your school supplies.

Michiru grimaced. I guess . . . since we will go to school in England . . . must practice my English. She said in a stilted manner, in that language.

I winced but stayed silent. My English is even worse than hers–although I understand more than her at times, she is by far the better speaker–and, while we were both near the top of our class, we were far from fluent. Very far.

Our mother (Our! It's such a wonderful word, especially when applied to so wonderful a person. And to have a mother again . . . I love her, nearly as much as I do Michiru, although in different ways) frowned. Yes, I will have to do something about that. I know a spell that should work . . . She drew a wand out from within the folds of her dress. Did she always carry it on her, I wondered, or was today a special occasion?

With a few muttered words, she pointed the wand at us. A bright flash of white light appeared on the tip, then expanded to enwrap both of us. Suddenly, my head felt on fire and I collapsed to the ground, barely conscious of Michiru beside me doing the same thing, as an entire language and all the nuances that accompany really *knowing* a language all forced themselves into my head at once.

Michiru commented weakly, and I felt myself moved to agree with another groan. That hurt.

A hand thrust itself beneath my nose, holding a few small white tablets. Don't worry, Mother reassured me. They're just sugar tablets. Being slightly hyper helps to keep down the headache and the pain tends to fade faster. She grimaced. I still remember when my mother did it to me, except she tried to force French, Spanish, German, and Russian on me at the same time, in addition to English. It took days for my head to stop hurting.

You're so encouraging. I grunted. Lovely. Days of this mindbending agony while my brain tried to cope with having a whole new library of knowledge stuffed into it.

It's not so bad. She smiled. After all, you're speaking English fluently already, in case you hadn't noticed. I hadn't, although now that I thought about it, it seemed rather obvious.

Michiru and I exchanged a long glance as I clambered to my feet and held out a supporting hand. Remind me, next time, to just take the class.

I agree wholeheartedly. Michiru looked like she wanted to nod her agreement, but that would make her head hurt too much.

* * *

A few days later, cured of the lingering headache, I sat outside, reveling in the feel of the wind dancing through my hair, slapping random tendrils into my face that I did not even bother to brush away. It was about time for me to cut it again, I realized, now that the back had gotten long enough to where it could be blown into my face again.

But then . . . why cut it? I like my hair short, but I've also always rather missed the feel of it blowing against my face and lying against my neck. The real reason I cut it originally, shortly after I disassociated myself from my family, was as a statement. A slap in the face to my father, promising without words that I would be a better man than he had ever been. Then . . . the masquerade became so much a part of my life. I enjoyed being a man, racing cars and bikes and having the most beautiful and wonderful girlfriend in the world.

Oh, Michiru knew I was a girl from the very beginning. She met me in her search to find Sailor Uranus, after all, although I'd like to think she would have noticed anyway. That's how perceptive she is. Or perhaps it's just my love for her talking, I don't really know. But my masquerade gave our relationship the semblance of normality to passing strangers, in a world that as a whole merely tolerates relationships like ours–at best.

And now . . . returned to eleven years old, I no longer have anything to prove, haven't really for quite a while. Especially now that I have Michiru's parents, I could care less what mine think. As for our relationship . . . I sincerely doubt that it will become physical for quite a while–we are only eleven after all, even if our minds are those of seventeen-year-olds–and even when it does, Michiru will be happy, *our* parents will be happy, I'll be happy, and I find now that I care even less about what the rest of the world thinks than I used to. And I really do miss the feel of long hair . . . so perhaps I will let it grow out for a while, before I resume the masquerade–if I ever choose to.

* * *

A few weeks later, when my hair had grown long enough to where it was noticeable, when it was obvious I had made no move to cut it and had begun wearing it in a (incredibly short!) ponytail, Michiru just smiled at me. So, you've decided to become a girl again. She stated, and I could see it in her eyes that she was proud of me, for beginning to come out of the shell it had taken me so long to create. Good, now we have to go shopping.

I've never been that much of a girl! I wanted to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped me, and her smile. She doesn't smile like that much anymore, ever since Galaxia. Neither do I, so every smile counts more these days, and if it makes Michiru happy to take me shopping, I won't complain. Besides, I figured out a long time ago that nothing is that bad, as long as she's with me. I've caught myself thinking many times before that if, when I die, I have to choose between a Heaven without her or a Hell by her side, Heaven wouldn't stand a chance. As long as Michiru is with me, nothing can take me down, not permanently.

Not even shopping. Although I think she made that trip especially torturous, as if to test my resolve. Surely going into that many stores isn't actually necessary! But I survived, because she was there with me.

Regardless of my longer hair, I still don't particularly like dresses, and I continue to wear pants most of the time. But every now and then I wear a dress, and she smiles at me, and the feelings of silliness and discomfort are instantly made worth it. Although I think she's finally coming to appreciate the value of pants, since she's decided to see if she can peek into my world, as I am peeking into hers.

I smile more too and, though I doubt I'll ever figure out why, my smiles seem to have a similar effect on her that hers have on me. Just a side effect of loving someone so deeply, so all-encompassingly, that you would do anything for them, and they would do anything for you in return, I suppose.

The reversion to eleven has made me more philosophical and introspective, and although I still enjoy running like nothing else (and can't wait until I can get my hands on a racecar, or at least a motorbike, again), I begin to see the depth to Michiru's music and her art where before I only knew its beauty. I've thought a lot about the past, especially that short time after I met Michiru when it was more than just me–and her. I'd have done anything for our princess, my loyalty to her ran nearly as deeply as my love for Michiru.

We made the wrong decision when we decided to attempt to double-cross Galaxia, I'll admit that freely now. Yet, in doing so we did what we thought was right. That's what sets us apart from the other senshi. The inners and Hotaru and, of course, the princess, they follow their hearts in fighting, secure in the knowledge that they will win because they have goodness and friendship on their sides. A depressingly optimistic view of life, in my opinion, doomed to failure eventually. And yet, although their philosophy of life is so flawed, by following that philosophy they've managed to win every time. Hotaru, I think, sees the flaws as clearly as Michiru and I, but she doesn't put her faith in that philosophy so much as she puts her faith in the princess. And Hotaru has always had more blind faith than either of us combined, we're both too cynical by nature.

Setsuna, I've always thought, is buried in the flows of Time, helpless to interfere with events most of the time. Regardless of the power that accompanies it, I don't think I'd ever be willing or able to take on her job, forced to stand by and watch events pass you by, knowing you could help, yet also knowing that you were forbidden to interfere. She has the hardest time of any of us, yet she is able to present us with that mask of calm that reassures us that everything is alright. I caught her drunk once. I don't think I was supposed to have seen, she had hidden in her room so as to be less likely to be disturbed. She was crying, and the things she said . . . no one can live through that much solitude, millennia of loneliness with only the Gates of Time for company, and remain sane. No one . . . except her.

In accepting Galaxia's offer, Michiru and I did the unthinkable to anyone else on the team. We took our fate into our own hands instead of blindly trusting in our princess, and tried our hardest to destroy her evil ourselves. The only problem–other than the fact that Galaxia had no star seed for us to take and our plan was thus doomed from the start–is that in taking our own fates into our hands, we also took the fates of others. Regardless of what the other senshi think, we never meant for our plan to hurt anyone but ourselves. Thankfully, I don't remember the interlude in which we actually did the deed–it was wiped away by those bracelets, leaving only the memory of tainted power. If I could actually remember the look on poor Hotaru's face when I killed her . . . or maybe it was Setsuna I killed . . . I don't think I would ever be able to live with myself, much less proceed as if life was, more or less, normal.

Pretending that Michiru and her parents fill the hole left in my heart where my bond with the other senshi used to reside; until we snapped that bond as if it were nothing, never realizing until we lost it how wonderful and special that bond had been. Now the situation has been simplified until, once again, it is just Michiru and I, locked away from the rest of the world by the barriers within our own hearts.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
3. Diagon Alley

This is Diagon Alley. She said proudly, as Michiru and I gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. So much that I had never even thought existed, just waiting for me to walk up to and gaze at. Mother was peering at the list of school supplies we had received, so I felt less guilty just standing there with my chin hanging only a couple of inches above the ground and my eyes as wide as dinner plates.

First cauldrons and the other equipment, then wands, clothing, books, and then we'll just wander to see if there are any pets that catch your eyes. Sound good?

What are we waiting for? Michiru asked, as I brought my chin back into position and nodded fervent agreement.

* * *

I looked at the pewter cauldron with increased respect. Standard size 2 is larger than it sounds. I admitted. We could probably fit most of the rest of the supplies in them.

Mother smiled, her cerulean eyes twinkling. That is the general idea.

What is the telescope for? Michiru asked, pointing to the two that had been paid for and placed (within their cases, of course!) in the cauldron. Her mother laughed.

Astrology of course, what else? She cocked her head. Some astronomy too, but this is a school of magic for the most part, after all.

Do we learn to read crystal balls too? My question, amazing as it may seem, was not completely sarcastic, but her reply still completely floored me.

Goodness no! You don't start Divination until your third year, and even then, it's only an elective.

Can we say, facefault?

* * *

The next place we stopped at, Ollivanders (Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC, you know), was not nearly as impressive. Small, narrow, rather dark and dusty, the room's only decoration a single small chair and shelves and shelves of narrow boxes–there must have been thousands. To solve the chair dilemma in the most expedient way possible, Michiru and I sat on the floor together, leaving the chair for our mother.

Ah. New customers, I see. A soft voice sounded near us. Michiru shifted slightly, the only indication she gave of her startlement. I felt him enter–my contact with the winds, like Michiru's with the sea, had only deepened recently and I had easily sensed the shifting in the air currents indicative of another person entering the room. As I looked up, it seemed for a moment that he was almost disappointed by his failure to scare us, but that expression–if it had even existed at all–quickly disappeared.

He peered nearsightedly at Mother, before nodding. Yes, I remember you. Sachiko Amiru. Cedar, phoenix feather, eight-and-a-third inches. Good wand, that. These your daughters?

So he was sharper-eyed than he gave the appearance of being. In the dim light of the shop, wearing jeans and a baggy T-shirt with my hair tied back in a tight pony-tail, very few people would recognize me as a girl.

She smiled. This is my daughter Michiru and her best friend, Haruka Ten'ou. They're both just beginning at Hogwarts this year.

He nodded, then turned to us. Wand arm?

Mother smiled. Usually your wand arm ends up being your dominant hand. She stage-whispered.

I answered immediately, followed soon after by Michiru's

I see. And I got the idea that he did see, more than many people gave him credit for. You first, girl. He pointed at me and I stood up, at a loss. A silver tape measure, previously sticking ever so slightly out of his pocket, now began measuring me as he got up onto a stool, taking down various boxes. He continued to talk as he took down the boxes. With many young people, especially as young as you kids, it's hard to figure out the dominant characteristics of your personalities, since they are not yet fully formed. One's personality figures greatly in which wand chooses you, and often the wand reflects the person someone will become. Take You-Know-Who. No one knew he would turn out so bad, but his wand–yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Very powerful. And no one can deny that he was powerful. Evil, yes, but one of the most powerful wizards this world has seen in quite a while.

You and your friend, though, your personalities are much more distinctly formed, almost as if you had lived longer than eleven years. Sometimes people who live very eventful lives are like that, as well, but for the most part, personality formation comes only with the passing of years. For you, I know of maybe four, five wands that are nearly guaranteed to be a perfect match, much narrower a selection than I usually have to wade through. Same with your friend, there. Even her mother was harder to pinpoint, about as hard as a normal eleven year old.

After that, he became silent. I got the idea that normally he didn't talk nearly as much normally. Finally, he climbed down, holding three boxes. Couldn't find the other one I was looking for. Pretty good sign that it wasn't a good match, staying hidden like that. Here, give this one a wave. Gingko, eight inches, dragon heartstring. He handed me a wand. No sooner did I touch it than it felt wrong to me, and I shook my head nearly involuntarily as he snatched it away. He looked at me with increased interest in his silvery, moon-like eyes. You look like you have the makings of a good wand seller. Interested in finding a summer job? Stymied, I opened my mouth, and shut it, having absolutely no idea what to say.

He chuckled, another action I had the feeling he did not do very often. Try this one, then. Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, unicorn hair. This time, I knew almost as immediately that this was the wand for me and, theatrically, I brought it slicing through the air almost as if it was my Space Sword. A crescent of blue and green sparkles flew out of the wand, like the vacuum blades my Space Sword creates, and impacted harmlessly on the far wall. I grinned, exhilarated by how completely *right* this wand felt, and he nodded approvingly. Yes, I thought the willow would match your personality well. And the unicorn hair . . . you have a very pure heart. I'm not surprised your wand holds the unicorn. Not at all surprised.

Pure heart . . . if I hadn't been holding the wand, still in the feedback cycle of happiness and well-being it induced in me at first, my face would have fallen despite my efforts to remain expressionless. Yes, our hearts were pure . . . pure enough to hold two of the three Talismans. Yet I had a hard time believing that our hearts remained pure. Not after all we have done.

The silver tape measure had begun to measure Michiru as the man took *my* wand (amazing how short a time it took me to become so territorial–no longer was it merely a wand, but now and forever more mine) and placed it gently back into its box before climbing to put up the wand I had rejected out of hand and picking up three others. The first of these three he opened and gave to Michiru. Beechwood, thirteen inches, phoenix feather. He snatched it out of her hands even before the no' in my throat had the time to become a reality, and gave me a glance. Saw that too, didn't you. Yes, you'd definitely make a good assistant, once I've given you a little training.

Dogwood, nine inches, dragon heartstring. This Michiru held a little longer before it was obvious that the wand wasn't the right one for her.

No, dragon doesn't really fit you, does it. and he took the box I had rejected by default. Maple, twelve inches, unicorn hair.

Hm. Almost there. He opened the last box. This one should work, since none of the others did. Silver maple, eleven inches, unicorn hair.

The wand swished through the air, and green sparkles lit the air, floating down around our faces, almost like miniscule fireflies. Michiru, the man and I all spoke at the same time. This was her wand, as obviously hers as the other had been mine.

Do you think I could come work here during the summer? I asked Mother. I felt I had the right to make the decision, but she's the one who would be providing transportation, and she really is almost like a real mother to me. The shop, which had previously seemed so gloomy and closed in, now glittered with a serene mystery, almost as if Michiru's sparkles still hung, half unseen, in the air.

I think, she paused, looking at the man, That we could work something out. If that is what you want to do, I trust you to make the right decision.

A smile lit my face, almost as bright as the one when I first held my wand. Thank you. This is what I want to do. This place–it's magic like I haven't seen in a long time.

If that is what you see, perhaps you do belong here. Michiru's eyes reflected her agreement, slightly puzzled as to what I would find so interesting in this dingy little shop, but I didn't mind too much. This place really was magic, filled with so many possibilities, and I felt rather sorry for the people who, coming in here, only saw the tiny, dimly lit so-called reality.

* * *

Must everything be in black? Michiru complained softly as we stood inside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and I couldn't help but agree. Black is a nice color–though I much prefer a dark navy blue–but enough is enough!

At least it doesn't say the gloves have to be black. I pointed out. And we could get colored sashes or something so that it won't be completely black.

Michiru's mother smiled. Now why didn't I ever think of that when I went to Hogwarts? Having a colored sash would have been ever so much better than just monotonous black, black, and more black, day in and day out.

Michiru and I shared the same thought at all that black, for years on end.

However, the dragonhide gloves came only in the darker colors: black, midnight blue, dark green, burgundy, and a truly nasty blackish yellow. Can you bleach the color out of them, or dye them, or something? I asked.

The young wizard at the counter replied, Dragonhide refuses to hold any dyes, except occasionally some of the darkest shades. I have heard that some people over at the Ministry of Magic are attempting to develop some lighter hued dyes, but so far there has been little success, as far as I know. He grimaced. Except–the one dye they have managed to come up with–a truly horrendous shade of neon pink.

I sighed. So much for adding color to our garb in that category. So I got a pair and a couple of spares in the midnight blue, while Michiru got the dark green.

Of regular cloth, however, there was no shortage of bright hues. Some of them a bit *too* bright for my tastes. They had a whole range of blues and greens, of which we bought a strip of nearly every color (except the olive green . . . ew), plus a nice selection of yellow/golds and grey/silvers, and even a few of the nicer shades of red.

This should make us a bit more noticeable. Michiru commented, and I grinned. Not that I necessarily wanted to be the talk of the school, but sure, why not? We might even start a trend!

* * *

The trip through Flourish and Botts was simple and out of the way quickly, as we each bought a copy of the eight school books necessary according to the list. Plus, on a whim, we bought a book on elemental theory that looked like it held some good information that we could apply to our bonds with the elements–mine with the wind and Michiru's with the sea.

Then we went window shopping. Diagon Alley is filled with so many incredible shops, from candy shops with the strangest types of candy I'd ever seen, to a shop devoted completely to Quidditch, a strange wizarding game similar to soccer, only played in the air with broomsticks. It sounded interesting, and better yet, each of the houses at Hogwarts had their own team. Unfortunately, as first years weren't allowed to bring broomsticks, I sincerely doubted that we would be able to play. A pity, that.

Finally we stumbled upon a smallish shop called the Magical Menagerie, a pet shop by the looks of it. Of course, we went in, since we hadn't chosen our pets yet.

Inside it was smelly and noisy from all the animals stuffed into so small a space. Ravens, large black rats, cats and other birds of all shapes and sizes . . . every inch of the shop seemed fascinating to two small eleven-year-old girls in search of a pet. Since Michiru figured fish wouldn't make very good pets for taking to Hogwarts (although she planned to get a few to put in our room–we both still remembered the wonderful aquarium on the top floor of our apartment building with great fondness) she came with me towards the bird section. I wasn't quite sure I wanted an owl, but I knew I wanted to have a bird of some sort. I've always enjoyed watching them fly and envied them deeply that ability. When I was younger, before I stopped dreaming, I dreamed of flying nearly every night, of seeing the world so small below and reveling in the feeling of the wind. Yet despite that, when we reached the birds I didn't see any that seemed right to me. Michiru, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with a tiny, baby snowy owl.

Then I heard the voice and stiffened, the slight movement beside me indicating that Michiru had hear it too.

Dissgussting. The voice commented, its tone wry and humorous, a very likeable voice with a slight, but not very pronounced lisp. Adult elf owlss are the ssame ssize and they tasste a lot better.

The voice, I realized, seemed to be coming from the hole in a fake log inserted in one of the nearby glass cages. We're not planning on eating it. Michiru replied sarcastically.

A small silver head peeked out of the log, two red eyes regarding us measuringly. I know. It sighed, writhing out until it had wrapped itself around the log several times. A pity that humanss have sso little tasste. The snake was completely silver from its head to the tip of its tail, with eyes that reminded me more of Chibiusa's red-brown than Setsuna's garnet.

I smiled. Who cared if it wasn't a bird? I had just found the perfect pet. Michiru knew what my smile meant, and a look at her eyes showed that she approved. I'm not the only one with a slightly warped sense of humor, after all.

And the snake? Well, it didn't have to talk to us, and the fact that it chose to was a pretty good indication that it agreed as well. Plus, later it told us so. And the bird seemed to understand that the snake wasn't going to eat it, so it too was happy.

Mom seemed to have a few qualms about buying a snake, but she was also inclined to let us make our own decisions. All in all, the trip to Diagon Alley was a stupendous success. Michiru's father, I think, enjoyed the joke a great deal more than her mother. Even gave us a few tips on how to us it to create the maximum amount of mischief possible–it's quite obvious, now, where Michiru got the less serious side of her nature from.

Not that I needed too much help on the topic of creating mischief. After all, it's not like letting a snake loose in a room full of *girls* (as opposed to logical human beings that just happen to have been born female–like Michiru and I) wouldn't provoke plenty of hilarity, all on its own. I must admit, though, that the scenario with the fudgesicle and three paper clips has its own charm . . . perhaps I'll try it out, sometime . . .




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
4. Hogwarts Express

Sachiko looked vaguely embarrassed. I locked my keys in the car. I can get them out fairly easily, but I want to go ahead and do it now, before something can happen. You girls go on ahead to the platform and I'll meet you there before the train leaves, I promise.

Don't worry, Mom. We'll be okay. Michiru reassured her, and we watched her walk away.

Platform nine and three-quarters?! I had taken a look at the tickets she gave us. What sort of platform is that?!

Michiru shrugged and smiled a little. Why don't we go down to platforms nine and ten and, if we don't find nine and three-quarters there, we'll wait for my mom. Or some other people who are going to Hogwarts.

I smiled back. Michiru was right, of course. I would have realized that immediately, once I started thinking again. So we picked up our trunks and put them on a trolley, together with Avarana (Michiru's owl)'s cage and the empty glass aquarium that Keldir (my snake) usually lived in. And off we strode, towards the magical train that waited at an impossible platform.

* * *

When we reached platform nine there was, as we had both suspected and dreaded, no platform between it and ten. So we waited. Keldir grumbled inaudibly about foolish young girls and cloth bags that were too confining, but when Michiru asked him sharply if he had any *useful* suggestions to make, he fell silent. She and I rolled our eyes.

Then the wind tickled my ear. Not so unusual an occurrence, except there shouldn't be any but the lightest, most unobtrusive of air conditioner-made winds in this confined a space, and this wind whispered of magic and large open spaces.

I turned. The barrier remained there, but now, with my full attention turned towards it, I could sense an area where the air currents indicated, not a barrier, but a doorway. As I watched, and Michiru turned to watch too, a short, rather scrawny black-haired boy rushed towards the barrier, with the body language of one who fully expects to get hurt and . . . disappeared.

It's not a barrier at all! It's just an illusion! Michiru gasped, eyes wide as my own. With this stunning revelation, we too headed towards the barrier, or rather, the illusion of the barrier, and through the wall-that-was-not-a-wall, into a new area, crowded with people and, on the tracks, a scarlet steam engine with a sign overhead that said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Owls and cats and all sorts of other animals drifted in and out through the crowd–I think I saw a tarantula too, at one point. All in all, it was even more crowded and chaotic than the regular station. Since we had plenty of time, Michiru and I drifted back to the entrance, after stowing our stuff in an empty compartment, where we'd be more likely to spot her mother when she came through.

Then a loud noise caught our attention and we turned to see someone, complete with a trunk and a grey cat, sprawled on the floor, as if they had been dropped from three or four feet up. No one else seemed to notice, though, as Michiru and I rushed over. I suppose real witches and wizards were used to people popping up out of nowhere.

The girl looked to be the same age as us with softly pink hair tied up in a ponytail high on her head and simple gold hoops in both ears. I picked up her cat to return it to her, as Michiru was helping her up, but then I saw the cat's forehead. A gold crescent moon. My eyes widened. Diana had been just a kitten, all legs and ears, the last time I had seen her. Then, I took a closer look at–was it Diana?–the cat's owner. Most definitely pink hair and red-brown eyes–a color that had always reminded me, rather incongruously, of dried blood. But . . . what had happened to her odangos?

Do I know you? She asked me, rather uncertainly, cocking her head ever so slightly in a gesture that was inherently, beyond any doubt in my mind, Chibiusa.

Her brows lowered and her eyes reflected her confusion as she looked at me. I'm not that surprised she didn't recognize me . . . after all, I was the same age as her and had long hair. Then she turned her attention to Michiru who, despite her smaller stature, had not changed all that much, and recognition finally dawned. Aunt Michiru? She turned back to me. And Aunt Haruka?! But you're the same age as me! What happened?!

We're all eleven now. Michiru informed the girl softly.

Did the enemy zap you? Who is our current enemy, anyway? All Puu told me was that I should get on this train, she gestured towards the scarlet Hogwarts Express, because evidently something fairly earth-shattering is supposed to happen soon, and she wanted me out of the way, safely back in the past, and told me the train would take me someplace magically protected against whatever repercussions might result. Just where are we, anyway?

No, no one at present that I know of, and England. We're going on that train also. I answered. We think we all became eleven because of some quirk of the Ginzuishou when we were revived after the final battle with Galaxia.

Her eyebrows twitched. Don't tell me. Everyone died, again, except my mom, who ended up saving the world, again, through nothing but strength of heart and pure dumb luck.

Michiru and I shared small, twisted, half-smiles. You could almost say that. Michiru admitted.

Although we certainly didn't help matters much. I added.

Chibiusa crossed her arms, and with the imperiousness of a queen, ordered, You are going to show me where you put your stuff, I'll put mine with it, and then you will tell me the entire story.

Doubtful glances that she caught, and her eyes narrowed. And don't you dare leave anything out!

Michiru, Haruka, would you introduce me to your new friend? A new voice interrupted, and we three turned as one to see that Mom had snuck up behind us while we were concentrating on our conversation with Chibiusa.

This is Chibiusa, Usagi's daughter. Michiru stated calmly. Chibiusa, this is my mother.

She took the statement rather calmly, considering. The only comment she made, with a solemn face, was, Amazing that Usagi found time to have a daughter the same age as her. But then, she smiled, eyes twinkling. You're from the future, I assume. I remember you from that time a few months ago, although you were significantly younger, I think. Welcome back.

Chibiusa was floored. Uh . . . yeah. Thanks. She said shakily. Do you . . . know?

Now why does that sound familiar? She mused, as her eyes slid towards me and I blushed slightly. That you're a sailor senshi too, I presume? Sailor Chibimoon, if I remember correctly. She clapped her hands. Now, I believe you said something about moving baggage? Just show me where.

* * *

Back on the train, Mom put down Chibiusa's baggage in the same compartment as ours, which now held another person, the small black-haired boy with glasses that we had seen dashing at the barrier earlier. With a hug for each of us, even Chibiusa, Mom left us–only minutes were left before the train was scheduled to leave. Michiru and I sat on the seat opposite the boy and Chibiusa sat on the window seat, pulling her legs up to sit crosslegged, before fixing us with a hard eye. Now. The story? She demanded.

Michiru and I sighed as one and then, slowly, haltingly, began the tale–leaving, as she had told us to, absolutely nothing out.

* * *

The boy sat and watched the red-haired family sadly. He wished he had a family like that, with plenty of other siblings and a mother that wiped his nose and embarrassed him in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. He sighed.

Then, a family entered his compartment, chattering merrily in some other language. The oldest one, obviously a parent, put down some bags and hugged the other three, a girl of which had the exact same wavy aqua hair as the mother, a boy (or was he a girl? He thought the other was a boy, but . . .) with blonde hair a little past his shoulders, tied back simply with a black scruchee, and another girl, who seemed rather uncomfortable at the attention, with pink hair in a pony-tail high on her head.

They sat down and the pink-haired girl glared at the other two and uttered a short sentence sternly, still in that other language. The other two sighed and began, haltingly, to talk, interrupted at times by the pink-haired girl. He caught several words that sounded rather like names–Usagi', Seiya', Mamoru', (which, in particular, was said by the pink-haired girl rather often), and others. A short time into the story–as that's what he believed it was–another boy came in, the youngest redheaded boy from the other family, seemingly dismayed by the number of people already in the compartment. Anyone sitting here? He asked, pointing to the seat beside Harry. Everywhere else is full.

Harry shook his head silently, aware that the other three had also fallen silent, for the moment, before the aqua-haired girl picked up the line of the tale again. And the boy still had a black spot on his nose.

* * *

. . . And then we were all eleven years old, and the others left to go to their own homes. Michiru concluded. I suppose you hate us now, like the rest of them.

Chibiusa shook her head. Of course I don't! I mean, I think you were just a bit too paranoid about Seiya and the other Starlights, but as for going over to Galaxia's side . . . you can't convince me that you meant, beforehand, to kill the other two as proof of your loyalty or anything like that. It sounds to me like the bracelets took control, something that you couldn't have foreseen happening.

I admitted reluctantly. But we still did it. Even if we had the best motives on earth, we shouldn't have betrayed Usagi like that.

Chibiusa snorted. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother a whole lot, but in your place, I doubt I would have blindly trusted her either. I probably would have done exactly the same thing as you. She grimaced. And felt guilty as hell afterwards, too, but that's beside the point. The others should have realized that you made an honest mistake and events ran out of your control, *not* completely ostracized you like that. I wouldn't blame you for hating them right back, although I know you don't.

It was our fault. It was our hands that did it. Michiru remained adamant, and I remained fully in agreement with her.

Besides, I don't think we were really made for teamwork. I remarked. Even when we were part of the team, we weren't really part of the *team*, just extras who popped in when there was trouble, or to cause trouble, more often than not. We do better when it's just the two of us.

Make that three. Chibiusa stated firmly, so firmly my protests died unspoken. You are still my friends and my beloved aunts, and I'm not going to let anyone, even my wonderful bubble-headed mother, destroy that.

There was a knock on the door and a short, rather pudgy boy entered, asking tearfully, Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? All five of us–Michiru, Chibiusa, the black-haired boy, a tall red-haired boy who had entered the compartment and sat down around the time Sailor Iron Mouse died, and I–shook our heads, and he wailed, I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!

Don't worry. Chibiusa reassured him. He'll turn up. She stood. Do you want me to help you look for him?

The pudgy boy sniffed and nodded, smiling rather tearfully. Thank you! My name's Neville Longbottom. What's yours? He left with Chibiusa, and Michiru and I turned our attention to the two boys in the compartment.

Both looked rather nervous at our sudden appraisal. Uh . . . hi! I'm Harry Potter. The black-haired boy finally stammered.

Ron Weasly. The red-haired boy offered shyly.

Haruka Ten'ou. I smiled, trying to put the poor kids a little more at ease.

Michiru Kaiou. Michiru's smile was, as always, brilliant. And our friend, the one who just left, is Usagi Chiba.

Nice to meet you. The red-haired boy–Ron, said, then his curiosity overcame him. Where are you from? I heard you talking in that strange language, and I couldn't understand a word of it!

We're from Japan. Michiru told him gently. I'm sorry we were excluding you like that, my Michiru is nothing if not polite, but it really was a rather personal matter.

Aw, that's all right. Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair, and he looked as if he wanted to stare at his shoes. I wasn't trying to pry, I was just curious, about what language that was and all. He turned toward the black-haired boy–Harry, I reminded myself. Did you hear about Gringotts? Someone tried to rob a high security vault. Gringotts, I remembered, was the wizard bank.

What happened to them? Harry asked.

Nothing, that's why it's such big news. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens, because they're so scared that You-Know-Who is behind it.

I asked.

Ron replied, a singularly unhelpful answer.

The term sparked a memory, but I couldn't quite catch it, until . . . I turned to Michiru. Didn't Mr. Ollivander say something about You-Know-Who being an incredibly powerful Dark wizard? I turned back to Ron. Is that the You-Know-Who that you're talking about?

Of course! What other You-Know-Whos are there? Ron seemed frustrated.

How would I know if that was the You-Know-Who you were talking about. For all I know, there are hundreds of You-Know-Whos running around, especially since I *still* don't know who You-Know-Who is. I too was beginning to get slightly frustrated.

You-Know-Who is Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard this world has seen in quite a while. A new voice said softly. I noticed that Ron turned pale and winced when the name–Voldemort–was mentioned. The voice belonged to yet another young boy standing at the entrance to our compartment, a pale boy with white-blonde hair and silver eyes. Flanking him were two others, large heavyset boys that looked mean and incredibly stupid. I had no doubts that, even in this eleven-year-old body, I could take them on. At the same time.

But the pale boy had turned his attention to Harry. Is it true? He asked. They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?

Harry answered, a resigned look on his face. I recognized that look, having worn it and seen it on Michiru's face many times before. The I'm-famous-but-I-really-couldn't-care-less,-because-it's-not-like-I've-done-anything-*that*-important look. I wondered, idly, why he was so famous. He looked rather young to have made a name for himself in racing, or in just about anything, really.

Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. The pale boy said, pointing to his two . . . they couldn't be anything but bodyguards, and my initially, tentatively, rather high opinion of him sunk lower. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. He said it as if it was supposed to mean something. Probably a spoiled rich kid.

Ron coughed slightly, and it was obvious he was trying not to grin. Draco glared. Think my name's funny, do you? That much, my dear boy, was obvious. No need to ask who you are. My father told me, yes, he seemed the type to believe everything his father told him if it was derogatory to others, all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and there are far too many of them.

He turned his attention back to Harry and, in an incredibly snooty tone of voice, said You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there. He held out a hand, but Harry stared at it like it was a very despicable species of insect, and I didn't blame him.

What about non-wizarding families? I asked, at my most venomously sweet (although generally, I leave that tone to Michiru–she's better at it).

Hogwarts should only be for the old wizarding families. He answered promptly. The other sort just shouldn't be let in. Imagine, some of them never even heard of Hogwarts until they got the letter!

Yes, imagine that. Michiru said dryly. The compartment began to bear a distinct resemblance to the Sahara desert.

I smiled inwardly, evilly. You know what happens, I commented idly to Michiru, when a gene pool gets too small–keeping the blood pure and all that?

Of course! She answered promptly, eyes wide and innocent-seeming. Inbreeding. Deformities and often a larger number than normal of morons. Probably at least one per generation. Actually probably not, but hey–if it made the story sound better, why not exaggerate a bit?

I smiled ever so sweetly at Draco. I guess the rest of your generation is safe, then.

Ron couldn't hide his laugh at that, and even Harry was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile, while Draco looked murderous. He turned to Harry, after continuing to glare at me (score! Haruka: 1, Draco: zilch). I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. He said slowly. You hang around riffraff like the Weasleys, Hagrid, and this filth, he gestured towards me, while I just grinned genially back, and it'll rub off on you.

Both Harry and Ron stood up and, not to be upstaged, I did too. Is this experience speaking? I asked. How many of your friends have you contaminated, my dear boy? Or do you even have friends, other than these two goons? (score again! Draco was, again, reduced to speechlessness. Haruka: 2, Draco: still nothing, unsurprisingly).

Say that again. Ron growled. Geez, the boy needed to lighten up a little bit. But then again . . . it's not like I have a family that's being insulted. And if he had insulted Michiru's parents, I *would* have been a great deal angrier.

Oh, you're going to fight us, are you? Draco sneered.

I laughed. Draco, I could take all three of you, alone. Michiru probably could too, at that. You don't stand a chance. Goyle stepped forward menacingly, probably determined to prove me wrong.

At least, I assume he was supposed to look menacing. Until he tripped over Michiru's foot, which she had stuck out into the middle of the aisle–probably just stretching, right? *cough, cough* And as he toppled towards me, I forgot to do the gentlemanly thing and catch him, so he landed on his face. Poor, poor Goyle.

Then, to make matters worse (for them) Ron's fat, ugly, old rat bit Goyle on the finger and he was howling, swinging the poor thing every which way, until it finally flew off and hit the window. The three were, quite obviously, routed in a major way.

Seconds after they left, Chibiusa returned, along with another girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, who Chibiusa introduced as Hermione Granger. Chibiusa took one look at the carnage–Harry and Ron's candy all over the floor, Hermione picking the rat up by the tail–and turned to me. Did you have fun, Haruka? She asked. As if it had been all my idea! Really! Well . . . I had sort of provoked Draco, and let Goyle fall . . . but it was Michiru who tripped him! She laughed. Too bad I wasn't here. Looks like I would have enjoyed it, too. And she probably would have.

Any particular reason you returned? Michiru asked. Or did you just miss us? She added teasingly.

Chibiusa snapped her fingers. That's right! I almost forgot–Hermione and I talked to the conductor, and he said we'd be arriving soon. She bounced over to her trunk, opened it, and started digging. So we need to put our robes on, soon. She lowered her voice. And I just thought you should know, I saw *them* here, although they didn't recognize me.

Would you mind leaving while we change? Ron was scowling at Hermione. Another side conversation I missed out on, I suppose.

All right– Hermione said in a huffy voice. She looked like she was refraining from scowling right back only through sheer good manners. And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? She threw over her shoulder as we left, Ron still glaring at Hermione.

* * *

We soon finished changing into those silly black robes–and tying on scarfs, we even had a pink one for Chibiusa, who really liked the idea of alleviating that black somewhat, but Hermione politely refused when we offered her one. Too much of a rule-follower, I guess–she reminded me, in some ways, of Ami–I wondered if Hermione took her studies nearly as seriously. Right afterwards, a voice echoed throughout the train: We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.

I went back and grabbed my wand–there wasn't *any* way I was going to leave it on the train–before heading into the corridor and down onto a tiny, dark platform. Funny, it didn't seem like it should be night yet. And then there was a loud voice, coming from an equally large man with a pink umbrella, Firs' years! Firs' years over here!

We followed the man–Hagrid–up a steep, narrow path. And then, we saw it. Hogwarts.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
5. Hogwarts

The giant man raised his fist and knocked three times on the castle door. Almost as if someone had been waiting for this very event to occur (who knows, maybe they had been) the door immediately swung open. A tall, black-haired witch with a stern face (it reminded me, incongruously, of the look on Galaxia's face when she punished her Animamates–bad thought! Down!) and emerald-green robes stood there. Michiru and I exchanged glances, and I knew the same thought was going through her mind as was running through mine–No fair! Why did she get to wear colored robes?

The firs' years, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid told the lady with the wonderful taste in colors–second only to blue and yellow, green *is* my favorite color, after all. I wondered about Hagrid, though. Did he have a speech impediment, or was that just a textbook example of an *appalling* accent? I sincerely doubted he talked that way because he was stupid.

Thank you, Hagrid. Her voice was like her face–stern and unyielding, like trying to relate to a brick wall. Reminded me of a second grade teacher I had once . . . I will take them from here. And I will not use any conjunctions while doing so.

She pulled the door wide open. The entrance hall was huge, but much less spectacularly decorated than the ballrooms at the Moon Palace, back during the Silver Millennium when they had still existed. Chibiusa admitted grudgingly from my other side. Not nearly as well decorated as the ones in the Crystal Palace, though.

Michiru and I laughed softly. I was thinking exactly the same thing, only about the ones in the Moon Palace. Michiru replied, and I nodded agreement. The professor led us through the entrance hall and we were shown into a small, empty chamber off the hall. Rather smaller than comfortable, with the number of people being squashed in there, but as look as I was only uncomfortably close to people I knew, I didn't mind too much.

Welcome to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall (and how I coveted that beautiful green robe . . . *sniff!*) stated. This, I was given to conjecture, would be our welcoming speech, getting us ready for whatever happened next. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because . . . Snore. My eyes began to glaze over as she seemed to keep on talking. Sternly, I called myself back to attention (all right! Michiru pinched me, if you really have to know. *pout* It hurt, too!) . . . The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Great. Have I ever mentioned the fact that I occasionally get stage fright? Especially when the event is very important, in front of a large number of people, and I'm given time to anticipate it?

Did I miss anything important? I whispered to Michiru as the professor left. She rolled her eyes at me.

Not really. Our houses are our family that we do everything with, all the houses are noble and wonderful and we should be proud to be in any of them. She talked a little about house points, and the house cup, but nothing Mom hadn't already told us.

Then ghosts drifted out the walls, arguing with each other about someone called Peeves. Another ghost, I suppose. But they seemed harmless, so Michiru, Chibiusa, and I ignored them. Finally, the professor returned to call us into the hall. The Great Hall, it couldn't possibly be anything else. It was even larger than the entrance hall, lit by floating candles, hanging over the five tables set up in the room–one for each house and a separate one for the teachers, I guessed. The ghosts hung out in here, too.

Professor McGonagall set a short four-legged stool in front of the crowd of first years–we really were a crowd, too–and onto the stool she set an old, battered hat that positively reeked of magic.

The hat twitched. A tear in its brim opened wide, an absurd parody of a mouth, as the hat began to sing. It really did sing! Honestly! An interesting little song, too.

It called itself the Sorting Hat, and bragged about how great it was for a while (and in fairly decent rhyme, too! That's the amazing part to me) before singing a short description of each house.

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I wondered where Michiru and I would end up. I didn't feel particularly brave, loyal, intelligent or cunning. What if the hat refused to choose a house for me, deeming me unfit for entrance into Hogwarts? The song finished and the roar of applause yanked me from my dark thoughts, momentarily confusing me before I regained my bearings.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment and began reading off names. Aino, Minako! was one of the first she called, and I watched as the blonde walked calmly up to the stool, seemingly engulfed in black robes that seemed a bit too large for her. I wondered how the normally incredibly boy-crazy girl was dealing with returning to such a young age, but there's more to Minako than just her boy-crazy aspect. Perhaps, even, growing up again would help her to grow out of that phase. Minako went to Gryffindor, and that table cheered loudly.

Others were called, none that I knew, then Mamoru was called up. I wondered where he would be put, but I didn't have long to wait. The doctor-to-be became a Ravenclaw. Directly after him came Chibiusa–hearing her called Chiba Usagi made me look around and wonder if Usagi and Mamoru had finally tied the knot, no matter that Michiru had called her Usagi only hours before on the train, I still never thought of her as anything but Chibiusa. Our Small Lady in odangos, except she didn't have the odangos anymore and she wasn't particularly small anymore, either. Relatively speaking. Chibiusa was placed in Slytherin. That table cheered some, but not nearly as much as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had previously.

Hermione, Chibiusa's acquaintance from the train, went to Gryffindor, and Rei went to Hufflepuff. Strange–although perhaps the hat had pegged her correctly as the most loyal of the princess' senshi. Then it was Michiru's turn.

I squeezed her hand tightly, a last reassurance, before she moved forward, placing the hat on her head and sitting on the stool. Tension thrummed throughout my body as I waited with bated breath for where she would be placed. I caught sight of Usagi quite conspicuously ignoring her, Mamoru staring through her as if there was nothing there, and Rei just plain glaring. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to me, the hat yelled and Michiru was released, to go take a seat near Chibiusa–and save one for me.

Makoto also went to Hufflepuff–another remarkably apt conjecture on the part of the hat. Jupiter, the strongest of the inner senshi, had always been one of the most loyal and protective, as well. Neville, the pudgy boy from the train who had lost his toad, was also sent to Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, from my view, Draco ended up in Slytherin. Which meant we'd have to put up with him constantly. Not my idea of a fun time. But then again, he didn't strike me as particularly brave, loyal, or intelligent, so perhaps Slytherin was the only house willing to take him. Setsuna looked as majestic and calm as ever, even if she was only a little over half her usual height, facing the Sorting Hat with the same aplomb with which she had faced thousands of youma and millions of years. In many ways, she's the most loyal of us all–loyal to a higher cause than an individual sovereign–so it was again no real surprise to me when she was placed in Hufflepuff. Well, perhaps a surprise, but I could also see the logic to that decision.

Ami, the brains of the senshi, was sent to Ravenclaw, without more than a moment's consideration on the part of the Sorting Hat. Harry went to Gryffindor. An uproar commenced when his name was announced, people saying things like, *Potter*, did she say? and *The* Harry Potter? The Gryffindor table positively erupted when the Sorting Hat made its announcement, yelling We got Potter! We got Potter! I wondered again, what the rather scrawny black-haired boy had done to make him so well-known and well-loved in the wizarding community.

Then, far too soon, it was my turn. I sucked in all my courage and walked forward, placing the Sorting Hat firmly on my head and waiting for *something* to happen. A small voice began whispering in my ear. And where should I send you? It asked softly. You'd do well just about anywhere.

Slytherin. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind, whatsoever, as to where I wanted to go. Normally, I'd have had no opinion, but . . . it's fairly easy to understand the way my mind works, in these sorts of situations . . . Michiru was in Slytherin, and I wasn't about to let her face any house–let alone that one, which seemed to attract all the undesireables–alone if I could help it.

Hm. Yes, that is an acceptable choice. Although I certainly don't get many genuinely true and pure-hearted people who *want* to be a part of Slytherin . . . the quality of Slytherin really has degraded. You'd probably do best in Gryffindor, though.

I thought of having to constantly live with Usagi and Minako's contempt, and shuddered.

No? Well, if you're really sure . . . perhaps it will be a good thing after all . . . I guess, then, that you'll go to SLYTHERIN! The last word echoed loudly, and I knew the whole room had heard it, and that they had not heard the rest of the conversation. I took off the hat, laid it deliberately and gently on the stool, and walked over to the Slytherin table, where Draco was glaring daggers at me.

*His* enmity I didn't mind. It was actually rather refreshing to have nothing more than a normal human being after my blood, instead of evil energy-sucking, heart crystal-/dream mirror-/star seed-stealing youma. Not to mention their masters . . . I took a seat beside Michiru and some other, nameless boy and turned to watch the rest of the show.

Little Hotaru-chan, who wasn't so little anymore, became a new Ravenclaw, and I watched Ami and Mamoru welcoming her to the table with a certain (large!) amount of envy. Usagi, who was down on the lists as Tsukino, Serenity! became a Gryffindor, as did the red-headed boy, Ron, that we had sat across from on the train.

Ron, his last name being Weasley, was one of the last people called. He too, like all the people we had met on the train (with the exception of Draco), became a new Gryffindor, and I noticed he was enthusiastically welcomed to the Gryffindor table by two other redheads–his brothers?

Then, after a short speech that made absolutely no sense (and I don't think it was really supposed to), courtesy of Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, food appeared on the previously empty golden plates. The benefits of magic? Michiru murmured as we dug in.

I looked around. There were probably at least three hundred people in the room. Easier than trying to feed everyone by hand.

Lots of food. Far too much–by the time the desert was cleared away, I felt three feet wide, and I'm sure Michiru felt at least as large–probably larger, she tends to worry about her weight more than I do, though neither of us worries much, since we both have insanely high metabolisms. All we senshi do, I think . . . I'm sure Usagi does–the girl eats like a *herd* of horses!

Then Professor Dumbledore stood again. As a note to all first-years–as well as certain others of our student body, he *looked* at the two redheads that had so enthusiastically welcomed Ron to the Gryffindor table, The forest on the grounds is still forbidden to all pupils. And as a general warning–no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Leave that for *during* class.

Quidditch trials will be held the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing should contact Madam Hooch.

Lastly, the third-floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. A few people laughed, but the three of us didn't. Spending practically all seventeen years of my (eleven-year-old . . .) life observing people makes it fairly obvious when someone is deadly serious, and he was. And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! He cried, an effort to lighten the atmosphere (although the rest of the teachers didn't seem too fond of the idea . . .) Everyone pick their favorite tune, ?? I'm not even going to ask . . . and off we go!

Everyone sang the same words–even we first-years could sing it, since the words appeared from the wand he held high in the air, but widely different tunes. Complete musical chaos that had Setsuna (poor girl . . . with a perfect ear, perfect pitch, and a distinct dislike for most genres of music) wincing in acute pain.

Chibiusa sang to the tune of an old American pop song, Yellow Polka-dot Bikini (I don't want to know. I really do *not* want to know). Michiru and I, after picking up the strains of a funeral march coming from the Gryffindor table, retaliated with one of our violin/piano duets, one of the very slowest. One that, incidentally, harmonized rather well with the funeral march, too.

Once everyone else finished, we could see the singers of the funeral march–those two redheads again. And, try as they might, they were unable to stretch the funeral march quite long enough–leaving us the last to stop singing. *smirk* Dumbledore conducted our last few lines–although he seemed rather surprised at who he was left conducting–and then shooed us off to bed.

As we pushed our way out through the crowds towards the Great Hall–keeping an eye on our prefect, who we were supposed to be following, we ran into those two.

Good singing. One congratulated us. Up close, it was obvious they were twins. No one's managed to out-sing us since we first started coming here.

What was that piece you were singing? The other interrupted.

A duet for the violin and piano that I composed. Michiru replied.

I smiled. Even in the shorter version, that song is over seven minutes long.

The first shook his head. I hope you aren't into the business of practical jokes, too, or we'd be out of business. I'm Fred Weasley, and this is my brother George.

Don't listen to him. I'm Fred, he's George. The other stated.

I'm Haruka Ten'ou, and this is my best friend Michiru Kaiou. I returned. You must be Ron's brothers, right? Then I noticed our prefect was almost out of sight. Oops! Gotta run! Talk to you later, 'k? And run we did.

* * *

Our trunks, I was glad to see, had already been brought up to our rooms. Or rather, room, singular. All six Slytherin first-year girls were put in one room, with six *large* four-poster beds with lovely dark emerald green hangings.

Six? Yes, there was Michiru, Chibiusa, and I, a rather chubby and mean-looking girl named Millicent Bulstrode (think female version of Crabbe or Goyle), a rather hard-faced girl named Pansy Parkinson (talk about names that don't fit a person's personality), and a German girl with short blue-black hair, Lindsey, whose last name I didn't quite catch and certainly doubt I could pronounce correctly.

So the six of us unpacked our trunks, got our pajamas on, and fell into our respective beds. Michiru and I slept in separate beds–we decided that we'd refrain from pushing our roommates' tolerance for the first few nights before we returned to sleeping in the same bed (And sleeping is *all* we'd do! READER NO BAKA HENTAI! *THWAP!*).

Before we went to sleep, though, we locked eyes from our respective beds, and I could see the same thoughts in her eyes as were in mine, no doubt. Today had been a very interesting start to what promised to be an interesting, eventful, and all around fun seven years.

As I rolled over to go to sleep, I thought of the twin Weasley brothers and their penchant for practical jokes–perhaps I'd lend them Keldir sometime, if he was amenable. I thought of Chibiusa and how different she seemed from the last time I saw her, only months ago to me, yet years to her.

I thought of bashing Draco more, and a smile lit up my face. He was so *easy* to provoke, after all. And I thought of Michiru, as I always do, and slept.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
6. The First Day

I woke up, my first morning at Hogwarts, in a very inauspicious way. A bucket of water dumped itself on me, before running down the hall, giggling. While wringing myself out, I discoursed at length with the air on just what exactly I was going to do to Draco Malfoy once I got my hands on him, in Japanese and English (and a little pidgin German, just so that Lindsey wouldn't feel too left out), in words that no good little eleven-year-old girl should know, much less say.

Jolly good idea, old chap. Keldir interrupted at one point, and I paused long enough to suggest that he could be my guest if he wished to help. I'm sorry (well, I'm really not, but you know what I mean . . .), but that overly exaggerated English accent he adopted at times was really beginning to get on my nerves. Of course, I think that's a large part of why he does it.

Michiru, of course, was highly amused by my little display of temper, and I think Chibiusa enjoyed it a great deal too. I turned to her, Chibiusa I mean, afterwards, and informed her that I thought she had been hanging out with us a great deal too much in the future, for her sense of humor to have deteriorated so badly. She just grinned and replied that she had always been that way, and the three of us laughed.

At breakfast, served in the Great Hall as supper had been, the mail arrived. By owl, of course, although I can't say I expected the hundreds of owls to flood in that first morning like they did.

Our first class that morning was taught by a old ghost named Professor Binns who, according to rumor, had gotten up one morning to teach and left his body behind, never even noticing that he had died in the mean time. I wasn't sure I believed it, though. He may have droned on and on about old stuff no one cared about (at least, no one in our class), but I think he noticed more than he let on.

It could have been just my imagination, though, lethargy brought on by his monotonous voice. Even Michiru sat there and idly doodled on a sheet of notebook paper, in between the reams of notes we both took absentmindedly. Then, looking at the age of the people involved in the events he was currently discussing, I had a thought that refused to wander back into the grey fog the rest of my mind was engaged in.

Especially when I took a closer look at the names of some of the people and places involved. Lantisa–it was close enough, I thought . . . And ancient Greek and Roman witches and wizards–Theina, who was well known for her wisdom; Ertimas, who loved hunting and Transfiguration spells (a little *too* much . . .); others that were so close to ancient mythological figures that we had studied in school. I wrote a little note to Michiru (Look at the names! Talk to you after class), who had noticed with alarm my increased wakefulness (probably figuring I had felt something *really* awful coming, to make me wake up in this class) and made it into a paper airplane that I tossed in her direction.

Her eyes twinkled at my method of sending a message, and Professor Binns' eyes tracked its progress, I swear! Just goes to show that I was right, he was more aware of the class that he made out to be. And as she read my note, and glanced back through her notes, I could see her making the same conjectures I had. Even these new thoughts, though, were only barely enough to keep me from succumbing to sleep again, induced by the terrible monotony of his voice.

Even Draco, who I'd think would stay awake if only for the joy of sneering at everyone else, had fallen into a stupor along with the rest of the class. One which, however, was quickly dispelled when we were dismissed from class. The class rushed out the door as one, and it seemed to me that Professor Binns had a slightly pensive look on his face, as if he had expected that reaction but didn't particularly enjoy it. I'd make the professor my pet project, I decided, and try and see if I couldn't break him out of that monotony and make the class more enjoyable for everyone.

* * *

Transfiguration was more fun, although Professor McGonagall gave the subtle impression that she didn't like Slytherin very much. I learned why later–she's the head of Gryffindor, which had always been something along the lines of the hereditary enemy of Slytherin. Like an old blood feud, the Gryffindor-Slytherin ill feelings had been going on for a long time, and showed no sign of decreasing in strength.

Also, she's just not one to cross in general. She told us, point blank, first thing, that anyone messing around in her class would be dismissed from her class permanently. We took a *lot* of notes here too, complicated definitions and tips to Transfiguration, along with a long list of things *not* to do, before we were set loose on our first assignment–to turn a match into a needle. Michiru, Chibiusa, and I shoved our desks into a rough triangle, with my notes and Michiru's spread across our desks and Chibiusa's copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration opened to the introduction.

By the end of the lesson, Chibiusa could turn hers a very nice silver, Michiru's was pointed (with an eye on one end, even) but still wood, and I had managed to eliminate all traces of the of the match–the part actually used to light it. We all felt we had done a pretty good job for our first times, and that we could master it within a fairly short period of time. We had gotten further, even taken individually, than any of the others in the class, although Lindsey's match was silvery (if not pure silver, like Chibiusa's) and somewhat pointed (although she forgot the eye of the needle, and the head was still there).

* * *

That was it for the day, as far as classes were concerned. Of course, both Professor Binns and Professor McGonagall had given us far too much homework. We had a paper to write for Binns and another, shorter one for McGonagall–neither were due until the next Tuesday, but if every teacher was like that, we'd have problems keeping up with our work if we let it all slide until the last minute.

So Chibiusa, Michiru, Lindsey and I went to the library, checked out a bunch of books–whatever we thought we'd be likely to need–and beat it to the balcony, where we'd be studying the stars and planets that evening. Lindsey was a spur-of-the-moment addition, as she came with us when she figured out we were going somewhere other than the Slytherin common room, which she found as gloomy and depressing–not to mention badly lit–as we did.

I can't say that a whole lot of work got done, although some did. We sat and talked, for the most part. You three seem like such good friends. Lindsey sighed, at one point. I mean, you act like you've known each other forever.

Chibiusa smiled. That's because it seems like we have. Besides, I'm the only friend Michiru and Haruka have left, and because of my choice to associate with them, they're probably my only friends left, too. We've fought together– She glanced at the two of us, eyes brilliant with laughter, Even if it didn't always seem that way. We've just gone through so much together, it would be practically impossible for us not to like each other.

Either that, or become deadly enemies. Michiru added gloomily.

I sighed. Why did *they* have to come here too, anyway? I asked the page I was currently pretending to read, a small section on the exploits of Ertimas and her brother which I would normally have found fascinating.

Lindsey did not, to my surprise and relief, pursue exactly who were. Instead, she grimaced, shutting her book with a slam and a sound of annoyed frustration. My parents are going to be so furious, I know it. She stared morosely at the cover of the book, her copy of A History of Magic. My father wanted to send me to Durmstrang–it's in Belgium, so it's closer to home, and I'm a pure-blood, so they would have let me enter. But Mom insisted I come here, where she had gone to school. She was so sure I'd get into one of the good houses–that's defined as all of them except Slytherin–and now she'll be crushed, and my dad will start roaring about how they *should* have sent me to Durmstrang after all.

Don't worry too much. Michiru said cheerfully. I'm sure Slytherin's reputation is over-rated. Surely there are *some* good people that get put in Slytherin.

I don't know. I remembered. The Sorting Hat said that Slytherin's quality had really degraded, and that not many good people actually wanted to be put into Slytherin.

The hat talked to you?! A chorus of three asked incredulously.

I smiled. Probably because it thought I should go to Gryffindor, but I insisted on being put in Slytherin. I had the poor thing rather confused, more than likely.

Michiru knew right away why. She admonished me. You shouldn't have gotten stuck in Slytherin too, although I suppose it's to be expected.

I didn't do it just for you, I replied, putting my hand over hers and squeezing it reassuringly. Though I must admit, it was a rather large part of my decision. Can you imagine being stuck in the same house as Minako and *her*? That's what really scared me away from Gryffindor.

* * *

Chibiusa grinned at Lindsey, whose bewildered gaze rested on Haruka and Michiru, both of which having seemed to completely forgotten the existence of the other two girls. She dragged Lindsey several feet away. Don't mind them, they get like that sometimes. She told the other girl. And some people call *me* sugary sweet! Still no response. Oh dear. I really hope you're not a homophobe. That would just totally ruin our friendship, which would be a shame, since I rather like you. She stopped, aware of the fact that she was babbling in her nervousness.

Lindsey asked, not exactly coherently, then the light dawned. Oh! No, of course not!

That's good.

I think it's rather sweet, actually. Lindsey remarked. But aren't they a little young to have decided? We all are, really.

Chibiusa laughed. They're soulmates. The whole time I've known them, I don't think either has been seriously interested in anyone else. Except . . . she thought at times that Haruka might have had a bit of a crush on her mother at one point, but bringing that up would just complicate matters.

For two people so in love as they are, they don't seem too happy. That's sad. Lindsey commented seriously. Life should be happiness and flowers, when you're as close as they act, not whatever has them down. Come to think of it, I don't think either of them smiles very much at all.

Chibiusa sighed. They came here partly, I think, to escape from their problems, and it didn't work. It must be hard, not only bearing the constant weight of betrayal, but also having to remain around those you betrayed.

Lindsey was frankly disbelieving. I can't see either of them betraying anyone, much less close friends. But, if you say so–they must have had an *extremely* good reason.

Chibiusa's face showed her gratification. I'm so glad you think so too! The others all refused to consider their side, and it's just plain unfair, I think. Lindsey, she realized, was deceptively easy to talk to. Afraid of having said too much, and to change the subject, she whipped out a couple of matches that she had snitched. Want to practice Transfiguration? I brought plenty of extras.

Soon enough, Haruka and Michiru rejoined them, as all four took a break from book-work and applied their concentration to the matches instead.

* * *

It was sweet of Chibiusa to drag Lindsey away when we started getting mushy–I knew she was probably poking fun at us behind our backs, but we learned to put up with good-natured teasing, and even laugh along with, a long time ago. When we rejoined them, Chibiusa just calmly pulled out a couple more matches (*snicker* it's nice to know I'm not the only one who snitched some!) and beckoned to us to have a seat.

By the time the sun began to set, casting a beautiful reddish glow over the calm waters of the lake, we had all (finally!) mastered the art of turning a match into a needle and were more than ready to go inside.

On our way down the winding and steep stairs, we ran into the Ravenclaw first-years, on their way up to engage in their night of star-watching (Slytherin came Thursday, I had already checked). Ami glanced and, upon seeing us, looked quickly away, a spark of anger veiled within her eyes. Mamoru just glared, although seeing an outsider (Lindsey) with us, he did try to disguise the fact that he was glaring at us.

Hotaru was the only one who said a word. I still haven't forgiven you. She stated coldly as we passed her by, then her voice softened, a very slight, almost indistinguishable amount. But I am almost beginning to understand why.

Michiru and I affected not to notice Ami and Mamoru's silent, accusatory looks, but Chibiusa frankly glared, anger and contempt warring in her gaze–one which rivaled and surpassed that of her father. And Lindsey seemed slightly bewildered, caught up in undercurrents she only half recognized and didn't, *couldn't* understand.

* * *

Back at Slytherin, we stated the password (Mudbloods) and passed through the common room, on our way to the girl's dorm room, where we'd have only Millicent and Pansy to contend with. Our way was blocked by one of Draco's ugly henchpeople–Crabbe or Goyle, I didn't know exactly which. Then a smooth voice (of which we are all so fond) drawled, So you're too good to associate with the likes of us, filth?

It seemed that was his new nickname for me. I am so stunned by his amazing inventiveness. I don't know, are the rest of the people here like you, Draco? I queried in my own silky voice of extreme sarcasm. If so . . . yes!

At the same time, Filth? Why yes, I do believe you are. Came a calm voice from behind me. How disappointing to find that some Slytherins actually do measure down to my worst expectations. Lindsey added, anger in her voice. My lips twitched. (A hit, a veritable hit! Lindsey: 1; Draco: 0)

Leaving the poor boy gaping and retortless once again, we passed on by, up to the girls' dorm. Whereupon reaching said dorm, we all grinned and gave each other high fives. Then Michiru's stomach grumbled and, in supporting chorus, the rest of ours grumbled as well.

We never had lunch, did we? Chibiusa asked, in the voice of one just realizing that fact. And it's past suppertime already.

So we raid the kitchens. Lindsey grinned. My mom said she and her friends used to do so all the time, and she told me the way.

Lead on. The three of us chorused, our stomachs providing the harmonic line (or perhaps percussion).

* * *

Full from a very successful raid, the four of us returned, giggling quietly to ourselves, to a mostly silent and darkened room. Millicent was already in bed, snoring loudly, another fact that provoked suppressed mirth. I set Keldir loose from the cage which, he complained loudly, he had been cooped up in all stinkin' day. He slithered out of the room, his silver scales glinting like moonlight, as he went to search for the boys' dorm in order to (I assumed) do mischief to Draco.

I fell into bed beside Michiru, completely forgetting in my exhaustion our decision to sleep in separate beds the first few days. Curled up beneath the covers with a comforting and familiar warmth beside me, I was completely relaxed in mind and body, a relaxation that would probably become all too rare in the coming days, and slipped into sleep quickly, easily, and not quite noticing the boundary at which I was no longer awake.

* * *

The shadow stood at the side of the bed, looking calmly down at the two sleeping figures. It sighed, once.

I hope you and the others, whoever they are, can reconcile eventually. All three of you deserve nothing less. And no one deserves to have lost the friendship such brave, noble, intelligent, and loyal people as you are.

It paused. I could be wrong in my estimation of your character, but I rather doubt it. There's something you are all hiding, the three of you and your former friends, and I wish I knew what it was. I just hope that someday, you'll trust me enough to tell me. Until then, I won't pry.

The figure slipped away to its own bed and, passing a window on its way, the cold silver moonlight glinted off short blue-black hair.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
7. A Ring's Return

Our first days at Hogwarts seemed to fly by. Waking up to the wonderful music of Draco's panicked yell of Charms with Professor Flitwick, Herbology with Professor Sprout. Getting a detention from Professor Snape because Draco set our bed hangings on fire, and it spread to the rest of the room (Why didn't Draco get detention, since it was his fault? Just . . . don't ask) Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, stargazing on the roof on Thursday. Pouring judicious amounts of water on Draco's bed so it looked like he wet it (and boy, was he humiliated! We could hear the laughs all the way from the girl's dorm!) Herbology again . . . the list seemed endless.

But that was before Potions. All three of us dreaded it, being put in the same class as the princess–we shared Potions with Gryffindor, a rather stupid thing to do with the two houses that were the worst rivals, I thought.

Potions was taught down in one of the dungeons–rather near the Slytherin hall. Not surprising, since it was taught by Professor Snape, a rather skinny man with greasy black hair and a perpetual sneer locked on his face, the Head of Slytherin. I disliked him on sight–anyone that Draco was fond of . . . anyone who actually liked Draco! Plus the incident with the bed hangings set on fire–that detention was *not* fun, especially with Draco hanging around, free as a bird, and laughing at us.

We all filed into the dungeon: Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey and I; Ron, Hermione, Harry, Neville, Usagi and Minako; Draco and other assorted Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years. Professor Snape's eyes surveyed us all, his cold, empty black eyes that made me supress a shiver as they passed over me. Then, as his eyes met Harry's, an emotion filled that disturbing void–hatred. Not simple neutrality, not dislike, but pure, cold hatred.

Harry does that to people. It's nearly impossible to have no opinion about him–you either really like him, which in some cases crosses the line into idolatry (mostly because of that something that he did, the something important), or you really, really don't. Both Professor Snape and Draco fall into the latter category, while Michiru, Chibiusa, and I are placed in the former, insomuch as we think he's a nice person, worth knowing.

I knew there'd be trouble. Even as I allowed myself to be partially lulled by the charismatic rhythm of his oration, I kept one eye on Harry and the other on Professor Snape.

Then the man began to interrogate Harry, concentrating solely on him and asking questions that he obviously had no clue as to the answer of. Michiru and I exchanged glances, one which Chibiusa intercepted and fully agreed. Something had to be done. Hermione was squirming in her seat like a three-year-old who was being forced to sit for too long, her hand reaching high into the air.

Give him a rest! I interrupted Professor Snape in the middle of his latest question (and boy, did he look miffed, too). He may be a celebrity of some sort, but he's still human, with a human memory. Even if he has read the whole book, all the books, he's not going to remember everything! Why don't you ask Hermione, instead? She looks like she knows.

Sit down. He growled, then turned to glare at Hermione. And the same goes for you. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the class. Well, what are the rest of you doing, sitting there like lumps on a log?! Take notes!

Well, at least I had kept Harry and/or Hermione from getting stuck in detention. I knew the look that had appeared in Snape's eyes while he was humiliating Harry–the same look that had appeared a few seconds before he gave us detention. A gloating, I-have-power-and-you-don't look. Too bad it wouldn't be a good idea for me to take out the Space Sword and shove it up his . . . *whistle innocently* Anyway . . .

Our first potion, done in pairs (Michiru and I, of course! And Chibiusa paired up with Lindsey), was fairly simple. Snape swept throughout the room, his black cape billowing behind him like a bad impression of Dracula, watching people and making everyone far too nervous.

Especially poor Neville. I think he almost completely messed up the potion he and another Gryffindor boy were working on, before Chibiusa jumped in and set him straight. Which led to a big, if quiet and mild-mannered argument between Chibiusa and the other boy, who didn't seem to think anything *any* Slytherin said could be trusted.

I can't say I can blame him too much. It's not like I'd ever trust anything Draco tried to convince me of. Truth to tell, Neville didn't either, but Chibiusa's suggestion calmed him enough to where he looked back at the directions instead of blindly throwing things in. And, lo and behold, the Slytherin girl was *actually* *right*! (Yes, I'm being sarcastic. Couldn't you tell? Being a Slytherin can, at times, be highly annoying. Especially with certain people *coughDracocough* around.)

But all good things must end and, thankfully, that is equally true of bad things. Eventually, we were let out of Potions. Unlike the Gryffindors, who had the afternoon off, we had to go back to Herbology. Professor Sprout is nice, but I've gotten the impression that she doesn't really like us all that much. Probably picking up on the (deserved, I must admit) contempt and abhorrence Makoto, Rei, and especially Setsuna I'm sure feel towards us. At least we didn't share Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, the way we share Potions with the Gryffindors.

Being surrounded by people who have a good reason to hate you is bad enough *one* period out of the week. I don't think I could bear it if we had to survive much more than that. Draco's different. He's fun to fight with, because I know the fight is a pointless one. Funny, that I enjoy so much something that's so devoid of any meaning. Perhaps it's because Draco truly does think he hates me, yet I know I don't hate him. Dislike, yes, but mostly he just annoys and amuses me, sometimes simultaneously.

It seems like most of the teachers don't really like Slytherin all that much, with the sole exception of Professor Snape–he likes the rest of Slytherin, he just doesn't like us. But most of them at least make an honest attempt to suppress their prejudices. Snape doesn't even try (I guess that's why he got Slytherin–like begets like).

* * *

After Herbology, the four of us–as had become habit, over the last week–ascended to the roof, to do our homework and relax, away from the presence of anyone who disliked us. I finished recopying my Herbology and Potions notes, so that they'd actually be readable, and started in on the paper for History of Magic, which I had nearly finished. History truly is a very interesting subject, even when the teacher bores you to tears. Or sleep.

My paper was on a group of sisters that lived back at the dawn of time–nine sisters, and all of them witches with special talents that they later became famous for. Amazing, really, that their names, the real and the Greek version, were nearly identical. Probably because they were born Greek, and as such given names that were not corrupted nearly as much by the ignorant onlookers–Clio, Urania, Melpomene, Thalia, Terpsichore, Calliope, Erato, Polyhymnia, and Euterpe.

Fascinating to me, as much of history is. I love it. But there are times . . . my mind screamed Break time! at me, in the tone that indicates to me that, no matter how hard I try, I won't get much of anything done until I take a break. So I stood up, bounced over to the opposite edge of our particular, smallish roof. Yes, I bounced. One of the of being eleven again–all that energy! Yeesh!

I sat, out of casual sight of the rest of the group, with my legs dangling over the edge, staring out into the beautiful blue sky or down at the Quidditch field, where lots of tiny black spots flew on equally tiny brooms in a dizzying display that made me think, whimsically, of some sort of mating display.

And perhaps I'm not that far off. Quidditch strikes me as one of the things that boys would do or brag about (or both) to get the girls' attention. Maybe vice versa, too, sometimes. A sudden cessation of talk from the other side of the roof, brought by idle winds, plus the equally sudden awareness of another prescence, dragged me from my idle thoughts.

I could kill you now, you know. The whisper, in a husky voice I had come to know so very well. Just a push, and . . . there would be nothing left of you but a random splotch on the ground.

I snorted, equally softly. If it were anyone else–no, strike that, there is one other as well–I'd reply that if I fell, I'd make sure to drag you with me. But the two of you deserve the chance, if that is what you decide you should do. I knew she wouldn't kill me. At least . . . not now. But I meant what I said–if either of them truly felt the need to kill me, I wouldn't try to stop them.

But since you're not going to kill me just yet, please, have a seat. A small murmur . . . suppressed laughter? . . . and long, dark green hair brushed my face, carried by a small gust of wind.

She impatiently shoved the errant hairs behind her ear–an ear without the beautiful garnet red earrings she customarily wore. I wonder why she stopped. But then, other, more pressing questions occupied my mind, as I covertly glanced at her stern profile, gazing unseeingly into the distance. Which . . . ? I couldn't bring myself to finish the question. I wanted, *needed* to know, but I feared what that knowledge would bring. Simple ignorance was safer.

The full power of her compelling eyes was turned upon me. I felt as if I had been taken apart, reduced to my component parts, and examined carefully. I felt that I had failed that examination. Finally, she replied on a sigh. We don't know. Neither of us do. Two people, two balls of deadly golden light that twisted and spun through the air until it was impossible to tell which had originated from which person. You meant yours for me, and Michiru's for Hotaru, I think. You stood there facing us, but your gaze never strayed from my face, your eyes wide and empty of the Haruka I had come to know and love as a sister.

She looked down, briefly, at her right hand. I figured it out, later. Without the logical force of your minds in control of your actions, the two of you seized on, not the strongest of us, but the ones with whom you had the closest emotional ties. She laughed a little, embarrassed, and the slightest blush rose on her cheeks. Of course, it took me far too long to actually begin thinking rationally again. The shadow of a smile twisted the edges of her mouth. I've always prided myself on being the most rational, yet I found it impossible when it was myself at stake.

I laughed. Ah, Setsuna. It just sounds like you're beginning to become a bit more human and less the duty-driven, all-knowing superwarrior. Pause. Yes, it does rather make sense about the emotional ties. Michiru, as Hotaru's mother-figure, was a great deal closer to her than I. And the two of us had always been rather good friends–we share many of the same views.

Setsuna's eyes were locked on her hands, now clasped in her lap. I realized what an awful thing we had done . . . leaving you there, ostrasizing you like that . . . soon after we all went our separate ways. If Hotaru hadn't been with me, I might have returned–but I doubt I would have had the courage. I'm sorry for that, Haruka.

And I'm sorry, for deciding to pursue a course of action that brought nothing but pain to the rest of the team. It's just . . . not in my nature to place all my faith in the abilities of one person, without attempting to right things myself. I know I should have more faith in the princess . . . she hasn't lost yet, after all . . .

But you're afraid that, if you do decide to blindly have faith in her, the other shoe will drop, and not yet' will become this time'.

I nodded. That was exactly how I felt, though I knew the fear was as foolish as my lack of trust.

Setsuna sighed, staring out into space once again. And there isn't much I can say in reassurance. I know what should happen, if a specific set of events does. But I don't know exactly what those events are, so if one of them doesn't happen, or if something happens that shouldn't have, I won't know until the future shown by the Time Gate is thrown into flux.

She frowned. I have the feeling that this is not the way things should have turned out. But whether it was the reversion to eleven years old or the schism of the team that shouldn't have happened, I have no idea. The Time Gate's been in flux ever since the end of the battle with Galaxia, so I have no idea what the consequence of our ill thought out actions will be.

Glancing idly down at my hands, and remembering hers, I was reminded of a gift that I had never thought I would have a chance to return. I took a small item out of my subspace pocket and, holding it in my fist, I held it out to her. I know we don't have Hotaru to look after together, anymore. I said softly, desperately hoping she'd accept the ring that was identical to the ones we had once worn, a lifetime ago, as the sign of our promise. But if you're still willing to be friends . . .

She took it, slipping it onto the fourth finger of her right hand, the barest hint of a tear glistening in each of her eyes. Thank you. Once I found that I had lost the ring, as well as my life and the two of you, I felt as if my heart would break. So . . . are we together as a team again? I could almost see the same hope in her eyes as had lain, unrealized, for so long within my heart and Michiru's.

Of course . . . us against the inner senshi, just like in the good old days. I joked feebly, but then I couldn't contain myself anymore. I flung myself at her, hugging her tightly, a corner of the hole in my heart finally mending, only to find that she had done the same. I've missed your friendship so much.

And I yours. She murmured softly into my hair. And I yours.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8. Flight

When Setsuna and I returned to the group, both of us alive and unharmed, Michiru and Chibiusa both looked considerably surprised, but gladly welcomed Setsuna to the group. Especially Chibiusa–I think the way her beloved Puu had ostrasized us struck her harder than that of the rest of the senshi combined. After Setsuna and Lindsey were introduced, one of the first things Chibiusa did was to drag Setsuna away for a low-voiced conference–or perhaps it was Setsuna dragging Chibiusa, I couldn't really tell–probably a conversation concerning the current situation with the Time Gate and/or the future in general.

Lindsey turned to us. I've been meaning to ask for a long time, but keep on forgetting. Why do you call Usagi, Chibiusa?

Michiru smiled and answered before I had a chance to. We used to be very close to her mother, whose name was also Usagi. And so we got into the habit of calling Usagi Chibiusa, or little Usagi', a childhood nickname that just sort of stuck. Close enough to the truth, I approved. About as close as the story I had been about to tell would have been.

After the conference finally finished, Setsuna joined Chibiusa, Michiru, and Lindsey in trying to figure out the latest Transfiguration homework, while I continued my essay for History of Magic. Somehow, it wasn't nearly as hard for me to concentrate. My mind was clearer because my heart was more healed than it had been in far too long.

* * *

That night I went to bed happy, slept well, and woke up feeling, for once, like all was truly right with the world. Even baka Draco's attempt to dye all my pretty scarves and our beautiful bed-hangings a really putrid color of green didn't faze my good mood. The tie-died look that ended up being the actual result was even rather pretty . . . I decided to keep it like that. Maybe I'd even thank Draco . . .

Preferably, at the top of a large stairwell, so that when he keeled over in shock, he'd also fall down a flight or two of stairs. Yes, I can be evil on occasion, but only when the situation calls for it. And I wouldn't really want Draco to fall and break his neck, I suppose. After all, who would I have to provoke into mindless idiocy then? He has his uses–great stress reliever, coming up with incredibly cutting insults like that, and watching him blow up when I use them. Ever so much fun, really.

On my way downstairs to the common room, I passed by the Bloody Baron, absentmindedly greeting him–the poor dear is gradually getting used to the idea that there are people he can't scare the stuffings out of (me, Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey, probably Setsuna and Makoto as well . . .), but he still looks rather shocked every time I see him and refuse to cower back in horror. I love going out of my way to greet him civilly and even in a friendly manner. It confuses him so much, and he's kind of cute (like a really *ugly* pet) when he gets that slightly bewildered what-just-happened? look on his face.

I know I shouldn't pick on him, but it's like with Draco–I just can't help myself. Then I reached the common room and the sign posted in sight of all. Attention First Years. It said. Flight lessons beginning on Thursday. I read out loud, and grinned. That was, of course, before I saw the next part.

With Gryffindor. Guess who? How . . . intriguing. If the person you guessed possesses white-blonde hair, grey eyes, and a very nasty sneer, you are absolutely correct. Who else?

Thank you. I am perfectly capable of reading it myself, Draco. Very flat tone of voice. And if you dare pick on any of them, I'll tie you up into a tiny ball and throw you into the lake for the sea monster to eat. I turned and walked away. I was incredibly angry, and not entirely sure why, and I didn't want to stay around any annoyances any longer. I couldn't trust myself to refrain from actually hurting him.

* * *

Up in the quiet area of the roof, I calmed down considerably, fairly fast. Having a soft breeze blowing against your face can really work wonders when you're in a bad mood. I still didn't really understand why I'd nearly blown up at Draco like that. It's not like this would be the first time for me to see the Gryffindors. We had Potions with them, after all.

Sitting there talking the issue out with myself, I finally figured out what I thought was the problem. If I goofed majorly–I really didn't *think* I would, but my insecurities wouldn't listen to my mind–not only would Draco be there (who cares what he thinks, anyway?), but so would Usagi. And even though she still hated me, I really didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of her.

I've done so too often already.

With Michiru, I know her limitations nearly as well as I know my own, and we make fools out of ourselves in front of each other practically every time the other is feeling sad or depressed. So we don't really notice, unless the other does something spectacularly stupid as well as foolish.

But Usagi's different. She's the princess. Someday she'll be queen of the world. I never really became friends with her before knowing that. For we Outer senshi, the situation is different. We know her, but we never really knew her before we knew she would someday be our queen. The Inner senshi made friends with her, so they see the friend, not the liege. It's harder for me, for all of the Outer senshi, I think.

We've never really loved her. The Inner senshi love her as a friend, but we love the queen she will someday become, not the sweet child she is now. And I think she senses that.

If she even becomes queen, after all that has happened. I think, I *believe* she will, but from the worried look on Setsuna's face, I'm not as sure as I used to be.

But at least I was calmer, so I rose from my seat on the roof, taking one last look at the beautiful and brightening sky, and went back downstairs to join the rest of the school at breakfast.

* * *

When we saw Draco on his way past the Gryffindor table Thursday morning, we knew there'd be trouble. We being Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey, and I. I don't think there has been a single time when Draco and the Gryffindors–especially Harry and Ron–had been in close proximity and there hadn't been trouble. So we stood up as well and followed him, to be in a position where we could (hopefully) squash any trouble before it started.

Unfortunately, we didn't get there soon enough. Draco snatched *something* from Neville, Harry and Ron stood up, Professor McGonagall showed up and Draco handed that something back with an ugly look on his face. That look meant trouble–not that Draco was ever anything but.

And our first flight lessons were at three thirty that afternoon. Oh, goody. This looked like the beginning of a *wonderful* day.

* * *

We, this time meaning the whole of first year Slytherin (all eleven of us), reached the open area in which we were to have our first lesson before the Gryffindors did. Twenty-one broomsticks were laid out in three rows of seven on the lawn, broomsticks that we did not approach until the Gryffindors and Madam Hooch (our rather short-tempered and impatient instructor) arrived.

Michiru stood to my left and Lindsey to my right, with Chibiusa, Neville, Hermione, and Millicent following her. At Madam Hooch's suggestion, we each commanded our brooms into our hands. Mine jumped into my hand nearly as fast as Harry's, and we both were faster than Draco (nyah, nyah). Michiru had a little more trouble, Chibiusa about as much, Lindsey was about as fast as Draco, and the other two girls only got theirs to roll a little like Hermione's. Neville's broom did not move at all.

The professor showed us the correct way to mount our brooms and instructed us to push against the ground on the count of three. Neville looked so nervous, I think he was about to launch prematurely, but Chibiusa took his hand and smiled encouragement. She's sweet like that. Rather like her mother, except more mature in many ways.

Usagi . . . her klutziness proved to be her downfall once again. She was in the row ahead of us (ours was the middle row), and she had no one to grab her and keep her calm like Neville did. Yeah, you guessed it. She launched early and far too fast.

Then she began to lose her grip. I saw it happening. Literally instinctively, I kicked myself into the air and after her.

What was I doing? What did I possibly hope to accomplish? I had no idea then and I have even less of a clue now. As I said, it was instinctive. We were trained to protect the princess, and that meant keeping her from harm if at all possible. And falling thirty feet or more to the ground with no idea how to land properly definitely qualifies as harm, if not of the life-threatening kind.

Less than a second behind me was Michiru, slightly wobbly but equally as determined to avert disaster. We reached Usagi quickly, since her broom had pretty much stalled as she fought to stay on. I grabbed the princess while Michiru caught the broom once she saw I had Usagi.

As we floated more gently to the ground, I realized that in my worry about Usagi, I had completely forgotten my nervousness about flying. The first flight had been a breeze, and I knew that Michiru felt the same way. I looked down at the small blonde head and grinned.

Once again, princess, we've bailed you out unasked for. Then, all we got was questions we refused to answer. Now . . . nothing will change, I suppose. The same silence and carefully averted eyes, not even a Thank you, or a Why did you save me? But we didn't do it for the thanks. We did it because . . . we're still your senshi, even if you no longer accept us as such. And the job of the sailor senshi is to protect. We protect the solar system as a whole, but, like the Inner Senshi, we also protect you. You just never made the effort to understand us, understand why we took the actions we did. You just judged. Still, it's impossible to stay angry at you. We did what we thought was right, and you did the same. Our basic beliefs are too different for us to ever work well as a team.

But it is still our duty as senshi and our own personal decision to protect you. Perhaps you'll understand us someday, the way your daughter does.

Chibiusa is more perceptive than you, in matters of the way people think. She probably gets it from her father. So . . . I'm not going to hold my breath.

* * *

In his annoyance at being unable to cause mischief at the flight lessons, Draco set fire to our bed hangings again. This time, however, we weren't nearby for Snape to assign the blame to, so Draco got detention. Poor Snape, being unable to find a scapegoat for his beloved teacher's pet's nasty behaviour. The very thought makes me so very sad . . . that I grin evilly even now.

Uranus and Neptune were especially bright that night, a fact that distracted us, as instead of working we spent most of our time staring at our beautiful guardian planets. While we were away, Keldir sneaked into the boys' dorm and . . . how do I say it politely? . . . defecated all over Draco's pillow. Of course, it being our night for watching the stars, it was rather dark when we got back, and someone had forgotten to light the lamps . . .

Need I really say any more? I laughed myself to sleep that night, and dreamed of Michiru. We were flying together, but we didn't need broomsticks. It was just her, me, and the beautiful blue sky.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
9. Angered Thoughts and Angel Wings

I dream of flying nearly every night now. Sometimes it's with a broomstick, but more often not. It just feels so natural that I almost feel I could do it when awake as well. Not that I'm planning on jumping off the roof of Hogwarts to test my hypothesis, although I've come disturbingly close to considering that idea.

I even went so far as to ask Professor Flitwick, in Charms, if there was a spell that would let you fly like that. He looked down his nose at me (a difficult feat since, even at my shortened height, I was probably at least a foot taller than him. Yet somehow, he managed) and informed me stuffily that there was such a spell of Levitation, but it was very complicating and not worth using since it took more time to set up than actually flying someplace on a broomstick would take.

Levitation of other objects was evidently much simpler, as in our next lesson we started learning the spell, Wingardium Leviosa, and practicing in pairs on feathers. Beautiful little spell, that, and one that I thoroughly enjoyed learning for once.

Transfiguration was more notes on theory, which I didn't mind too much, since the theory helped me to understand the practice–if, that is, I took good enough notes to actually understand them afterwards. That part can sometimes be a chore. And in the afternoon, after our class, we went up to the roof and used the Levitation spell to play a game of catch with a small ball that Lindsey had in her trunk. That was fun!

Then, on Friday, Potions. I'm not afraid of Snape, but I don't particularly like him all that much, either, so Potions is always a chore. Especially with Minako and the princess constantly boring holes in my back from the heat of their glares. Oh yeah, I forgot, make that just Minako. Usagi doesn't glare, she just ignores us. But Minako glares strongly enough for two, so maybe that's why I forget.

I had spilled a little bit of my potion, so the two of us were the last ones–we told Chibiusa and Lindsey to go ahead and leave–to exit the Potions classroom. Almost at the door, a voice from behind stopped us. Haruka Ten'ou. I froze. Don't react, I told myself. Whatever he says, whatever he does, just don't react.

I sure wasn't expecting what he did say, however. I believe I knew your father. We were in the same year. Hiroshi? You look a great deal like him.

Anger flared as I turned around. I have no father. I stated harshly, and tried to leave, but Michiru held me back.

He may be different now. She suggested, in a quiet voice Snape was not meant to hear. Like my parents.

I smiled, one completely devoid of mirth. The case is different. A six-year-old me is the same, no matter what my apparent age. We met when we were nine or ten, instead of fifteen. That is a change large enough to adjust your parents' attitudes. But as far as I'm concerned, my early life was most likely completely identical. I left, and this time Michiru came with me.

* * *

Snape looked at the doorway, a blank expression on his face. He knew the Ten'ou girl didn't like him much, but a reaction that intense he had not expected. I have no father, she had said, in a tone that left no doubt as to her feelings on the subject, and very little doubt as to whether or not she was his daughter.

He smiled, remembering Hiroshi flaring up in almost exactly the same way when he encountered something he felt was wrong. Their group had always teased him gently, saying that with his sense of honor, he should be in Gryffindor.

Then, when they all joined Voldemort–even himself, no matter that it was only a ruse on behalf of Dumbledore–he had broken away from their group, saying that he could no longer be a part of a group that was willing to do that.

Snape had wanted to run after him, protest and say he wasn't really on Voldemort's side, but he couldn't. And then Hiroshi disappeared–moved back to Japan, he had learned later–and never again reappeared. Until now. The spirit of the Hiroshi he remembered had appeared in the girl he was sure was Hiroshi's daughter.

He wondered what her relationship with that other girl–the teal-haired one, Michiru?–was. During the Sorting, he had watched her and, although she had shown dismay at where Michiru was sent, she felt no surprise at all when she went to the same house. Almost as if she had been expecting it. But how?

The girl might look almost exactly like Hiroshi, but there was an air of mystery around her that he had never possessed.

* * *

It was a good thing we had the rest of the day off after Potions. I don't think I could have made it through other classes, I was in such a temper. Okay, I'm not usually disturbed by much, but mentioning my father is a sure-fire way to make me go absolutely ballistic.

Michiru knows this. We may not know everything about each other, but our feelings about our respective families was never something we tried to hide. At least now I have a family to be proud of, but the mention of my former family still angers me more than just about anything else.

So Michiru knew that I really needed to be alone and let off some major steam, and she didn't follow me up to one of the smaller roof areas, but went to join our other friends on our normal roof space. I did have my homework with me–subspace pockets are wonderful for that, they can hold a great deal more than a backpack or bookbag ever could–so I sat and fumed, did some homework, fumed some more, and generally blew off as much steam as possible.

At some point, I transformed. Being Sailor Uranus has, unlikely as it seems, been a very calming influence on me. It gives me something to live for and work towards more important that winning the next race. Uranus and Michiru. Setsuna, too, in her own way. And Chibiusa is just special–with all of her mother's good qualities and few of her bad ones. Especially now that she's grown up somewhat, she doesn't whine or gorge herself on food the way she used to.

I had never been one to form close bonds with much of anyone–another problem that I could probably trace back to my father. Never, that is, until I met Michiru. The two of us were closer to each other, almost instantly, than I had ever been to anyone in my life. That, and the promise of power that I didn't want, made me keep my distance for far too long. Then . . . there was always a similar bond between us and Setsuna and, later, Hotaru, the bond of being senshi of the outer planets, nearly as strong but in a different, platonic, way.

Being a sailor senshi has changed my life in so many ways, but even the good thing (more often than not) that my life has become is not enough to erase the memories of my life before. Memories of my father, and my mother–a proper little wife who did not have the courage to stand up for herself, much less for me.

Sometimes, even at my most blindly angry, I wonder . . . will I ever be truly free of him?

* * *

Two girls stood in a hall. It didn't really matter which hall, although this was a well-lit, wide hall, since it was near the entrance and the Great Hall. Both are rather short, although they are still taller than most of the other girls in their year, the first year class. Both wear the customary black robes that all students at Hogwarts are supposed to wear–but one, with dark green hair approaching black, less than half an inch taller than the other, wears a garnet red sash that matches her eyes. She stands one one side of the hall, her face a study of impassivity. Aside from the sash, the only decoration she wore was a small gold ring, on the fourth finger of her right hand. The other girl had auburn hair tied up into a high ponytail, thin wisps of hair escaping on either side of her face. She had emerald eyes and small, rose-shaped earrings, one in each ear. Her face reflects her emotions, a mixture of anger and disappointment.

The brown-haired girl asked. They killed you, Setsuna, and yet you forgive them? She tossed her head. I don't care if it's necessary for Crystal Tokyo to exist, I'm *not* forgiving them.

Setsuna's eyebrows twitched, and she smiled ever so slightly, grimly. I'm afraid that's not an issue. At Makoto's look, she explained, the Time Gates have been in flux practically since the final battle–something happened that shouldn't have, but I don't know what. So as of right now, the existence of Crystal Tokyo has nothing to do with whether or not you decide to make up with Haruka and Michiru. Something bigger is happening.

I assume that's why Chibiusa is here, because my futuristic counterpart sensed some great change coming, and didn't want it to affect Chibiusa. She didn't know about Hogwarts when she arrived, so it's a good conjecture that this wasn't meant to happen.

She shrugged and turned away. Anyway, there's nothing I can do or understand until the Time Gates clear up. Except, of course, my homework. Ja. She began walking away.

But Setsuna, you still haven't told me why you forgave them!

Setsuna turned back and smiled, holding up her right hand so the ring would glint in the light. For the same reason Haruka killed me and not any of the rest of you, and would have still done so even if everyone had been there. Because we have a bond, and the bond needs me for any of us to feel complete. It would be best if Hotaru, and the rest of you senshi, were part of it too. But the Outer Senshi were together, alone, long before we knew of any of you. And if you really consider the matter, you'll realize that both of them are punishing themselves far more harshly than you or I ever could.

And she left, leaving the girl with auburn hair standing alone in the empty hall, beginning to wonder if what she had done had really been the right thing to do. Finally, she shook her head and went the same way the other had. She had homework to do, too, after all.

* * *

In the process of the afternoon, I began to notice something about being Sailor Uranus. Staying like that allowed me to access something–the of the planet, such as they were, perhaps–that allowed me to revert back to my adult, seventeen-year-old form. Soon, I could switch between the two with ease, although I chose to stay eleven for the most part. I prefer being eleven–it means I have at least surrogate parents who care.

But then, what do I know about my parents? Nothing really. And while I completely rejected Michiru's suggestion–that my parents were as different this time around as hers were–in the heat of anger, I was beginning to reconsider it now that most of my anger had cooled off. I needed to find out myself and I didn't see how.

There were two problems, really. How to return to Japan (and come back here once I finished), and how to keep him from recognizing me. Then I realized that one of the problems had already been solved. My seventeen-year-old form would be the perfect disguise. As to how . . . I took out my copy of the elemental theory book, hoping it might provide some clue as to how I could harness the winds.

Relaxed, now that my mind had been made up, I read and, eventually fell asleep, exhausted by the mental effort spent to keep myself in check.

* * *

I found myself standing on a field full of goldenrod-yellow grass, staring up into a beautiful blue sky, deeper in hue than that of the earth. And in place of the sun and the moon, a band arced across the sky, like an eternal meteor shower. Somehow, I knew I had come to an old memory, of what Uranus had once been like. In the distance, farther away than they looked to be in the clear air, there were imposing mountains, on average at least two to three times taller than the highest on Earth.

It was a wonderful place, the first place I had ever really felt completely at home. Not surprising, since it is my home, my home and the source of my power–both tied it to me in very special ways.

I see you've found your way here. A gentle voice–like the voice of a small breeze on a perfect day–observed from behind me. I turned–not as quickly as I could have, because I knew that, whoever it was, she was not a threat to me.

She had hair as short as mine had ever been, navy blue in color, and bright yellow eyes the same color as the fields of grass. Her skin had the same lightly tanned hue as my own, and she wore a plain white sundress. At which point I realized that I was not still in my sailor fuku, but instead wore a T-shirt and shorts of the same light material. Who are you? I asked, and hoped the answer to the question wouldn't embarrass me too much through my faulty memory.

She smiled. I'm not surprised you don't recognize me. Even if you remembered everything, you probably wouldn't. I was there for your initiation as Sailor Uranus, heir and crown princess of Uranus, in this form. But most of the time when I'm with you, I'm invisible.

I asked. Now that she had mentioned it, hazy memories were beginning to return. Of the initiation, if not of her presence. But I rather thought Uranus was Father Sky so why are you . . .

A girl? Uranus grinned. I'm all in your mind. And this visage is the one that you're subconsciously most comfortable with. She gestured around. As is this the proper setting. She sighed. I had forgotten what I used to look like during the Silver Millennium. I really am . . . was . . . a beautiful place.

How could you forget?

She sighed. Because you have forgotten. The royalty of each planet is tied to the planet with incredibly close bonds, but the senshi of a planet *is* the planet, and the planet is the senshi in many ways.

The fracturing of the senshi's memories came, for the most part, because of the devastation of their guardian planets, but when you senshi forgot, so did we, the planets, and the forgetfulness of all of us only made it less likely that anything would be remembered.

I nodded. It made sense, in a frightening way. So why has this happened now? I gestured to the landscape, to Uranus, and to myself. I haven't suddenly begun remembering events from the Silver Millennium, which is the only thing I can think of that would make sense to provoke this situation.

Uranus smiled. Silly as it may sound, this is happening because you're beginning to grow up. All of you, forced back to a younger age, are reliving these years in a more– she waved a hand a little, obviously looking for the right word. –productive fashion, reshaping your personalities to more closely approach those of your previous incarnations.

I wrinkled my nose. I'm sure I was a wonderful person back then. I said dryly, But that's not who I am right now. I wasn't raised to be a princess and a warrior and frankly, I like who I am. I don't want to change back to what I might have been, a person I don't even remember.

She tilted her head. So you don't want to find out if your father is a person worth knowing, but continue on hating his memory? You'd rather return to the person who only cared for speed, fighting, and Michiru? That's the person you were in this incarnation, before you were forced back six years. Now, you've even noticed yourself that you're becoming more philosophical, less rigid in your determination to deny your father's memory by becoming a better man than *that* one could ever be.

By growing up again, in a changed environment, with memories to guide you away from mistakes you might otherwise have made, you are growing naturally towards the type of person your first incarnation was–somewhat philosophical, enjoying quiet and opportunities to think, yet constantly climbing trees and running and generally being the most *alive* of the senshi.

You don't have to become who you used to be. I'm not saying that. But you grew up in the wrong way to fully realize your own potential, as did the others. And now that you are changing, opening up, you are finally ready to accept the next stage in your development as a senshi. I know, because before now, I was not aware that I had the ability to gift you with this power.

She held out both hands, and took mine in hers. A roaring sound filled my ears, the sound a tornado might make if I was stuck in the center of it. Something roared through my veins as well, a heady feeling of power that, reaching my mind, opened up new pathways, images of what I could do with my power that would never have occurred to me before.

Uranus Eternal Make Up! I said softly, awe in my voice, as the winds of power wrapped around me. The skirt of my fuku lengthened a bit, into more of a dress, and the entire dress became a beautiful navy blue. My choker lost its star, reverting back to the plain navy blue choker it originally had been. A goldenrod yellow sash wound around my waist and ended in a small bow in the back. My boots stayed essentially the same, although the heel lowered some–which would make it a lot easier to run and fight in.

And the wings . . . beautiful, pale yellow-white angel wings, feathery and each at least as long as I was tall. Wings that I discovered with delight I could withdraw and extend easily, unlike those Eternal Sailor Moon had worn.

Uranus must have read my mind–I wouldn't have been surprised or offended since she is me in many ways, after all. Usagi is no longer Eternal Sailor Moon. She, too, will have to regain her power the right way, as will the rest of you. She shot me a warning glance, and I knew that I wouldn't like what she had next to say.

You mustn't tell Michiru.

At my instinctive protest, she held up a hand. I mean it. It is essential that Michiru do this in her own time, in her own manner. If you tell her your experiences, her own will be tainted, possibly enough to where she will be unable to take the next step and reassume the Eternal power.

She smiled. You'll know, though, when she finds Eternal Neptune. The power signature, no different to lower stages, is unmistakable to another Eternal.

With that last peace of information, she hugged me tightly–a hug I happily returned–and began to fade. Briefly, though, she recoalesced. You might want to talk to Snape about your father. She suggested, a small grin on her face. They were in the same year, after all.

* * *

When I awoke, I remembered everything that had happened in that dream that was not a dream. And the cool air at dusk shimmered with the vague, remembered impression of beautiful, pale yellow-white angel wings.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
10. Musings

In an empty classroom, two girls waited for the rest of their class to arrive. What's wrong, Makoto? The black-haired girl asked.

It's nothing, Rei. The other girl sighed, sinking lower into her seat. Just . . . never mind.

I saw you talking with Setsuna yesterday. Rei continued softly. Whatever she said, I'm sure it had a pretty big impact on you. She smiled a little. You're beginning to doubt whether what we did was really the right thing.

Makoto's head shot up. That's it exactly. How did you know?

Rei looked down. I've had my doubts almost since day one. But . . . I've made my decision. I may not have been a very good friend to Usagi in the past, but I will always stand by her, regardless of my personal doubts.

Makoto nodded silently. It all came down, really, to the bonds of friendship, loyalty, and duty that all the senshi shared. Yet, friendship, loyalty, and duty all pointed her towards the princess, but why did that decision seem so wrong?

Where did her heart lie? And why did either decision, any movement from the fragile line she walked to either side of the unspoken argument, seem so wrong somehow?

She looked over at the resolute face of one of her best friends. It would be so easy to just stay with Usagi. Or was it Serenity now? Whatever her name, she was essentially the same person. It didn't matter. But would taking that easy route truly be the right thing to do? She didn't know, and her indecision was tearing her apart.

The rest of the class entered, and Makoto sighed, shoving away her thoughts and worries for a time as she attempted to pay attention to the class that was starting. Perhaps it would provide some sort of clarification. Or at least, take her mind off her problem, for a time.

* * *

Lindsey lazed on her bed, doing homework. Most of the time, she'd be up on the roof with the others, but she thought she'd leave them alone today. Even someone empathically nil would be able to see that the four of them had a lot of catching up to do. She paused, chewing absentmindedly on her pencil.

I wonder if Setsuna is one of the people they supposedly betrayed. That would explain some things, the anxious looks and tension when Haruka and Setsuna were talking alone together.

She shrugged. Until they chose to make it so, it wasn't any of her business. She sighed quietly, gazing unseeingly out a nearby window. It wasn't her place to go butting into other peoples' secrets. Especially when she had several of her own that she was uncomfortable with revealing to the general public. Or even to friends, since they didn't trust her enough to reveal their own secrets. Yet.

She smiled. The secrets would come out eventually, that she was sure of. Her thoughts wandered slightly to the pink-haired girl she now called friend and the concern she had displayed when Haruka and Michiru's relationship had first become apparent, and an extra sparkle was added to her yellow-green eyes as she snorted quietly, a large grin on her face. Homophobic? Not likely.

The smile remaining on her face, she turned her attention back to her homework. Blegh, history. She really couldn't see what Haruka found so fascinating about it.

* * *

Keldir curled up around the top of one of the posts of Haruka and Michiru's bed and sighed with mixed frustration and disgust. There was something different about his owner, but she wouldn't tell him what.

It's a long story. I'll tell you when there's more time. He hissed mockingly to himself. Couldn't his baka owner-and-friend tell that he was getting worried?!

Really, it just wasn't right for a certifiable human being–albeit one that has a very noticeable aura of magic around her even when she's not practicing it–to start taste/smell-ing like a bird, when he knew she hadn't even been around Avarana in a long enough time that any taste/smell should have worn off.

He curled up even more tightly. Humans. He doubted he'd ever understand them. They were fun partners for practical jokes, though. Certain humans, at least. He wouldn't want to try to do anything with that Malfoy kid. Yuck.

* * *

Makoto paused at the end of the stairway leading to the portion of the roof where the would be. She sighed as she sat down on the top step and stared at her feet. Was this really what she wanted to do?

She remembered the time she had idolized Haruka at the same time she despised Sailor Uranus. The handkerchief she had gone to such lengths to get back when it blew away, and the way Uranus and Neptune had just stood there, waiting to see if her heart crystal contained a talisman.

She smiled mirthlessly. How funny it was, that the heart crystals they sought for so long had ended up being their own. She sighed. Deep down, had she ever really forgiven the two of them for just standing by and waiting? She had come to understand, if not to agree, but had she ever *really* forgiven them for that, much less for their betrayal during the final battle with Galaxia?

Trying to search her heart for the answer to both questions, she found it a murky and incomprehensible, filled with half-answered questions and as much indecision as her mind had displayed.

A hand brushed her shoulder and she looked up into the blue-green eyes, filled with a slightly quizzical expression, of one of the people who had figured foremost in her confused thoughts.

It's getting dark. Haruka said quietly, her mouth forming a tentative half-smile. You might want to think about going inside soon.

Makoto stood up. She assented, uncomfortable with conversation or, in truth, contact of any sort with the young woman standing nearby. Well . . . I guess I'll be going.

Good night. Haruka told her back, in the same quiet voice.

She didn't answer as she walked slowly back down the steps she had walked up hours before, cursing herself for a coward and an indecisive fool. Why couldn't she make up her mind? It shouldn't be that hard.

Except it was. And she had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

The blonde girl lay curled up on her bed, blue eyes open and staring into nothing with wetness showing in both. She hugged her pillow close, and with one slightly shaky hand reached up to wipe the tears away.

Tears belonged to her former self. And, despite the fact she was now eleven again, she tried her best not to cry. All crying would do would be to alert other people and contaminate them with her own private sorrows. And that was something she had told herself she would not do anymore.

After all, a Gryffindor had to be brave, didn't she? Even if she was a total failure.

Tears threatened again, and her mouth formed the word, why? Why did Chibiusa stay with Haruka and Michiru? Surely she didn't hate her mother that much, that she would automatically reject her? Why had Setsuna joined now, too? Sure, it might be because Crystal Tokyo would not come into existence without that action, but she felt it ran deeper than that. If that had been the case, why would she be wearing the ring again? The ring that signified a vow the three elder Outer Senshi had sworn.

The other two . . . had she been sitting up, she would have shaken her head, an angry look coming over her face. From the beginning, the had made a point to rub in the fact that they didn't like her, didn't trust her, and would not believe in her. For a time, after they swore their allegiance, things had seemed better.

Yet . . . they never believed her when she said the Starlights could be trusted. They put their silly duty to protect the solar system from invaders before everything. They didn't wait to see if the Starlights were actually evil, but just struck out, despite their vows of loyalty to her.

Then, in the final battle . . . they had betrayed her, betrayed the other senshi, *killed* two of their fellow senshi, again merely because they refused to believe in her. The team had been better off without them. Would be better off without them.

She saw that, and she thought the other inner senshi and Hotaru thought so too. She had believed that Setsuna thought the same as well, but then the green-haired senshi of time had defected to the other side. The same thought still remained uppermost in her mind. Why?

Why did she have to continually prove to everyone that she was worthy of their trust? She snuggled deeper within the covers, expelling a nearly silent, yet still heartfelt, sigh. At least none of the inner senshi, none of her *friends* had defected.

But why was she having so much trouble suppressing a tiny voice that whispered softly, deep within her mind, yet' ?

* * *

The school was quiet and dark, with everyone in bed–none of the houses were stargazing that night. All were asleep, and for the most part it was quiet. Some few people talked in their sleep and Minako, the aspiring idol singer, actually sang popular songs until someone, woken by the noise, kicked her. At which point she rolled over and stopped singing, much to the relief of that girl, and all was quiet again.

Some people dreamed, some did not, but one dream in particular would have stood out as being different from all the rest, had anyone been watching those dreams, of the sleeping children at Hogwarts.

* * *

She ran, shrieking childishly and having ever so much fun doing so, through the elaborate dark catacombs that were the defining feature of her home planet. That, and the eternal darkness in which the Sun seemed merely another star in the magnificently starry sky.

Climbing up to her favorite spot, she smiled as she surveyed the cave with eyes that glowed, ever so slightly, with the unconscious effort needed to produce her perfect night vision. I'd forgotten how much fun being a child and acting like one could be. She told the cave wall across from her with a sigh of contentment, absentmindedly tossing her head to get the dark-green hair that had fallen onto her face during the run out of her eyes.

It was so long ago, my childhood. She admitted wistfully.

So aren't you glad you get to experience it again, this time with the wisdom adulthood has brought? A voice asked, as a shadow disassociated itself from the cave wall and walked over, looking up at the small girl with a slight smile.

It certainly has been an experience. She admitted ruefully. Although, looking back so far, I can't say that I acted with much wisdom. She peered keenly at the other. Who are you? You look familiar . . . And indeed, the tall young man with mahogany hair and bright emerald eyes did.

He smiled more widely. You're only human. I'd have thought you would've figured that out by now. As for me, you may call me by whatever name you wish. Destiny . . . Fate . . . Time . . .

The girl's face cleared and she jumped off the ledge and into the man's arms, stretching and changing until she had regained her adult form. Pluto! It's been a while! She laughed, garnet eyes twinkling. I can see you're still the same incorrigible, egotistical idiot as ever, though. She pulled back. But, why are you here? Is there some other evil approaching? Does it have something to do with the fact that the Time Gates still haven't cleared up?

Pluto shook his head. I'm afraid I'm as much in the dark about the last two as you are, Setsa-chan. However, as to why I am here . . . He stopped, scratching his head. I know this is going to seem really mean–

Setsuna sighed, rolling her eyes. I'm a big . . . little . . . she waved a hand exasperatedly, . . . whatever, you know what I mean. I can live with being insulted.

He pursed his lips. Okay, but you're not going to like it. He warned. I'm here because you're finally beginning to grow up.

Setsuna gave him a leery eye. Pluto, I'm over four thousand years old. Don't you think that any growing up I was possibly going to do, I could have done within that time period?

Normally I would say yes, Pluto admitted, but, Setsa-chan, you became Sailor Pluto, the omniscient' senshi of time, when you were still a child! You never had a chance to grow up properly. Until now, that is.

He paused. I wonder if that's the reason the Time Gates are acting up? I'll have to look into it. Anyway, the first step, for you, was to begin acknowledging that you're not omniscient. That you're as human as the rest of your friends, and as prone to errors and doing stupid things.

Setsuna's smile twisted, thinking about her original decision to walk away. Yeah, I can definitely be incredibly moronic along with the best of them.

Pluto squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Don't beat yourself up about it too much. You know they don't mind that it took you so long to return. They're just glad you're back.

I know. She sighed.

So, because you're beginning to grow up, you have reached the next stage in your development as a senshi, as our bond has reached new levels. He smiled at her. Do you remember what it was like? Your memories, as Sailor Pluto, were not as badly shattered by the Ginzuishou as those of the rest of the senshi, and yet they were eroded by an age none of the rest of the senshi had to endure. On top of that, Setsuna Meiou still remembers practically nothing, I'm sure.

It can be confusing at times. Setsuna admitted ruefully. Knowing that I grew up with a relatively normal childhood at the same time I was watching over the Time Gates? That paradox is enough to make even *my* head hurt sometimes.

Pluto smiled. Yes, it is rather confusing. So. He seemed to bring his attention abruptly back to the subject. Since you have now been given the opportunity to grow up the proper way, and are taking that opportunity, I now have the capability to boost you to the next level. Here. He held out his hands, sparkling with burgundy power so dark it seemed almost black, for Setsuna to take.

Hesitantly at first, she reached out to take the hands, and the increase in power, offered, and gasped as she felt the warmth of that power beginning abruptly to flow through her veins. Pluto Eternal Make Up! She smiled widely as she said the phrase, the power already taking on physical form as it enwrapped her.

She found herself in a short black dress, perhaps a foot longer than her fuku, with tiny short sleeves–about the length the ones on her fuku had been–and a burgundy sash tied around her waist, ending in a small bow at the back with long, flowing ribbons. Also, there were the wings. Angel wings of burgundy toned down to the garnet of her earrings and eyes, they stretched to a wondrous length and were usable as well.

With childish delight, she stroked the feathers in one of them, marveling at their soft beauty. Yet, returning her attention to other matters, she withdrew her wings into nonexistent invisibility. Am I . . .

Pluto smiled as he looked down at his now solemn avatar. You are the second to gain this power. This does not include Eternal Sailor Moon, as she no longer has the ability to transform to that level. Her ascendance to the level of eternal before was a matter of necessity, no more. And now that the team is no longer faced with that necessity, she must also regain that power in the proper manner.

You mustn't talk of this with anyone. He continued, now unyielding. Except the other Eternal senshi. If you talk with the ones who have not yet ascended to this level, you could badly influence their own experience, possibly to the point where they would be unable to take this step.

Eternal Sailor Pluto nodded. It made sense, really. And wasn't all that different from what she had always done, protecting the senshi from themselves by telling them as little of what she saw in the future as possible.

Good girl. He smiled and winked. I'll see you around. Ja! He made as to walk away, disappearing as he went. Until only an ageless-looking young woman in a short black dress was left. And eventually, she too disappeared, returning to the land of wakefulness.

* * *

Really, it was a good thing that no one was awake in Hufflepuff. Because as the small, green-haired girl tossed and turned, brief flashes of wings could be seen. And, especially where the other senshi were concerned, it was just as well no one felt the need to ask Setsuna why and how she had grown those beautiful, garnet wings.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
11. Halloween

Halloween morning dawned bright and sunny, as the entire school was filled with the delicious smell of baking pumpkin. In Charms, the Gryffindors began learning to make objects fly.

No one mentioned to them that that lesson had been taught to Slytherin first, two days before. They didn't really want to have to deal with a riot on Halloween, after all. There were many more interesting things to do instead.

To the well-masked surprise of all who knew her at all, Usagi was one of the first to master the spell Wingardium Leviosa, drawing from memories of her own experiences with flight. Soon after, Hermione mastered it as well, and the two girls exchanged congratulatory grins. Hermione had always kind of reminded Usagi of Ami, something that prompted the cautious friendship that eventually grew between the two.

To be quite fair, Hermione knew that Usagi–or Serenity, as she knew the blonde girl–was hiding something, but she didn't pry. When Serenity really wanted Hermione to know, she'd tell her.

Until then, she'd just content herself with teasing her friend about how much like the pictures of the ancient, mythical royalty of the moon she looked, with her strange hairstyle. And for the girl to be named Serenity–after either the queen or the crown princess at the time of the fall of the supposed Moon Kingdom–made her think that Serenity's parents had seen the legends too. And wouldn't *that* be amusing?

* * *

That same morning, Michiru woke to the realization that a warm body slept, snuggled up beside her. Now, in a different setting, she'd enjoy the opportunity to just lie there, except . . . for one thing, Haruka nearly always managed to roll over to the absolute opposite edge of the bed (taking all the covers with her in the process!) by the time she woke up. Usually, by this time, the only parts of them touching were fingers, if that. Also, she always, without fail, got up before Michiru in the mornings. Something had to be wrong, for this to have happened.

She whispered. The rest of the dorm remained asleep. The petite blonde's eyes twitched infitesimally, as if in preparation to opening, yet remained closed. Had Michiru not seen the slow rise and fall of her beloved's chest, she might have begun worrying if Haruka had died in the night, so still did the figure remain.

She asked again, a little louder, and shook the still figure a bit. Haruka, stop scaring me!

I'm sorry. Came an apologetic voice, recognizably Haruka's from the first syllable, yet not coming from her mouth. I can't seem to help it. A brief impression of a laugh. This is what is called an out-of-body experience, I guess. Rather interesting really . . . The words trailed off, leaving the impression that more had been said.

Oops. The voice, Haruka's voice, spoke again. It seems I also need to be in contact with someone to speak to them. Impression of a shrug. And, just as a guess, you can't see me, either. On a sigh. I really wish I knew what is causing this.

Michiru laughed a little, softly. No more than I do. She replied, in as soft a voice as her queries had been.

Ah, cheer up, Michi-chan. Haruka's voice had become more cheerful. I won't be like this forever! Just until . . . well, I don't know really. But this is not permanent. Mischievously. And just think of all the tricks I can pull!

Michiru shook her head, a grin on her face. In some ways, she doubted Haruka would ever change. Which was, of course, what made life interesting.

Still smiling, she got up and got ready to go to class later that morning. The world hadn't stopped just because Haruka's mind was temporarily disassociated from her body, after all.

* * *

Being, to all intents and purposes, a ghost, can be a very interesting experience. I *did* have a good guess as to why this was occurring, but I couldn't tell that to Michiru–I figured it probably had something to do with my ascension to Eternal, and I *had* promised. All that extra energy channeling itself through a body that hasn't quite gotten used to it yet . . . bound to have some sort of strange effect.

I just hoped it would wear off at some point.

But until it did, I figured I might as well scout around the school–see if I could find someone else who had gone Eternal, and warn them. Michiru wasn't yet, as far as I could tell. And Uranus had told me that I *would* be able to tell, so I just sighed and hoped she would soon. And flitted off to investigate.

My first surprise came when I found Setsuna. You've gone Eternal too? I blurted, forgetting that I couldn't speak with her, since I wasn't in contact with any part of her.

The next came when she looked up at me and frowned. Ssh, not so loud! Do you want everyone to hear?! It's supposed to be a secret. Then her eyes widened. Haruka, you're . . . floating?! How on Earth . . . ?

Instant facefault. You can see me? And hear me?

Of course I can. She stated, as if the whole topic was not worth mentioning. You're right there, and as far as I know I'm not going deaf or blind yet!

I crossed my arms. Well, you're the first. Even Michiru couldn't see me, and she could only hear me when I touched her. Seeing Setsuna begin to smirk, I groaned and kicked at her arm. Setsuna no hentai! Not like that, as you very well know.

She rubbed the place I had kicked. Hey! That hurt, you know! And grinned sheepishly. And I can't help it! You leave such openings . . . just begging me to insert a comment!

I slap my head. Oi vei. And roll my eyes. What ever did I do to deserve getting stuck with you?

Setsuna shrugged, still grinning. She knew I didn't *really* mean it, I had said so enough times before. Just lucky, I guess. Then she returned to seriousness. I'd think Michiru would be able to see you if anyone could.

I think it probably has to do with the fact that you've gone Eternal. I suggested. By the way, what do you look like then?

She smiled. How about I show you tonight? When there isn't anyone around.

I grinned. Sounds great! Oh, but I must warn you–I think this, my insubstantial state, was caused somehow by the increased power I received from going Eternal. So, if you wake up disassociated from your body tomorrow morning . . . all I'm saying is, don't be too surprised.

She nodded. I'll remember that. Then, she looked at her watch. Oh dear, I'm almost late! Gotta run! And run she did, while I sat there floating, trying to decide what to do next.

I shrugged. I doubted I'd have any problem finding *something* interesting to do. If worst came to worst, I could always play a few tricks on Draco, after all.

* * *

The small girl with short, shoulder-length hair rushed down the hallway, hoping she could get back to her dorm in time to change as well as deposit her books before the feast. She looked down at her robe and sighed. At least the potion she had spilled on it wasn't eating through the fabric or anything like that yet. But still . . . she didn't think it would be quite right to go to *the* Halloween feast with a huge, growing splotch of neon green covering the front of her black robe.

At one point, she thought she heard a cheerful, familiar voice and paused, slowing down. Ooh, nice color! A bit bright, though.

Turning around, she saw no one in sight, though. Least of all the mischievous blonde who had been playmate and father to her when she was growing up. The second time around, that is. She sighed–was that a bit of loneliness in her sigh? Or perhaps even wistfulness?

As she changed, she remembered that time they had passed on the stairs–it seemed like ages ago, now. Her accusation, in such a cold voice, and the hurt she had seen in their eyes. Hurt that changed to . . . acceptance? Almost like they had expected her to go out of her way to make the situation worse. Like they expected everyone to blame them and revile them.

She paused, fully dressed but not quite ready to face the rest of the world yet, and bit a thumbnail. Did she really understand, as she had told them she was beginning to? She did, and yet she didn't. Trust of Sailor Moon was such a deeply ingrained part of her life, now–ever since she had been the only one to risk everything to rescue Sailor Saturn, the Messiah of Silence. She could have still been an enemy, but Sailor Moon–Usagi–had refused to believe that.

And yet . . . Haruka-papa, Michiru-mama. Setsuna-mama. Those three had been the ones who were willing–who volunteered!–to raise the weak, tiny little baby she had become. For such a short time, they had been a family. A true family, no matter what anyone else might choose to say. Both that sense of family, and the bonds that all the Outer Senshi shared, pulled her towards them. Towards the family she had lost, that day when Uranus and Neptune had decided to forsake their team, in vain.

It was funny, that she'd only now recall little things. Like the way she was sure they had been crying, when Galaxia killed them–although how she knew that, when she had been dead herself at the time, she didn't know. Perhaps, being dead, she had somehow seen the tears they cried inside, where no one else could see.

How blank their eyes had been, when they accepted the gauntlets and turned back to herself and Setsuna. And how beautiful, yet deadly, the golden light had been in the moments before her death. Even now, the action sounded wrong, the killing. The Haruka and Michiru she had known would have gladly killed themselves before ever hurting her. No brag, a simple statement of fact. She knew, because she would have done the same for them without a moment's thought. Would have done the same, she thought, for any of her fellow senshi. But especially for those three. Because they were family.

She had been looking out the window of her own class, idly, when she had seen them rescue the princess during the flight lesson. At first, she just shook her head, amazed once again at how klutzy Usagi always managed to act, somehow. And then, she didn't know why, but it dawned on her. Their princess would never thank them for saving her–sure it would probably only have been broken bones and lots of bruises, not her life at stake, but still.

And for some reason that idea filled her with sadness. The idea that those two had done what they did so often, against the Death Busters and against Galaxia, and whenever they thought she was in trouble–whatever the truth of the matter turned out to be–and instinctively saved her again, only to receive more of the same snubs and cold shoulder treatment.

They probably expected it, true. But that didn't make it any less wrong.

* * *

The auburn-haired senshi had changed out of her robe for the moment–it lay to one side, where she could easily don it quickly, if needed. Instead, she wore a pastel green gi, as she focused herself on a kata, first merely doing the movements against the air, next against a large black and white target she had drawn on the wall.

She smiled as she noted that each strike had hit precisely where she meant it to, smiled and wiped her forehead, which had accumulated sweat from her intense concentration on the task at hand. The sweat cooled and dried quickly, however, under a cool breeze that whisked its way through the late autumn air.

Good job. She turned, but there was no one there. You need to speed up a bit, though. Try not extending yourself quite as far, it will allow you to recover more quickly in order to go on to the next move. A sense of the blonde's presence filled the cool air of the courtyard, and for a moment, it seemed that the air shimmered in a certain place, not a foot to her left.

When she reached out, however, the presence had dissipated, and the familiar voice spoke no more.

With the slightest of shrugs, she returned to her kata. Making sure to extend herself less when the opportunity offered itself. After all, no matter what her private opinions of the other girl were–and they were very mixed up, her thoughts and feelings acting in concerted confusion–it was an undeniable fact that she was a good martial artist.

Better, though admitted reluctantly in front of an audience, than Makoto. So any advice she gave–or her disembodied voice–Makoto would be inclined to follow. Really, it was only logical to do so.

* * *

On her way to the Great Hall–this time, in a robe that did *not* have a large neon green splotch on it–the short girl with blue-black hair passed another girl, one she recognized belatedly after the other had already passed by. One of Ami's friends, or study partners at least, that Ami said reminded her of what she had been like before she had become a senshi.

Hotaru turned. Hermione, wait up! But the other girl had already passed out of her range of hearing, entering a nearby girls' bathroom. With one last look towards the Great Hall, she shrugged and headed towards the bathroom. She wasn't that hungry yet, anyway. And besides, she could always get leftovers–there always seemed to be something around for hungry children at practically any time of day or night.

Inside the bathroom, she found Hermione curled in a ball on the floor sobbing. Hey, what's wrong? She asked, concerned. She had never seen Hermione like this–the other girl always seemed so much like Ami: calm, collected, and in control of the situation. Not . . . crying!

Ron w-was s-saying *gulp* that I d-don't h-have any friends b-b-because I'm s-so b-boring to be around *sob, gasp* b-bec-cause all I e-ever do is s-study. She looked up, her eyes red. And it's true! I don't have any friends! Nobody likes me.

Hotaru sat down beside her, laughing a bit. At least it's not like everyone hates you and is scared of you. She commented. Now *that* is really hard on the nerves. 'Specially when you're possessed by evil at the time, which gives everyone a *real* reason to be afraid of you. She shuddered. Believe me, that is one experience I *never* want to have to go through again.

Then smiled. Besides, you're not totally friendless. I know my friend Ami enjoys your company–although her reminiscences about how much you remind her of what she was like when she was younger do get a bit tedious at times. And Us–Serenity like you too, I thought. She stuck out a hand, smiling in the most winning way she knew how. Hi, my name is Hotaru Tomoe. Would you like to be friends?

Shy, tentative smile. Hermione Granger. I'd love to. But . . . why do you want to be friends with me?

Hotaru tipped her head slightly. I like you. And it doesn't hurt that you *do* remind me, somewhat, of Ami. Besides, remember what I said about being possessed by evil? I *know* what it's like to be friendless and alone. And how much friendship means to someone in that state.

Hermione smiled and stood up. Thank you for cheering me up, Hotaru. You've made me feel ever so much better. She extended a hand. Now, are you ready to go down and brave the feast in the Great Hall?

Hotaru grinned back. I'd love to. She took Hermione's hand and stood up, and the two new-made friends stood there, smiling, for a moment. Until Hotaru frowned, her danger sense going into overdrive. Something big, bad, and ugly was headed their way. She moved to stand between Hermione and the door and began eying it suspiciously.

What's wrong? Hermione asked.

I don't know. Came the short reply.

A mountain troll. Hotaru again heard the voice, and this time there was absolutely no mistaking who it belonged to.

She looked around in confusion. But, where are you?

Right here in front of you. Came the grim reply. We have no time for this now. Someone set a mountain troll loose in the school, and it's headed this way. Ron and Harry are chasing it, but I'm afraid they'll assume this area is empty and lock it in here. A glowing sword appeared, Uranus' Space Sword. Go into one of the empty stalls, and try to materialize your Silence Glaive. I'm being pulled back to my body as I speak, but I'll hold it off as long as I can.

What's happening? Hermione asked, and Hotaru knew she hadn't heard Haruka talking.

We're in trouble. She replied shortly as she ran into one of the stalls–thankfully all empty. If you know any spells that will be good against a troll, start practicing, while I try to find a good weapon.

She held her hand out, in the position which she usually stood right after transforming, and hoped. Please! I need the Glaive! Somebody, something, help me to summon the Glaive, please!

Finally, she felt a great sense of relief when the familiar weight fell into her hand, at the same time the door crashed open and an inhuman roar filled the room.

* * *

As I fell back towards my body, I was consumed with only one thought. Hotaru-chan was in danger, and I was the only one in the position to do anything about it. As I stood up, still in my pajamas, the Space Sword blazed into my hand. Frankly, I don't think I would have cared had I been naked, in such a state was I in.

Now, I might have noticed if I had been in my Eternal form, so deeply ingrained had my need for secrecy become, but since I was not, nothing registered.

I later learned that I passed by Draco as I blazed my way through the common room–he told me, much later, that he had thought at first an angel had flown by, so fast was I moving. I reached my upper limit and passed it, in my desperation to reach the place on time. Hotaru would be able to hold her own, but only for a limited amount of time–she is still rather frail as a human, not having trained in martial arts as much as I would have liked.

I passed by Setsuna on the way. She had seen leave the room when Professor Quirrell stumbled in, stuttering about a troll, and set out to follow me. Rather hard, considering I floated aimlessly through walls and maybe even a ceiling or two. Merely the simple statement, Hotaru-chan's in danger. was all that I needed to say before she had pulled out the Time Staff and was running nearly as fast as me.

When we reached the bathroom, the door was already locked and I cursed as I prepared to knock the thing down with my sword. But Setsuna's hand stayed me, as she raised her staff, transforming to Eternal Sailor Pluto without fanfare, and spoke a single word that vibrated through every part of me, even as I had no idea what the word was or what it meant.

Just as simply, she became merely Setsuna again and bent over to begin picking the lock. Almost as if she saw my astonished, disbelieving look, she commented, Don't worry. I've stopped time.

But . . .

It's supposed to kill me? There are some advantages to having that increase in power. You could probably break the sound barrier, easy, if you tried, just by running.

But . . .

I may be sick for a few days, but I won't die. She finished picking the lock and prepared to restart time and open the door. Besides, this way there is a lot less property damage. That, I had to agree to. Now let's go kick some troll butt!

A sentiment I completely agreed with, although I was rather surprised that Setsuna would express it in quite that way.

* * *

When the door opened, Hotaru was trying her hardest to hold the mountain troll off with her glaive without permanently maiming it in any way. I jumped in, in my typical impulsive way, with a strike to the head–with the flat of my sword. I was just as wary of harming it as Hotaru had been, because we didn't know yet whether it was evil, or just nasty and in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Needless to say, between Hermione's spells, Hotaru's glaive, my sword, and Setsuna's staff, the ogre became a rather mangled mess of unconsciousness fairly quickly. At which point we just stood there, uncertain as to exactly what to do next.

Michiru burst in. There's something . . . She then got a good look at the mess on the floor. Oh, my. It looks like you took care of it well enough.

Too bad you weren't here. Setsuna commented jokingly. You could have brained it with your mirror. At which point Michiru brained Setsuna with her mirror. Hey, that hurt!

Michiru snorted lightly and patted her on the shoulder. It was supposed to. Then she caught sight of me. Haruka! You're back to normal! *Glomp!*

I hugged her back with, I am sure, an incredibly silly smile on my face. Yeah. Sorry I didn't have time to call you. I met Setsuna on the way here.

Why did you come? She asked. If the troll was just locked in here . . . She saw Hermione and Hotaru. Ah. Never mind.

And that was the way Professor McGonagall and Snape found us. Setsuna leaned against the wall with her staff hanging loosely in one hand, smirking slightly at the rest of us–a good-natured smirk, but still a smirk. Hotaru and Hermione stood side by side, directly across from the door, Hermione with her wand out, Hotaru with her glaive. Michiru with her mirror out still fiercely hugging me with my sword in my pajamas. And the troll, beaten unconscious, in the center of our little circle.

Even she, the always self-possessed McGonagall, gaped. The boys told me they had locked the mountain troll in here. Alone. So what in the world just happened?!

Hotaru shrugged. But it wasn't in here alone. *We* were here with it. Hermione and I were having an interesting conversation too. So when it appeared . . . she flourished her glaive, face hardening. We took care of the disturbance.

The troll began to stir and, negligently, Setsuna bashed it again with her staff. So, what shall we do with it, Professor? We made sure not to kill it, just in case.

The professor just shook her head. Is it really so hard to believe, that three former teens and an eleven-year-old (or four eleven-year-olds) could counter such a threat? I suppose it would be, to people who don't know us, and we do try to make sure that includes almost everyone.

But the fact that a troll could just escape like that . . . I shook my head, silently, once we were alone again. Something was wrong, and that wrongness was focused around Hogwarts. Evil was coming, but it was evil of a sort we had never encountered before. Could it be Voldemort–excuse me, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I didn't know, but I heartily wished I did.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
12. Memories

The stalemate remained for a time, the five of us children looking at Professor McGonagall. The only movement came from Snape, who bent over the troll, checking on it.

The professor sighed. That still doesn't explain why you three she glared at Setsuna, Michiru and me indiscriminately. Weren't in your houses like you are supposed to be.

I raised an eyebrow. Au contraire, Professor McGonagall. That is the simplest part of the tale. I was not in my house because Hotaru was in trouble.

Setsuna nodded firmly. Michiru sighed. Although I arrived too late to be of any help, that is why for me as well.

Silence again. But what were you *thinking*, trying to challenge a troll?!

Both eyebrows raised, as I slid my sword back into its sheathe and allowed it to disappear back into subspace. Something along the lines of, This would be a whole lot easier if we didn't have to worry about keeping it alive' I believe.

Hotaru nodded, slightly embarrassed, as she let her glaive disappear as well. Setsuna bashed the troll one last time, for insurance, before allowing her staff to fall back into subspace, ignoring the *look* Snape gave her. Not me, since I don't have a bladed weapon. She smirked in my and Hotaru's direction, and we grinned back. More along the lines of, Oh goody. A live target to practice my staff work on.' Although I agree, it would have been easier if we could have killed it.

I wasn't thinking at all. Hermione admitted, face red.

I snorted, but Hotaru beat me to the punch. What are you talking about? Thinking to levitate the club so that the troll couldn't use it to bash *us* with was pure genius!

. . . The professor still looked very unhappy. That was still a very unwise thing for you to do. You could have been killed.

We could have been impressed. Begging your pardon, Professor McGonagall, Hotaru said, ever polite, That troll was a couple of highly fatal weapons short of having even a measurable chance at killing us.

The three of us nodded our agreement. We're not invincible or anything, I continued. But it would take something considerably more powerful than *that* to kill us. Quicker, too.

The professor sighed. Very well. I still say you were lucky . . . Hah! Fat chance. But not many first years could take on a mountain troll and win. She sighed, as if what she was to do next came hard to her. Five points to Gryffindor, five to Ravenclaw, five to Hufflepuff, and five to Slytherin. The last words especially seemed to stick in her mouth.

Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go–students are finishing their feasts in their houses.

We left. When I was on the threshold of the door, Snape's voice stopped me. Haruka Ten'ou?

I turned slowly. Yes, Professor?

His question was again, the last one I would have expected. Why are you still in your pajamas? The man sounded genuinely curious.

I shrugged. There seemed no reason not to answer his question other than pure spite. Because I was stuck in bed the whole day. I only just got up. I turned and walked away.

* * *

Three people sat in a cluttered office. So that's what happened. Professor McGonagall finished. She shook her head. Other than Miss Granger, they seemed genuinely surprised at the idea that a ten-foot-tall mountain troll could hurt or even kill them.

Snape nodded. I think it's more than just the youthly belief in your own invincibility. They didn't act like that at all, really. From what I could tell, they were extremely calm throughout the experience, instead of the wild excitement or extreme terror I would have predicted. As if they had done it all before.

Dumbledore nodded. There's something strange about those girls. Not evil . . . just strange.

They're very loyal to each other. McGonagall stated softly. When I asked them why they were there, the blonde replied, Hotaru was in trouble,' as if that explained everything.

What I'd like to know, Snape frowned, is how Haruka figured that out before it was too late. She didn't attend any of her classes today–I checked with the other teachers–and showed up in the bathroom in just her pajamas. There should have been no way she could have known.

Or the teal-haired girl. McGonagall added. She evidently arrived too late to do anything, but the fact that she got there at all . . . when there should have been no way she could have known the troll was in that particular bathroom, much less that her friends were fighting it.

Dumbledore nodded. These girls bear watching. Nothing too overt, just . . . keep an eye on them. Turned to Snape. You're going to have the hardest time, probably, what with two of them being in your house.

Two of them, two friends, and a pet snake with an awful sense of humor. Snape summarized gloomily. Evidently, Haruka and her group declared war on Draco and his cronies the first time they set eyes on each other. Slight, lopsided smile. Haruka has a snake on her side, though, so she can get it to do most of the dirty work for her. I'm pretty sure both she and Michiru are Parseltongues.

Another facet to add to the general air of mystery. Dumbledore's eyebrows were raised. It wasn't often they had a Parseltongue, much less two in the same year. And fast friends at that. If I were more suspicious, I'd be seeing some sort of enemy conspiracy right now. He smiled as he let the two teachers and house heads get back to their own business. He had his own memory of the duo in question. Whatever their allegiance, those two sure can sing well.

* * *

The roof seemed empty, silently waiting beneath a beautiful starry sky. A shadow detached itself from the wall and went to the middle of the roof to sit down, looking up at the sky. Her red eyes glowed, ever so slightly, as she waited.

After a time, she considered getting up, then decided not to. Decided to wait just a little bit longer. And, finally, her patience was rewarded. You're late.

Soft snort of laughter. We never set a time. Haruka and Setsuna powered up at nearly the same time. When they finished, a softly glowing nimbus of light surrounded both of them, allowing them to see each other. Nice wings. Haruka complimented.

Setsuna's eyes crinkled. I could say the same. In fact, consider it said.

Haruka frankly stared at her friend, trying to take in most of the details. Finally, Burgundy and black with a dash of garnet. Only to be expected, I suppose. Then, more softly, It looks really good on you, Setsuna.

Setsuna smiled. For the first time I remember, I can honestly say that you look *good* in a dress. Beautiful, really. It's a nice change from the handsome young man you always pretended to be.

Each reached out at the same time, right hand to right hand, identical rings winking in the soft nimbus of light cast by both. Then, as the two nimbuses collided, they flared, a brilliant blast of light that threw both backwards, away from each other, to fall detransformed to the solid tile of the roof.

* * *

Book in hand, a small Haruka walked towards a particularly large tree, her favorite hangout, whistling cheerfully. At the tree, she looked up before beginning to climb. What she saw there made her gasp in indignation and, picking up a nearby acorn, she threw it towards the limb on which she usually sat.

Hey, that hurt! Came a protest. What did you do that for? The other person swung down, flipping off the branch to land a safe distance away from Haruka, still rubbing her right arm as she glared at the blonde girl with disconcertingly red eyes.

You were in my spot. Haruka glared right back. My *special* spot. The place I *always* sit when I come out here to read.

The other girl cocked her head. Well, at least you have good taste in trees. She commented.

Haruka smiled suddenly, looking up into the leaves of the old tree. Yeah, it is a nice tree, isn't it. Her look at the other girl softened. I suppose you can't be too bad if you like reading in trees. Even if you *did* take my special spot. I'm Princess Uranus. She stuck out a hand.

Princess Pluto. The other girl stuck her own hand out, and they shook hands. But I can't be friends with you. The other girl warned. I'm not supposed to be friends with anyone.

Why? Friends are fun! Haruka protested. She rolled her eyes. Not that I *have* any, but still . . .

My mother told me I shouldn't become friends with anyone, because when I become Sailor Pluto and Guardian of the Time Gates, I'm going to be stuck there, watching everyone I ever knew grow old and die, so it's better that I don't get attached to anyone.

Gee, that must be lonely. Haruka commented, then brightened. But my mom told me that I'll live forever unless I die first, and that princesses like us don't have to worry about growing old. So I can be your friend.

Pluto shook her head. No friends. I promised my mom.

Haruka sighed. Okay, then, I won't be your friend. I'll just be . . . an a . . . acq . . . acquaintance! That's it, I'll be your acquaintance.

Pluto smiled back. Then I'll be your acquaintance too.

* * *

Setsuna stood off to the side in the shadows, and watched everyone else at the ball have fun. Sometimes, She thought angrily, being aloof really, *really* SUCKS!

A deep voice sounded near her ear, distracting her from her annoyed meanderings. May I have this dance?

Setsuna turned to meet the blue-green eyes of one of the only people she had ever allowed herself to become close to. Uranus! What do you think you are doing?! She hissed.

Her just grinned at her. Asking you for a dance. What does it look like I'm doing? With that, the slightly taller blonde took her hand and drew her into the light and onto the dance floor.

She stared stonily at her friend's countenance. Uranus, you are completely insane. That's the only thing that can account for it. You lost whatever mind you had in the first place.

Oh, lighten up, Pluto. Besides, you're the most beautiful girl here, how could I not ask you for a dance?

she stated, will get you precisely nowhere. And you're a girl too, in case you hadn't noticed. You're supposed to be over against the other wall fluttering your eyelashes at every guy that passes by.

Like you were? Came the completely incorrigible answer.

For once, Setsuna didn't have a comeback ready. And with a flourish, Uranus ended the dance. Look, it's over already. And you didn't stumble once. Aren't you so proud of yourself?

Without answering, Setsuna turned and (gracefully) stalked back to her shadowed corner. Once there, the same voice, belonging to the same person, commanded her to Move over. If you get to escape from sitting in the spotlight like that, then so do I.

Setsuna glared at the blonde, then sighed and giggled. Ah, I give up. It's impossible to stay aloof and cold around you. You're too annoying.

Uranus grinned and bowed, knowing that Setsuna's perfect night sight would catch the motion in shadow much darker than the one they were standing in. I do but live to serve. She replied.

Setsuna laughed, as Uranus had meant her too. Sometimes being aloof just takes too much work. She decided. It's just . . . pointless with Uranus around. She has an uncanny knack for doing or saying just exactly the thing guaranteed to break my mask to entirely unviable pieces. So why do I even try?

* * *

Haruka sighed soulfully. I think I'm in love.

Setsuna snorted. Well one thing's for sure, you sure are *acting* like it. She paused. Or at least like some silly schoolgirl mooning over her first crush.

Haruka took out a small beanbag she reserved for exactly this purpose and threw it at her unfaithful friend.

Setsuna, used to this, caught it with ease and no change in facial expression. So, do I know this lucky person? One corner of her mouth twitched slightly. I don't suppose she happens to have teal hair and cerulean eyes.

Haruka's mouth dropped open. How did you know?

It was obvious. Setsuna stated flatly, although the smile was getting harder to suppress. To anyone who knows you well, you had all the signs. The soulful sighs–which are really beginning to get on my nerves, by the way, she caught a second bean bag, All your thoughts are tinged with a slight but *very* noticeable pink, you lose track of what you're saying at times and just stare off into space even *more* often than usual. You get incredibly self-conscious and nervous whenever she is around . . .

Alright, enough. Haruka sighed with annoyance. You've made your point. But what should I do?

You could try telling her. Setsuna pointed out, one eyebrow raised. That tends to work most of the time, I'd think. Or I suppose you could always just keep on sighing soulfully, moaning, and doing nothing about the situation. She deliberately sidestepped the final bean bag thrown and let her smile free. Now, I've got a paper to write for history, so I'll be going now.

. . . That was not at all helpful, Setsuna. And you know it. Haruka glared after her departing friend before turning her mind back towards more pleasant pursuits. Such as contemplating a certain teal-haired princess. She sighed, once again soulfully, as her eyes turned back towards the sky. The beautiful cerulean sky of Uranus, the same color as Neptune's beautiful blue eyes . . .

* * *

I thought you'd come by here. Her face pale, her eyelids drooping and her mask slipping, Setsuna still tried to summon a smile for one of the only people who meant something special to her.

As soon as Haruka say her friend's face, she knew something was horribly wrong. Se–Pluto, what's wrong? The two had exchanged real names, a show of trust when most knew them only by their planetary designation, several years earlier, shortly before Haruka and Michiru had fallen in love.

Even at that present time, only five people knew Setsuna's name–Haruka, Michiru, Hotaru, her mother, and Queen Serenity.

Once she saw the worried face of her friend, Setsuna broke down completely. Growing more and more worried, Haruka just stood there, arms around her green-haired companion as the other girl cried her heart out. Finally, finally it stopped and Setsuna wiped her eyes, standing away. I guess I'm not cut out to be Pluto after all. She smiled slightly, even then the mask beginning to slide back into place.

Oh, come on Pluto. Everyone needs to release their emotions now and then. It's only human.

But I'm not supposed to be human. The mask was firmly back in place now. I'm the Guardian of Time. She shivered, then finally latched back onto Haruka, like she was a life raft in the middle of a raging sea. I can't do it, Haruka. I can't stand there and watch everyone die. I can't be alone for so long, not and stay sane.

Haruka smoothed her hair. Now, remember what I said when we first met? I haven't died yet, and I don't intend to. She smiled reminiscently. Have I ever apologized for throwing that acorn at you?

A watery giggle. No. And you never apologized for all the bean bags you threw at me either. Then the return of solemn sadness and the edge of hysteria. But you will die. Everyone will except me, because I'll be locked away at the Gates of Time. The others–the inner senshi, the princess, the queen, everyone else is already dead. Beryl attacked. Mom forbade me to interfere, then threw herself into the fray along with everyone else. She died too. Her voice was bleak, the voice of someone who has seen too much and desperately wished she hadn't. The Queen sent all the senshi to the future, except none of our parents are going. It's just us, except me, because I have to become the Keeper of Time. Pause. You and Neptune will probably be picked up pretty soon now, by the queen's spell. But I had to see you one last time.

Haruka tilted her friend's head up and put a finger to her lips, looking directly into the other's red eyes. Ssh. Everything will turn out in the end. You'll see. But Setsuna, I want you to do one thing. Pause, to make sure her green-haired friend was paying complete attention. I want you to stay sane for me. And your mother was right, becoming close to anyone will just cause you pain, with the job you must do. So I want you to forget everything about me, about anyone that ever really mattered to you. Some day, we'll meet again. That I promise. But I don't want you grieving for me between now and then. All right?

Haruka stepped away as a bubble of some sort began to form around her. She reached out to friend who had always meant the world to her, from the moment she first met the eyes of the girl she had thrown an acorn at, so many years before. Setsuna, too, reached out and for a brief moment, the tips of their fingers touched. Then, the world went white.

* * *

On the rooftop, all was silent. Then one person picked herself up heavily, as if weighed down by the weight of all the extra memories. As usual, the first thing said was unexpected. Too bad I don't have a beanbag with me to throw at you. Pause, as said figure reached into her subspace pocket only to come up with . . . a beanbag. Oh, good. I have one after all. That being said, she halfheartedly threw it towards the other figure, still lying there ominously still.

A hand raised just high enough to catch the flying bag. Hah hah. Very funny. A second figure stood up and, in the darkness, the two looked towards each other. That was . . . different. Setsuna finally commented.

Haruka rubbed her head. Yeah. That's . . . one way of saying it, I suppose. I wonder why it happened.

Setsuna frowned, forgetting that Haruka's night sight was not as perfect as her own. I get the feeling we were . . . bonded, in some way. Sorta like the one Usagi and Mamoru have, where they can feel if the other is in trouble . . . only stronger.

Picks up thoughts and emotions as well, maybe? Haruka asked, but Setsuna did not see her lips move.

Something like that. I wonder why me, instead of . . .

Different sort of bond. Haruka answered immediately, falling into the pattern of mindspeech with simple ease. I think the two of us bonded because we knew each other so much longer and better than we knew either of the other two. Probably, Michiru and Hotaru are bonded in the same manner. As for the inners . . . who can tell?

I wonder if we'll go Eternal in pairs as well? Or if our being the first two and being bonded as well is just a fluke.

Only one way to find out. Haruka admitted with a shrug. We wait and see. Want to go find a nice tree to sit and read in?

Setsuna accepted the switch back to verbal speech as easily as she had initiated the switch to thought-speech. Maybe in the *yawn* morning. And only if you promise . . . not to . . . throw . . . acorns. She slid to the roof, fast asleep as soon as she finished speaking.

Haruka laughed softly as she knelt beside the unconscious form of her friend. Now that we've remembered it, I don't think she'll ever let me forget that incident. She looked around at the abundance of towers scattered over the roof of Hogwarts. Well, Slytherin is the only house I know of based in a *dungeon* area, so Hufflepuff has to be *one* of these towers. Another look around. This is going to take *forever*! She powered up, eliminating the nimbus of light that automatically appeared around her when she was in the dark, and picked Setsuna up. Opening her wings, she flew towards the nearest tower.

* * *

After a great deal of flying around, I finally found the Hufflepuff girls' dorm. I knew that was what it was, because I could see Rei and Makoto, as well as a couple other girls that looked slightly familiar. Fortunately, the lights were off, as I flew in the open window and detransformed, looking for an empty bed.

Setsuna, is that you? Makoto's sleepy voice asked, and I cursed silently as the other girl got up and stumbled over, blinking blearily. Oh, Haruka. What are you doing here?

Rather sickly smile. Dropping Setsuna off. We were up on the roof talking, when she suddenly collapsed. I guess all the stress of the day got to her. I looked around very carefully to make sure everyone else was asleep, before continuing, She'll probably be very sick tomorrow. Either that, or in a coma of some kind. Please oh please don't ask me how I got in . . .

Makoto's eyes popped wide open. I didn't sense any threat except . . . Oh. You were fighting the troll that showed up, weren't you. Her inflections made the question a statement. She sighed. I should have known. C'mon, her bed is over here.

That's not all. I shook my head, forgetting that Makoto's night sight was not even as good as mine–and the fact that, with her back turned to me, it would very likely have done little good anyway. She also stopped time tonight.

At those five small words, Makoto froze and whirled. Thankfully, she had the sense to keep the volume of her voice down, although the sheer intensity made up for that lack.

I tried to talk her out of it! I defended, thinking mocking thoughts about my eloquence' when I tried. And she did swear that it would *not* kill her like it did last time. Although she admitted she'd probably be sick for a couple days afterwards. I sighed. Makoto . . . take good care of her. And if you think of some way I can help, let me know. I turned to leave.

Haruka . . . Makoto's voice stopped me. . . . why?

I faced her. Excepting Michiru, Setsuna is the closest friend I have ever had. And although in an entirely platonic way, I love her at least as much as I love Michiru. I don't want to lose her.

* * *

And as I collapsed into bed that night, I realized I had been entirely truthful in what I told Makoto. I had always known that Setsuna meant a lot to me, but I had never realized quite how much. My was the best friend I had ever had, both in this life and in the other.

I love Michiru with all my heart, but if I lost Setsuna now, I'd be at least as devastated as if I lost Michiru. Different forms of love, but the same intensity. I smiled as I remembered Setsuna's tart impatience when I was mooning over Michiru, but also how genuinely glad she had been when I found out the beautiful Neptunian princess felt the same way.

If I dreamed that night, the dreams were deemed not worth remembering, and I awoke refreshed the next morning.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
13. A Game of Catch

The next day was a Thursday. I woke up rested, refreshed, and ready to take on the world. Much to Michiru's relief, I actually *did* wake up, instead of going ghost the way I had the previous day. Even the prospect of flying lessons with Gryffindor that afternoon couldn't put a dent in my good mood.

I even greeted Draco civilly–almost warmly. The poor boy looked like he was about to faint. I decided that I'd have to do that more often–it was almost as fun to watch as when the Bloody Baron freaked out.

Then I saw Setsuna drift by and smiled even more largely. Hi, Setsuna. I greeted her through our link.

She paused, backing up and drifting inside. Any particular reason you're so happy, this morning?

Pause, think for a moment. Nope! Not one I can think of. In fact, I should be miserable, seeing as your body is probably having a nasty time of it right now–and we *are* bonded.

Thoughtful frown. I woke up more cheerful than usual this morning too, actually. It may be an aftereffect of regaining all those memories. And if the link is mind-to-mind . . . usually, the mind reflects what the body is feeling–but right now mine are separated, so any physical input would necessarily be muted . . . and thus, my physical discomfort, if any, is not intruding to make you feel awful because I don't feel awful either.

Slowly turning over her explanation to make sure it made sense, I hesitantly nodded. That makes sense.

She grinned and started drifting away again. There may be hope for you yet! Now excuse me, I have a class to catch . . .

I shook my head as I headed on to my own classes. It figured, that Setsuna wouldn't let a little thing like being the equivalent of a ghost stop her from going to her classes–especially as interesting as classes at Hogwarts *usually* were.

* * *

The black-haired girl–smaller than average even when she was the same age as everyone else–sighed as she gazed at a photo. A picture of the four of them, before they had been separated–before two of them had been killed and brought back to life. Before they had all become eleven years old again. Just . . . before.

They had been happy then–happier together, just the four of them, than any of them had ever been alone. She had reveled in the closeness, cherished it . . . she had very few memories, anymore, of what her father had been like before they had both been possessed by evil. The other three had loved the sense of family too, she had always believed–Setsuna, tired of the loneliness of being Guardian of Time, where she had no one to talk to, to be around just for the sake of it, always acting as the guiding force, the absolute authority she wielded making everyone afraid to touch. Haruka and Michiru, who had each other–who had defied and cut themselves off from their own families just so they could be together, for them to have a family again must have been wonderful.

She thought back to the previous night. Fighting together again had been wonderful, even if Michiru had shown up too late to help. Just being in the same room together . . . it exhilarated her, made her believe that she could take on the universe. They were meant to be together, bonded together as outer senshi in a bond that transcended all other loyalties. Putting the picture away regretfully, she nodded, her eyes sad. Although she hated to do this . . . her mind had been made up.

By some strange twist of fate, the one person she was preparing to look for passed by just then. Gathering her courage, she asked softly, Serenity-hime? May I speak with you for a moment?

Her back having stiffened at the suffix, then relaxed when she realized who it was, Usagi nodded warily. Go ahead, Hotaru.

Hotaru closed her eyes briefly before focusing them completely on her blonde-haired princess. I . . . I've been thinking lately. Believe me when I say that I've *always* believed in you. You can do anything you set your mind to, that I am absolutely sure of. But . . . She sighed. Despite my differences with them, I belong with my family. Much like you, they were there for me when no one else was. And . . . I love them. Perhaps more than I love my biological father even, because I can no longer clearly remember the way he was . . . before.

Keeping her eyes trained on her princess, she tried to project as much sincerity as possible in her voice and in her eyes, hoping desperately that the other girl would understand. I always have and I always *will* believe in you. Believe that, believe me. But . . . I figured it out for sure yesterday. I belong with them. We belong together . . . we have an unbreakable bond between us and . . . I can't deny that bond any longer. By your leave? She bowed, as low as she could go without risking falling flat on her face.

The other girl's lips twisted into a warped half-smile. I . . . can't say I'm happy, Hotaru. But I think I can understand. And even if I couldn't . . . there's no way I could stop you from leaving, even if I was planning to try. Go now, and . . . be well, Hotaru-chan. The black-haired girl nodded and, with a last look, walked off. Usagi, also known as Serenity, also known (to a certain few) to be the future queen of the world, watched sadly as her ranks were again decimated by one.

Be happy to be together again, and be a friend to my daughter. Grasp that happiness that I don't think I'll ever find until we are all together . . . not again, because we were never *really* together in the first place. We just thought so. With a sigh she turned towards her own class. We just thought and wished . . . and hoped. But . . . dreams are not reality, no matter how much you wish for them to be.

Slight smile, rather twisted. Hey, I'm not bawling my eyes out. Who knows, perhaps I am finally beginning to grow up, after all. Genuine, now. Oh well. Happens to everyone, some time.

* * *

Haruka. Michiru. We both froze and turned slowly, at the sound of the voice we thought we would never hear directed towards us again. I debated bowing, then decided not to, with so many people around who would not understand. So I stood, silently, Michiru to my right and slightly behind.

Usagi seemed to be carefully choosing the words she was about to say. I . . . would like to thank you for watching out for me last time. Furthermore, I think I understand now why you did what you did. And this time, we knew she wasn't speaking of our impromptu rescue. No doubt was left in our minds that she might, in a way understand, but she did not in any way approve.

Her eyes serious, she continued, But for the time being, we must remain apart. I cannot trust anyone who refuses as consistently as you have to believe in me and trust in me. Perhaps someday, you will learn to have faith in something or someone other than yourselves, but that will be your decision. Until you can do that, until you can place your trust and your belief and your faith in me, we will not truly be a team, and there is no longer any reason even to pretend that.

I nodded. I could understand where she was coming from, and I agreed. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Serenity-hime. If I ever do find faith in someone, or in something, I think you'll be one of the first to know. I looked at her, face to face. We could do that now, I hadn't hit my growth spurt so we were still about the same height. But even though we were physically smaller, younger, Usagi had in her something that she had never really possessed as a teen. A spark, sort of. Something that told me she too was beginning the painful process of growing up, growing straight. Growing the way she should have grown, in another time and another place.

Already, she was turning into someone to be proud of. And I was happy for her, and for the people who had the right to feel pride in her. But . . . my problem still remained. I could not trust in anything, even in this seemingly stable world, except for myself–and Michiru. Always Michiru.

Now, I knew within my heart, Setsuna as well. She had watched over us all for so long, but that time had passed, I hoped, when she had to forget everyone in order to keep her hold on sanity. When she had to live on when everyone else died.

None of us were alone anymore–Michiru, Setsuna, and I. We had each other now. And as long as I had that precious love and friendship, that precious bond, I could forget, for a time, a young girl with long blonde hair who tripped over her feet and laughed joyously at life. A young woman with darkness at the back of her eyes who willingly sacrificed herself for the world, time after time.

I'd like to think I'd have done the same in her place, but . . . ah, who am I kidding? Certainly not myself. I would have botched everything from the beginning. We are too different, she and I.

* * *

Michiru looked after Usagi, looked at the place where she had been, and sighed. Her princess was right . . . as she nearly always tended to be, in matters such as these. What did she have faith in? She trusted herself in most cases . . . her music, always. Music was the solid, immutable object in the raging sea that formed the world. Even if she could no longer play an instrument or sing, the music would still be there for her. Likewise the sea–it was in her blood, so completely a part of her that it would be impossible not to have faith in it. And Haruka.

She watched, with a gentle smile on her face, as Haruka dashed off to get her broomstick. Like the air, Haruka was always there for her. And she was always there for Haruka. Anything else would be impossible.

Despite her new, more serious side, the one that sat and pondered philosophical thoughts, the one that enjoyed more quiet pursuits, Haruka was still the same irreverent, speed-loving blonde she had fallen in love with several years and a reality ago.

She took her own broom with much more decorum. Decorum, grace . . . bah. It always seemed to fall upon her to be the more serious side, the cool voice of wisdom in a group of hot-heads. Well . . . a group of one, at least. She was the graceful one, the beautiful one, the deep one. In Ami, sometimes, she saw a shallower reflection of the person she displayed on the stage of life. Intelligent, quiet, deep . . . thoughtful, where her teammates were rash.

Some time, she'd like to just forget about being the intelligent, thoughtful one. Do something stupid just for the sake of doing so. But without her reputation, those characteristics that had come to mean even to herself, what would she have left?

Haruka. She would still have Haruka. And that would be enough.

* * *

I was flitting around on my broomstick when I had the idea. Not a terribly *original* idea, no, but it would probably be fun. I brought one of my small bean bags out of my subspace pocket and hefted it once or twice. Out in the sunlight, it was a beautiful navy blue, manufactured with a quality of cloth that no longer existed anymore. But more importantly, it was fairly light and rather noticeable. I lowered nearer to the ground and called, Chibiusa, Michiru, Lindsey? Feel like playing a game of catch?

Chibiusa considered for a moment or two. Not this time, sorry. I think I want to get more practice just flying first.

Lindsey nodded reluctantly and Michiru firmly. Same here.

Harry would probably be willing to play with you. A soft voice said, and I turned to face Hermione, the Gryffindor girl who had helped us against the troll. He's such a natural at flying, I don't think he needs any more practice just flying.

Thanks, Hermione. I sped on, and soon found the other boys. While both were initially reluctant–probably mostly due to the fact that I am, after all, a Slytherin, Harry finally agreed.

And so the game was on. If one person let the bag drop to the ground, they gained a point. Whoever reached a certain number of points first, lost, and the other won by default–after minimal discussion, we decided on three.

Setsuna showed up at one point, since Hufflepuff had the afternoon off. She looked splendid with her garnet wings fully extended–although, of course, I was the only one who could see her. She decided not to join in the game, however, but instead to try to tutor Usagi somewhat–she could fly fairly well, but her lack of confidence constantly pushed her into making silly mistakes she could have otherwise avoided. Setsuna's presence steadied her, boosted her confidence in herself, even without the gentle suggestions of help.

Neither of us had made a point yet when Setsuna gasped, her aura of shock directed towards me and picked up upon instantly. Absentmindedly, I looked down, only to greet the sight of my body falling away from myself, getting ever closer to the ground as I watched.

In slow motion to my suddenly adrenaline-enhanced eyes, I rushed towards my falling body, transforming and opening my wings to brake myself once I caught it. Setsuna, too, came to help, catching the broomstick only moments before it broke against the unyielding ground. I sent her a wordless burst of thanks, laying my body against the ground before rushing over to let Michiru know what happened.

She was a step ahead. As I approached, she turned her eyes in the direction of my still body and said, It happened again, didn't it.

Precisely. I reached out to take her hand, enabling the link between us. Luckily, Setsuna's here too–she's the one who managed to catch my broom.

Setsuna is doing this now too? Who will be next, I wonder?

No clue. There are certain warnings though . . . Setsuna was the only one who could see me, yesterday, and now she's doing it. So if you start seeing either of us, it will probably start happening to you, too.

Nod. I'll remember that. Sigh. I guess I'd better go explain this to Madam Hooch.

Allow me. I want to see if I can talk' to non-senshi in this form, too.

I rushed forward and touched Madam Hooch. Excuse me, ma'am? No response. Ma'am, this it me, Haruka, speaking. You don't need to worry, I'm perfectly . . . oh, never mind. Still no response. I sighed. You're stupid, you're ugly, and your mother dresses you funny. Pause. Just in case you can hear, I *am* joking.

Don't worry, didn't work for me either. A voice nearby sighed, Setsuna's voice. She floated crosslegged above my body. Although I didn't think to insult her in quite *that* way. Where did that come from?

*Snicker* My calculus teacher used to tell our entire class that, when he felt we were being inordinately slow . . . it was a blast. I really enjoyed that class.

I informed Michiru that she would have to explain things after all. I don't think Madam Hooch really believed her–until I picked up my body, so that is seemed to be floating several feet above the ground. And even then she eyed Michiru suspiciously . . . probably trying to figure out where she had hidden the wand.

* * *

What's happening? Lindsey asked Chibiusa, curiously, as Michiru held a conversation with the air and then walked over to try to convince Madam Hooch of . . . something.

Shrug. I don't know. But evidently this has happened before . . . Michiru didn't sound worried, just slightly annoyed.

Your friend *normally* faints while flying through the air on a broomstick, playing catch with a Gryffindor? And her body then somehow slows itself down so that it doesn't hit the ground hard, and neither does the broomstick?

Er . . . I didn't think so, but if this was something bad happening, Michiru would *know* and she'd be a great deal more worried.

Actually the first time I did this, I was safe in bed. Michiru figured it out because I didn't get up before she did. Haruka's amused voice corrected, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

Ah. That is definitely a better place to–what is it? Have an out of body experience? Than flying through the air at high speeds. Lindsey nodded, face contemplative. Much better.

I agree. Setsuna's voice added, directed towards Lindsey. Although I would like to know how you can hear us. I wasn't aware that normal people could. Sense of suppressed laughter. We certainly tried hard enough.

Lindsey shrugged. That's simple enough. I'm not normal. Her tone, while superficially light, made it clear that any further questions asked would not be answered.

* * *

When Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape came down to the field to pick up their individual houses, they came upon an interesting sight. On the ground, unhurt and undisturbed by anyone was the body of one of the girls who had defeated the troll the night before. The only person near the body was a girl–from Slytherin, Snape recognized her–with short blue-black hair, who was relaxing and whistling a merry little tune that neither of them recognized.

And up in the air . . . McGonagall rubbed her eyes to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was . . . Harry Potter playing catch (and doing a wonderful job at it, the boy would make a great Seeker–hey, the Gryffindor Seeker's space had gone empty and had not yet been filled . . . hm . . .) with a curved sword and a stylized staff?!

The blue-black-haired girl looked up when the two professors came close. Harry's winning right now, I think. He has one point, and Haruka and Setsuna both have two. The ball bounced against the ground after the staff failed to catch it. Ooh. That must smart on her dignity. Setsuna has three points now–the idea is to get the fewest points possible. That means she's out of the game, I guess. And indeed, after tossing the ball back upward, the staff drifted away.

Snape was the first to close his mouth. But . . . Haruka is right here! He pointed to the still body on the ground.

And Setsuna is in her bed in Hufflepuff, suffering from a fever of some sort, I believe. Or perhaps she's been moved to the infirmary wing by now. But their minds are both here. The staff disappeared, but Lindsey's eyes continued to track. Until she blinked and returned her gaze to the two professors. Or, rather, Setsuna's is leaving now . . . she's probably going to see if she can return to her body.

Why doesn't Haruka do the same?

Because she doesn't feel like it? I dunno, honestly. Although I get the impression that they can't return to their bodies voluntarily. You'd have to ask her to be sure, of course . . . except she can't speak to normal people. As far as I know, the only ones she can speak to in this state are Setsuna, Michiru, Usagi, Serenity, and myself. There may be others, too, but I'm not sure.

Why the curved sword? Snape asked.

Family heirloom of some sort, I think. I haven't really asked. But she brought it out so that Harry would have a better idea of where to aim, as well as having a better idea of where the ball will be coming from. To make things more fair for him.

A Slytherin with ideas of fair play. For once, this crop of new young Slytherins might hold something better than the usual trouble-makers and bullies. Well, what with fair-minded Slytherins, Harry Potter, and students that have out of body experiences evidently at random, this is shaping up to become one of the most interesting years in quite a while. Professor McGonagall smiled. And I really *must* remember to talk to Wood about adding Potter to the team.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
14. Revelations

Amazingly enough, I managed to get through the next few days without going ghost again. Setsuna did so once more, but it was during one of our study sessions, so no uproar commenced. She also recovered completely from her stopping of time within a day, much to my relief–and hers as well, I think. We both kept our eyes out for bewildered senshi wandering around in their Eternal forms as , but evidently no one else had gone Eternal yet.

And we secretly hoped that just maybe, our bodies had finally permanently adjusted to the change in energy levels, and there would be no more inconvenient episodes of discorperation. For almost an entire week straight, it looked like our hopes might even become reality. Until History of Magic that Wednesday.

We were discussing musical history, and the impact wizards had had on music throughout the ages, so for once I was completely awake and rather interested. It had never occurred to me that famous classical musicians might have been wizards as well . . . although, in the case of Mozart, it was his parents who were wizards. Apparently, they never told him, because he had not even a scrap of magical talent . . . instead, he was literally a musical genius and prodigy.

This discussion wasn't everyone's idea of a good time, of course. Lindsey and Chibiusa, while not quite asleep, were rather drowsy. Draco, of course, had dropped off less than five minutes into the discussion. And then, about three-quarters of the way into the class period, my head fell to my desk–and I didn't go with it. With a large sigh of exasperation, I went ahead and floated the rest of myself out of my body and went back to listening to what Professor Binns was saying, sitting crosslegged about a foot above my head.

Michiru shot a look in my direction when she heard my head hit the desk, but evidently came to the correct conclusion quickly, rolling her eyes and returning her attention to the lecture. Then, far too soon, class came to an end. And, almost as if we had rehearsed it, she walked over to my desk and picked up my body. I'll return it to our dorm on my way to Transfiguration, 'kay?

Sounds good to me. I returned with a sigh of relief. My strength was greatly decreased in this form, and I had *not* looked forward to having to lug my body all the way back–especially since I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get in. Thanks, Michiru.

As she walked out, I turned my attention to our ghostly teacher and sighed. I don't suppose you can hear me, either. This is so *stupid*!

Just then, Setsuna wandered in. Ah. So I was right, it did happen to you too. Glare of frustration at the ground. When will this stop?! And *why* can't we talk to anyone except our fellow senshi? And Lindsey too, Kami-sama alone knows why.

An expression was appearing on the professor's face, one I almost didn't catch in my wholehearted agreement with Setsuna. One of . . . amusement and surprise? I turned the whole of my attention to him and stalked over. You *can* hear us? Why didn't you tell me when I first asked?

Yes, the smile was definitely there. And it was growing. I wanted to see if you had anything else interesting to add. Especially considering your state . . . I don't see many beings completely made of energy anymore.

But isn't that what a ghost is? And there are plenty of ghosts around here. Oh, by the way Haruka, Peeves can see me too. I ran into him on the way here to check on you–he ran away from me, though. Who would have thought anything short of the Bloody Baron could scare him?

No, young lady, that is not exactly what ghosts are. Although we are formed of energy like yourselves, we also carry around our souls with us–I had always figured that the common link that allowed humans to see ghosts was the soul, since humans can't see pure energy in the normal scheme of things. And now, my theory has been proven correct–that is, I assume everyone else is unable to see you, as well as hear you. Professor Binns was excited, something completely unheard of for the little ghost.

I can see Setsuna, and Setsuna can see me. Other than that, no one. I replied. But . . . we have souls. I assume so, at least–we are human after all. If not originally from Earth. Or perhaps all life in the Silver Millennium had originated on Earth. So maybe, in a way, we were . . . but either way, that had very little bearing on the subject at hand.

Yes, but somehow you have become able to detach yourself from your body without bringing your soul with you. I assume, considering your reaction during class, that it is an involuntary process?

Yes. Setsuna answered for me, in the same disgruntled tone I would have used. Then, brightening, I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to fix it?

Tell me how this came about–or your best guess at least. Then, I may be able to offer a solution. Exchanging a glance, Setsuna and I reluctantly told him the truth–about our recent power-ups, and how we had postulated that the extreme excess of energy that our body was not used to handling had somehow brought us to this state.

After we finished, he nodded. I see. Well . . . next time you are back inside your body, attempt to detach yourself voluntarily. If that works, then it is my opinion that–as long as you do so often enough voluntarily–the excess of energy will no longer push you into doing so involuntarily. His face creased in a reassuring smile. And, as a beneficial side-effect, if you detach yourself voluntarily, you may be able to bring your soul along as well, allowing you to be seen.

Thank you. Setsuna and I both said, nearly simultaneously, and in equally heartfelt tones. Setsuna turned to me. Well, I'd better get on to my next class. See you later, Haruka.

After she left, I turned back to the professor, and did what I never would have even considered doing in human form. Professor Binns . . . do you think we could do something fun in this class for once? Like maybe . . . put on a musical or something like that . . . something different?

He seemed surprised. I've never done anything like that before . . . but then again, no one has ever bothered to ask before, either. I think that's an interesting idea. Any suggestions for which musical? I shook my head, still slightly bewildered by how easy it had been. Then I suppose I'll toss the question open to the entire class tomorrow.

I smiled. I'm really looking forward to it. Thank you again.

And as I left, the professor said quietly, with an odd light in his eyes, No. Thank you, Haruka Ten'ou. For the first time in quite a while . . . I'm almost beginning to feel alive.

* * *

Makoto found herself sitting at the top of yet another set of stairs that terminated at yet another roof. Even though that wasn't *the* roof . . . she stayed on the stairs. And thought. As had been true often of late, her thoughts centered around a certain person with blonde hair that used to be short. She wondered again, idly, what had made Haruka decide to let it grow out, then dismissed the thought. As always, her contemplation of the subject was gaining her nothing. No insights into herself or into their actions. No ideas on what to do, even as her current feelings of stalemate gnawed increasingly at her. Begged her to do something, anything.

But this was not a conflict that she could settle with her fists. What would she do, beat herself up? She had to figure this out somehow, using her brain. And she had little experience with this sort of battle. None, really . . . so she was at a loss. And so she continued to grow more and more confused, agitated . . . she was surprised the others hadn't seen it yet and commented on it.

In her deep concentration, the other's quiet steps had not registered until she spoke. Looks like you need a friend.

Hi, Hotaru. Makoto sighed, planting her chin once more in her hands.

Makoto . . . how do you see the other inner senshi? Hotaru asked, as she sat beside the tall auburn-haired girl, and placed her own chin in her hands. Friends, family, teammates . . .

Sigh. I . . . friends mostly. The only friends I can ever really remember having. Especially after my parents died. Why do you ask?

Sigh. Not sure really. Just . . . feeling a little guilty, I guess. I . . . formally took my leave from Usagi and rejoined the Outers. Actually, it was almost a week ago, now. But I'm still not quite sure it was the right thing to do. Pause. No, that's not exactly right. I *know* deep within my heart, that it was the right thing to do, because the four of us belong together. We're friends, family, partners . . . I'm closer to them than anyone else in the world, Usagi and my father included. But . . . I still can't help feeling guilty. She looked up, with a weak smile that mirrored itself in her purple eyes. I'm sorry. I meant to try and cheer you up, not dump all my troubles on you like that.

That's okay. I doubt anyone can help me out right now, anyway. She looked at Hotaru with curiosity. You sounded so certain . . . how do you know what you are feeling?

Often you don't. The black-haired girl replied moodily. I know with such certainty about my bond with the other three because it's so strong, I don't think I could deny it if I tried. Unless it's a feeling so strong, it absolutely *can't* be denied, I don't think anyone really knows what they feel.

She turned to look directly at Makoto. You inners . . . you're teammates. I think we could be friends in time . . . but I've never really had the time to get to know any of you. And despite Usagi's verbal truce with us, with me on one side and the rest of you on the other side, I doubt I'll really be given a chance. She shrugged. So I don't really know what to think of you. I know you are a good fighter–though Haruka is better–and a good cook, but I don't know what I, personally, think of you. So it makes me uncertain as to exactly how to relate, to you or to anyone. The other Outer Senshi are the same, I think.

But Haruka and Michiru and Setsuna . . . you all seem so confident all the time.

Hotaru smiled wryly. We are just as human as everyone else . . . or at least as human as the rest of you senshi. We just know how to hide it a little bit better.

Makoto shook her head as she stood up. If you say so. Then smiled. Thank you, Hotaru. I don't know why . . . but I feel a lot better now.

Near the bottom of the steps, Hotaru's voice stopped her once again. Makoto . . . would you teach me to cook, some day?

The tall auburn-haired girl turned around and smiled up at her black-haired teammate. I'd love to. And, she realized, she meant it. None of the others had ever asked . . . and it meant more than she had previously realized, that someone thought she knew something worth teaching.

* * *

In a dark dorm room, all inhabitants were asleep, two in the same bed. One slept peacefully, a contented smile on her face as she dreamed of happy memories and of what the future could bring . . . at least in her dreams . . . a small blonde girl with a single streak of aqua hair sat reading in a tree, as an aqua-haired girl with a blonde streak threw acorns at her, all of which the blond girl caught and dropped, a smile on her face. Finally, the aqua-haired girl climbed up into the tree and sat on another branch, bringing out her own book. Just then, two smaller girls, probably a year or two younger, ran up. One had green hair and the other a dark purple verging on black.

And in the background, four proud parents stood, smiling at the antics of their daughters and remembering a time when they had been much the same. Others began to show, along with their children . . . until the whole group was there, together, as they had never had the opportunity to be previously, in their other lives. There were other people there as well . . . people she recognized, but forgot–relegated to the status of mere shadows–upon waking. As well, an entire new group of children of varying ages ran around and played and got to know each other and enjoy each others' presence and be friends. . .

The other inhabitant of the bed was worlds away. She tossed and turned continuously, a frowning expression suspended somewhere between shock, anger, and pleading on her face. Her dream . . .

I'm sorry, but I can't be with you any more. A cold voice resonated through the darkness of her mind, and she watched as a tall blonde figure–face hidden in shadow, but still leaving no doubt as to who she was–turned and walked away. The tone of voice left the absolute certainty that she was *not*, in fact, sorry . . . that really she couldn't care less.

I don't need you any more, Michiru. You're worse than dead weight, because you're trying to pull me down with you. Face the facts, you just can't keep up with me. I've found someone better.

Give me a chance . . . She whispered, almost to low to hear herself, as she sank to her knees–her legs unable to support the rest of her body, so great was her shock and grief. And yet the other still heard her whispered plea as clearly as if it had been shouted.

Hah! I've given you more chances that you deserve. Look, even now you are showing your weakness. There's no way you could ever measure up to me. And when you are left in the dust, it will be all your fault . . . and you can have the satisfaction of knowing that I no longer care what happens to you. Live, die . . . you're on your own now. I have better things to do now, than to look after someone so much weaker than myself. The blonde figure reached out to another hidden by the shadows, and they disappeared, leaving only a brokenhearted girl kneeling in the middle of the blackness, vainly wishing that it was just a nightmare, just a dream she'd wake up from.

But she didn't. And she began to convince herself that it was real.

* * *

A small figure staggered out of bed and into the moonlight, rubbing her eyes in an effort to wake herself more fully. Why me? She muttered, a rhetorical query she obviously didn't expect an answer to . . . especially since there was no one awake to hear the question. Moonlight glinted off blue-black hair as she tripped her way over to another bed. Can't they keep their emotions to themselves for once?

With a small sigh, she laid a hand on Michiru's forehead and closed her eyes, concentrating. Had her eyes been open, they would most likely have glowed violet. The unhappy girl slowly stopped thrashing, her frown straightening into a neutral expression as she slid into a deeper sleep. A sleep with no disturbing dreams.

The girl with blue-black hair removed her hand from Michiru's forehead and opened her eyes slightly. And with a sychronized blink and yawn, Lindsey toppled, sliding to the ground beside their bed in a deep sleep.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
15. A Song, a Resolution, and a Pair of Wings

When I woke up, the sky was still the grey of predawn. That was not surprising, I usually make a point of being up early enough to greet the sun. I was, however, surprised to see a third figure in our bed.

Well, she wasn't precisely *in* the bed, I guess. More . . . draped over the side. And as deeply asleep, still, as Michiru from what I could tell. Padding over to the other side of the bed in sock feet, I picked Lindsey up and carried her back over to her own bed. Leaving the warmth of my arms she mumbled a half-hearted protest, snuggling deeply into her own covers. Looking down on her, I smiled. Lindsey was a sweet girl, one of the few people I had met that I truly enjoyed being around who wasn't a senshi.

Leaning out the window, I looked down and considered. Although the Slytherin area began in the dungeons, we actually extended several stories into the air, although our House was built seamlessly into the building, instead of protruding out in towers the way the other three Houses did. The first years, being the newest, got stuck at the very top of our –about three stories above the ground. An easy drop, considering what I planned.

What could I say? I wanted to watch the sun rise from the roof. And the quickest way to get there . . . I threw myself out the window, away from the wall. Uranus Eternal, Make Up! Uttered in a soft voice, so as to be less likely to attract attention, I triggered my transformation–although, as my memories of the Silver Millennium returned, I needed that phrase less and less. I had gotten nearly to the point where I could trigger the transformation *without* the focus phrase, the way we had all been able to back during the Silver Millennium. But I wasn't about to see if I could do it this time, not while falling at high velocity towards the ground.

A corona of light appeared around me as my wings coalesced, along with the navy blue dress marking me as Princess of Uranus. The initial couple of beats were hard, as I tried to arrest my downward descent, but then I was on my way up. I finally arrived at our favorite study place on the roof just in time to see the sun start to creep over the horizon. I reveled in the gentle tranquility of the creeping warmth and light the sun brought back into the world.

The sound, the music that started integrated so well with my peace of mind and the general mood that at first I didn't notice it. But slowly, it crept into my mind, until I stood to find the creator of such beautiful sounds.

It was, I admit, the absolute last person I would have expected. (Okay, maybe one of the professors would have been even more of a shock . . . but not much more.) The first thing I saw was the silvery-blonde hair glinting with golden highlights from the slowly rising sun. And the guitar he bent over, as strummed softly and sang.

The song was one I recognized after a short time, a song in English that was popular thirty to forty years before. Careful not to disturb him, I sat down on the peak of the roof and watched the boy who I had looked on for so long as a (friendly) nemesis. Yes, Draco was definitely one of the last people I would have expected such a beautiful streak of musicality from.

And what a beautiful song it was . . . finally, I was unable to restrain myself further, and slowly, softly, I joined my voice to his.



//Once I thought that love was meant for anyone else but me,
Once I thought you'd never come my way.
I guess it only goes to show how wrong we all can be,
For now I have to tell you every day . . .

My love is warmer than the warmest sunshine, softer than a sigh
My love is deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than the sky
My love is brighter than the brightest star that shines every night above
And there is nothing in this world that can ever change my love . . .//



The last chords faded away into the low fog that rose, slowly, to envelop the bottom layers of the school. A chill breeze rose–pleasantly cool, even in the short dress I wore, but a reminder that winter was on the way. And we sat in silence, the two of us who had been rivals for so long–although, with me in my senshi form, I was the only one who realized that.

Draco spoke first. Hesitantly, so very unlike the brash and confident young man I had come to know and dislike. You . . . the way you sang that song . . . it was like it meant something to you, more than just words on a page.

It does. I was surprised, astonished that anyone could see that song as *just* words. Ever since the first time I heard it, I thought fondly on the enrichment activity in my high school freshman English class which had first introduced me to this song, that song has been *my* song. It echoes so perfectly my own life. I cocked my head. Don't you love anyone?

Wry grin, an expression that I would never have thought to see on his face–it implies too much humility . . . and humanity. My parents, supposedly.

I shuddered. Let them believe what they will, but don't *ever* try to convince yourself that you love someone if you actually hate them. Real hate, not just retaliation for the supposedly unfair actions they might have done. That is just spite.

But if your parents are such that you really don't give a care whether they live or die . . . and sometimes think that if they died, you'd be better off psychologically . . . duty and your conscience should restrain you from killing them. But if you truly feel that way, *don't* try to convince yourself that you love them. It only brings pain.

Small smile of my own. It's not necessary to like them . . . it is in the nature of parents, I think, to do things occasionally that their children don't like. But if you truly do not love them . . . my advice is to get out of there. As soon as possible. I did, and I've never regretted it.

Draco sighed. I always thought . . . that all children love their parents. Because that's what children do.

I shook my head. My father started abusing me when I was six. Draco's eyes widened slightly as he turned to look more closely at me. I chuckled softly–I have, slowly, gained the ability to laugh at myself and at the situation, now that I am long out of it and have made for myself a better life. Not always physical abuse . . . but he constantly seemed to find something, anything . . . even the *smallest* things wrong with me. And my mother never even tried to stop him.

I got out of there when I turned twelve. Got myself assigned to a nice foster family–far enough away and well enough covered up that he couldn't find me. And as soon as I could support myself, I got out of there too. My hatred for my father caused me to vow that I would become a better man than he ever had been.

So I raced cars for a living. And motorcycles, and I ran track . . . anything associated with speed . . . trying to outrun my past. I chopped off my hair and wore pants constantly . . . probably nearly all the people I met assumed I was a guy. By the greatest of luck, I even ended up with the most wonderful girlfriend anyone–guy or girl–could have, and raised an adoptive daughter with her. I was happy then, happy as I had never been with my father. I spat the word.

I looked deeply into Draco's eyes, trying to impress on him the seriousness of what I was saying. Love . . . there's no greater feeling. It expresses itself in many ways–you can love a friend as deeply as a lover or a family, just in a different manner. But if there's no love there . . . there just isn't, and most of the time there's nothing you can do to change that situation.

Draco was beginning to look rather shell-shocked. I stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling mischevously. You know . . . it's possible to love your enemy, too, in a similar manner to the way you love a friend–their enmity can keep you grounded as surely as another's friendship. I walked to the edge of the roof and popped out my wings, jumping and gliding down.

But Draco didn't move. He just sat there, thinking. Considering what the strange girl had said–the girl in the navy blue dress with wings like an angel. Turning over in his mind the concept that perhaps . . . he didn't love his parents after all. His father did things he wasn't quite comfortable with . . . although he had learned to keep his objections quiet, even within his own mind.

It was a word that took an invisible weight off his mind, one he hadn't even realized was there, that perhaps. A small smile, a *genuine* smile instead of the ordinary smirk, graced his lips. Just . . . perhaps.

* * *

In an empty room, lit only by the sunlight coming in through two windows along one of the walls, a small girl with auburn hair tied up in a ponytail high on her head danced. Her smooth, graceful movements, each flowing naturally into the next, became something more than martial, became an art not unlike dance. Green eyes were hidden by half-closed lids as her small smile showed the joy she felt in this activity.

And in the doorway, another stood. Slowly, the auburn-haired girl's movements slowed and stopped as she became aware of the other's presence. A wider smile found its way to her face as she wiped her forehead of the small beads of sweat that had accumulated there.

The girl with short black hair smiled back, slowly at first and shyly. Hello, Makoto-san.

Makoto shook her head impatiently, long hair flying. Just call me Mako-chan like everyone else. I don't mind, really. But please, come on in. She gestured towards the floor with a self-deprecating grin. Have a seat, if you want.

I hope I'm not disturbing you. Hotaru said, as she walked in to lean against a nearby wall. I just . . . I don't know. She shook her head with frustration. I was hoping to talk to you, I guess . . . but I don't know what about, really.

Makoto grinned engagingly as she sank to the floor in a cross-legged position. Well, we're talking now. That's as good a start as any.

Eh, I suppose. Hotaru sank to the floor, hugging her legs as she put her chin on her knees.

Silence reigned. Nice weather today. Hotaru smiled wryly. As if to directly contradict that statement, a cloud passed over the sun, and the distant roll of thunder could be heard. A look of annoyance crossed her face as she stood up and stalked over to the window.

I'll have you know that I *like* clouds. She stated, addressing the sky outside with a slightly angry, mostly amused tone of voice, arms crossed across her chest. And I *like* rain, and thunder and lightning too. So there! *Biida*

Makoto's eyes crinkled as she fought to contain her amusement. She stood and walked over. If it's any help, I like thunder and lightning and storms and rain and clouds and such too. She addressed the sky as well.

Hotaru turned, violet eyes sparkling. Now all you have to do is stick your tongue out at it.

She wrinkled her nose. But that seems like an awfully childish thing to do . . . Smack to her head. Aw, who cares? Sounds like fun! *Biida*

Green eyes met violet, and the laughter could no longer be contained. You know . . . I don't know why it comes as such a shock that you have a sense of humor–horrible thing for me to say, huh?

It's because of my persona. Hotaru explained quietly. To a certain extent, we are all influenced by our alter egos . . . Rei has a temper as firey as the attacks she controls. You are strong . . . the strength of the one the Greeks and Romans believed was the ruler of the gods. And me? She looked down at her hands. The Messiah of Silence. Mistress Nine. The Senshi of Destruction and Rebirth–although many remember only the destruction. None of my personas hold any room for a sense of humor.

Small smile. But growing up the second time . . . I was able to rediscover a sense of joy in life, in existence purely for its own sake. And with joy, comes laughter . . . so my alter egos got shoved off to the side to make room for happiness.

You know, I've never really thought of you as a person before. Makoto admitted with embarrassment. You were always just the Senshi of Saturn, Senshi of Death and Rebirth, that black-haired girl.

Hotaru nodded. And you were the tall auburn-haired Inner Senshi, the Senshi of Jupiter, Senshi of Lightning. The strongest of the Inner senshi. A minimal mental tag to a person I don't know all that well. But what I said earlier is still true . . . I would like to get to know you better.

Me too . . . I'd like to get to know *you* better too, that is. Makoto returned. Say . . . are you up for a cooking lesson?

That's the best idea I've heard all day. Hotaru stated firmly. I'd love to.

And although the two had come to the room seperately, they left together . . . and both felt their lives enriched a bit throught the contact.

* * *

A small green-haired girl lay on her bed, eyes closed and arms folded, with a peaceful expression on her face. I hope this works . . . Professor Binns, you better be right!

Focussing her concentration completely, she tried to *push* herself from her body. Finally, after what seemed like forever, something snapped internally, and she found herself looking down into her own calm face. Yes! It worked! I hope . . . She had proven to herself that it was possible to disassociate herself from her body volutarily . . . but she did not yet know if, like this, others could see her as well.

She drifted absentmindedly through a wall, down to the Hufflepuff common room. Hello, Rei. She greeted the raven-haired girl who sat there, engrossed in her Defense against the Dark Arts homework.

'Lo, Setsuna. The other girl replied distantly, then looked up. Her eyes widened and she jumped up, heedless of the homework she had just spilled all over the floor. Kami-sama, Setsuna, what happened?! Is it a new enemy? Rei seemed almost frantic with worry–not surprising, seeing as one of the strongest of her fellow senshi was floating about a foot above the ground and transparent.

Setsuna laughed. No, Rei. I was just trying a little something out . . . I'm glad to know you *can* see and hear me. She turned and phased through the door leading to the hallway, leaving Rei shaking her head.

Ookay. That was . . . different. She shrugged. Well, I doubt anything *serious* is happening. She picked her homework back up off the floor and soon was engrossed in it once again.

* * *

Setsuna drifted into the Slytherin first year girls' dorm, in search of Haruka. Hey, 'Ruka, you in there?

Come on in. Her blonde friend replied. So, what's cooking?

I think I've figured out to make myself seen. Setsuna smiled as she drifted into the room, noticing Chibiusa was in the room as well. Hello Chibiusa.

Hi Puu! The pink-haired girl replied happily. It's nice to see you again. She frowned. Why do you have to do this, anyway? Either of you?

Unseen by any in the room, Michiru had come up to the door and frozen right outside. She peeked inside, seeing Haruka, the ghostly Setsuna, and Chibiusa, then slowly withdrew her head. She, too, wanted to know what Haruka had been hiding–and perhaps she would tell to Chibiusa what she had so far seemed unwilling to tell to her.

We're pretty sure we know why–both why we keep doing this and why we are the only ones, so far, to have to go through this experience. But . . . to tell you that would be to tell you something that I swore I would never tell anyone. Haruka replied sadly.

They made us both swear that we wouldn't tell any of our fellow senshi. And there isn't any point in telling anyone else. Setsuna affirmed. You'll all find out on your own, eventually. But until then we can't say *anything*. To anyone. Her voice was full of regret. Not even to you, Small Lady.

Michiru turned and walked away, missing Haruka's soft, Not even Michiru, no matter how much I wish I could tell her.

* * *

It's happening. Michiru sat in a currently unused hallway, back to the wall and head against knees drawn up to her chest. Just like in my dream . . . she's leaving me. She hasn't yet, she may not intend to . . . but she will move on. Because she has experienced whatever it was that she went through, and I haven't. I've become the weak link in our relationship. She doesn't need me anymore.

Teary cerulean eyes. I love her. I can't imagine not loving her . . . or even clearly remember how my life was, before she came into it, before she brought light into my life. I *can* live without her . . . after all, I managed before . . . but why? We were happy . . . and even when we weren't, we were together. Why does that have to change?

She laid her head down against her knees and sighed a long, shuddery, drawn out breath. Because . . . life is change. And she has changed, grown up, in ways that I haven't. I don't know why or how, but while I have stayed essentially the same, she has become . . . more. And Setsuna, too, has grown, I think. They are much closer now than ever before . . . I'm glad, for Setsuna's sake–she has had far too few friends, and been alone for far too long.

And yet . . . she is a part of what is pulling Haruka away from me . . . even if she doesn't mean to, and I know she doesn't–she wouldn't do that to me, and she wouldn't do that to Haruka either, not intentionally. So I can't help but resent her . . . and I hate it, feeling this way about a fellow senshi, and one who is as much family to me as my real family.

She stood up, smiling a sad, wry smile. Her eyes had dried and she drew her fingers across her face, wiping away the traces of tears remaining. So what can I do? She stood straighter, drawing in on herself and exuding an aura of calm resolution. I can enjoy being with Haruka for as long as I can, knowing it won't last, and when she does leave . . . as she will, eventually . . . I don't make the parting as hard for her as it will be for me. I let her go, knowing . . . that at least she will be happy.

And she turned to walk back down the empty hallway, back towards the main parts of the school, back towards the mass of humanity that inhabited it . . . and back towards Haruka.

* * *

That night, Michiru dreamed once again. A different dream, this time, not one that made it necessary for her to be soothed. A calming dream and a rather happy one. There was another figure in shadows, but this one meant something a great deal different to the troubled teal-haired girl. This was a person she loved, deeply and completely, as she had loved only one other before, someone she was happy with. And as she descended out of that dream into the realm of dreamless sleep, it was with the knowledge that not only would the course she had chosen free the one she loved to pursue the happiness she deserved, but that she too would eventually reclaim happiness.

Hugging that belief tightly to herself, she missed the small glint of light that dispelled at least some of the shadows for a brief moment. That showed sandy blonde hair and the glint of kind teal eyes.

Beside her, Haruka slept with a small smile on her face, content with the way her world shaped itself, not reaching towards the girl beside her, but knowing undeniably that she was there. Because if Michiru had left, Haruka would have known, immediately and painfully, of that loss. And her sleep was a deep, refreshing sleep without dreams.

* * *

The girl opened her eyes to a surprising sight. She had really expected to wake up back in the dorm, in her own bed with Rei on the bed to the right, often the first sight she saw upon waking, and Setsuna across the room from her. So, when her emerald green eyes found, instead, a beautiful forest of trees, each hundreds of feet tall, she came to the (somewhat) accurate conclusion that she was still dreaming.

She walked over to one of the trees and reached out a hand. The tree's bark was rough beneath her hand, and she smiled at the feeling that somehow seemed so . . . familiar. Sliding down to a sitting position, she leaned back against the tree, gazing up through the canopy, so far up, to catch brief snatches of the lightish blue sky. As she watched, the sky darkened visibly, from blue through a pink that reminded her of her senshi fuku's bows to a deep vibrant purple.

Beautiful, isn't it? Although startled by the voice that came from nowhere, she seemed to know instinctively that the owner of the voice was no threat to her. She turned to face the new presence. A girl, whose hair was a shade that more closely approached the red of Chibi Chibi than the true *pink* of Chibiusa's, and whose eyes were a green much lighter and yellower than her own.

Who are you?

For a long moment, the other girl did not answer, content with smiling enigmatically. Search your mind. The answer is within you.

She closed her eyes, calming herself. And as she soaked in the beauty of the un-Earthly landscape, the answer drifted up out of the depths.

I'm surprised you remembered. Jupiter smiled. But then, I suppose I shouldn't have been. Even if you have forgotten most of it, you're still my avatar.

Makoto tasted the word tentatively, rolling it around her mouth. It felt . . . right. Then a question occured to her. Did you have anything to do with returning us to this state? She gestured towards her eleven-year-old body. Or know how and why it happened?
The other girl shook her head, brushing loose shoulder-length hair out of her face with a free hand. None of us know who did this or how . . . as to why, I have only speculations.

Such as . . .?

You are changing. Maturing more than you ever did in your previous life. I'm pretty sure that that's a large part of it . . . if the one who did this is actually on our side. Also, you have partially resolved a conflict that would have been left to fester otherwise. Well, it's still festering . . . but there is a possibility of healing that wouldn't have been there before.

I assume you're aware that this is *not* your home dimension?

Makoto's eyes grew misty as she remembered her first day here. My parents are still alive . . .

Right. Also, Hogwarts, the other schools of magic, and this form of magic in general never existed before. So, whoever *could* have just brought you back several years, instead of completely changing the environment you live in . . . which leaves me to conclude that it is important that you all be here, now. Whether it is because there are things you must learn here . . . or there may be a threat that only you senshi can face . . . I don't know.

Why are you appearing to me now, though? You never appeared in the beginning, when I first became Sailor Jupiter, and I'd think that would have been a much more logical time to appear.

At that point in time, I wasn't aware that I *could* contact you directly . . . that knowledge has come only recently. It may have something to do with the fractured state of your memories and the destruction Jupiter experienced from Beryl's attacks, only now even beginning to heal. But know that you are beginning to mature, I am remembering more as well. Here. She held out her hands and a soft, green ball of light began glowing between them. Take back your birthright, my Avatar.

The auburn-haired girl reached out tentatively, and her eyes widened in shock as the green power dissipated, absorbed into her body. Jupiter Eternal Make Up! The power flowed headily through her veins, until it seemed like she *was* the power.

Her fuku appeared first, the form of Super Sailor Jupiter. But then it shifted and flowed into something entirely different. The fuku lengthened into a moss green dress with short sleeves–about the same length as her shoulder guards had been–similar to the dress she wore in princess form. Around her waist a pink sash, the same color as Jupiter's hair, tied itself, ending in a bow with long flowing trails on her back. And then the wings appeared. Feathery angel wings, the same soft pink as her sash.

And Eternal Sailor Jupiter stood tall, as Jupiter looked on approvingly, and voiced her single, most overwhelming thought.

Beautiful . . .




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
16. Shades of Green
Thursday morning dawned bright and early over Hogwarts, as the sun dispelled the fog that had risen to surround the school during the night. And in one particular room in the school, two people held a short conversation that would be completely meaningless, most likely, to anyone else who happened to overhear it.

Filled with a new sense of power as well as the rest sleep had brought, a certain auburn-haired girl sat up, only to gape in surprise at one of the other inhabitants of the room.

The green-haired girl in question turned, only to blink and widen her eyes–her personal version of the gapemouthed stare still inhabiting the other girl's face.

A resigned voice, a piece of the puzzle that had finally clicked in Makoto's mind.

Setsuna affirmed, smiling slightly. An understanding had been reached between the two. Anyone else certainly wouldn't understand much.

* * *

Why do you come up here? I asked as, once again, I met Draco and his guitar on top of the roof at sunrise.

It's nice up here. Peaceful. And rather otherworldly . . . I don't feel like I have to be as strictly Draco Malfoy here. I can be someone different . . . someone better.

You can change, you know. You don't have to remain the Draco Malfoy you are to the world now. Look at me, after all. I went from rebellious, resentful, and bitter to the somewhat more well-adjusted person I am now. I can't say I'm perfect . . . if my father just appeared out of thin air, I'd probably smack him real hard as many times as possible . . . but I no longer feel the need to let my hatred of him ruin my life.

I found it rather ironic that I was telling things to my rival/enemy/plaything that I had never breathed to another soul, not even Michiru. But there was just something about the situation that drew out that sort of confidences.

But what if it is he who is ruining your life? The guitar had been set to the side, and he had drawn his knees up to his chest, speaking in a low voice. Almost as if he feared the very air surrounding us would carry his betrayal to hostile ears. What if he does *things* and makes you watch . . . saying it will harden you . . . He was shaking now, and his voice had fallen to practically nothing. . . . and you *can't* say no because you have no place to run!

You find a place to run to. Don't you have any friends?

Draco Malfoy has no need for such common things as friends. The response seemed automatic. He seemed to understand that I didn't mean his hench-idiots in the context of friends, not surprising as he didn't really treat them as such.

In a burst of . . . I'm not really sure, even now–pity, sympathy, inspiration? . . . I took my communicator out of my subspace pocket and gave it to Draco. If I was really needed somewhere, Setsuna would let me know . . . and Ami could probably make me a new one if I ever got up enough courage to ask her, or Luna, or Artemis. Draco needed it more than I did now.

I knew now from experience that if someone sent me a message with their senshi communicator, I could pick it up even without one of my own–I had never gotten around to asking the others if they could do the same, though. I showed him the lid that disguised the communicator from normal prying eyes, and the navy blue button that he should push in order to get into contact with me. If I don't answer you in time, use the darker red button. I pointed to the one that would put him into contact with Setsuna. Tell the person who answers that you're Uranus' friend. I would warn Setsuna of the possibility, so that she wouldn't cut him off.

Why are you doing this for me? Draco had a bewildered and lost look in his silver eyes, his normal thought processes completely unhinged by a simple offer of friendship.

Because, regardless of my first impression, I rather like you. And . . . you deserve the chance to get away that I didn't take until it was nearly too late. And in a way, it had been too late . . . because it took dying and being reborn in a very different fashion for me to finally break away.

Draco watched as once again his angel flew away, dissipating like the morning mists under the fierce attention of the sun. And he looked down at the small watch-like communication device he held in his hand, and tucked it away in his pocket. Freedom . . . that was what the mysterious girl represented, from the first time he met her. First, freedom of thought, and now . . . if he had the courage to take the hand of friendship she had so surprisingly extended . . . perhaps, a way to escape, and find freedom in a very real and tangible sense, as well . . .

* * *

The notice was hard to escape, with the words Attention First Years written in bold, block letters easily visible up to twenty feet away. Not surprisingly, it was one of the first things that caught my eye when I first came into the common room. I wandered over to take a closer look. First year History of Magic lessons changed to 10 am on Mondays and Thursdays in room 238. It was, luckily, one of the rooms I actually knew the placement of, a rather large room that had about four times as much floor space as any of the other classrooms typically used . . . except, perhaps, the dungeons in which Snape taught Potions.

Beside it, a notice slightly larger and even more noticable. Quidditch match Saturday, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. I supposed I would attend . . . even if only because most likely everyone else in the two houses would also. It was bound to be interesting . . . scrawled near the bottom were two more words. Potter Sucks!

I didn't really understand the reasoning that led whoever it was to write that on a Quidditch game announcement of all things . . . but shrugged it off. The sentiment was, after all, a fairly prevalent one among Slytherin students as a whole.

I took a look at my watch and nearly yelped. A quarter to ten already? I hadn't realized it was *that* late . . . History of Magic started in less than fifteen minutes! I dashed out the door.

* * *

Gasping slightly, I was one of the first to the new classroom in which History of Magic was now being held, and as I walked through the door, I wondered idly if it had anything to do with the suggestion I had made . . . had it really been two days before?

Only one person had gotten there before me, a person that I instantly recognized. We both said at the same time and, as one, turned to Professor Binns.

This is not going to work out. Hermione informed him primly.

I was a bit less restrained. Are you nuts? Putting Slytherin and Gryffindor in the same classroom?! Are you really *trying* to start World War III?

The ghostly professor smiled serenely. You are Slytherin, she is Gryffindor, and look, you agree on something already.

That's different. We both attested, simultaneously once again.

I shook my head. On an individual basis . . . at least, *certain* individuals . . . it might work. But making people like Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle work with people like . . . well, *anyone* else really . . . is pure insanity. It will never work. I was beginning to like Draco, true. But I had no illusions as to how much of a nasty, sarcastic idiot he could be in Malfoy mode.

And truce or no truce, there was another small problem. Or more accurately, two. Minako and Usagi, currently going by the name Serenity. I shook my head sadly as I walked over to take an empty seat.

Next to come through the door, surprising as it might have seemed, was Usagi. Of course, she came through at a mad dash, and nearly slid into a desk in her attempt to stop in time, but she was actually early. She still tripped and dropped everything on her way to her desk, though. I smiled slightly. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Minako arrived soon after, dragging along and chatting with Harry, Ron, Neville, and a couple of other Gryffindor boys that I didn't recognize. Michiru, Chibiusa and Lindsey showed up in a small clump of their own, one that drifted my way and settled around me.

Draco, his hench-idiots, and a few other random Slytherin–including the other two girls, Pansy and Millicent–sauntered in and found their seats. Finally, the last few stragglers arrived, and all got seated with a relatively small amount of fuss and, surprisingly, no property damage at all. Though if looks were laser beams . . .

The professor started off class with an announcement–and one that, for once, everyone was awake for. I'm sure you are wondering at the change in schedule. Someone suggested to me that I do something a bit different, in order to bring history somewhat more alive, you could say. I was deeply grateful that he hadn't mentioned me by name. So I decided that each of the classes would put on a musical, along the theme of musical history. The only problem with that would be that a small class of ten or eleven is not a large enough cast to put on much of anything. So I have combined the first year Gryffindor and Slytherin classes, and done the same with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Which musical you put on is left, however, entirely up to you.

Arguments began immediately, escalating quickly to a complete uproar. Finally a suggestion was made that everyone was (reluctantly) willing to agree on. Of course, if more of them had realized that Draco had been the one to suggest it, the whole of Gryffindor would probably have disagreed on general principles.

Actually written by a fairly contemporary British composer, it was the adaptation of a much older movie. Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera.

Professor Binns nodded when we informed him of our choice, and promised to get copies of the script as soon as he could get his (non-corporeal) hands on some.

* * *

After the Gryffindor/Slytherin combined flight lesson (in which many expressions of disgust were made at having to share two classes in the *same* *day* with each other, and in which Chibiusa joined Harry and I in our game of catch and surprised all three of us by winning), we gathered for our customary homework/get-together session on the roof. Setsuna had evidently picked up Hotaru on her way as they came up together. Hotaru was elated at getting to spend time with her best friend, but Setsuna looked rather shell-shocked. Hey, Setsuna, what's wrong?

Nothing really. She replied, a guilty expression shadowing her face. It's just that Makoto went Eternal last night and . . . I just haven't quite adjusted to the changed situation yet.

Mako-chan, huh? I thought of the auburn-haired boy-chasing senshi. Interesting. I wonder who she'll bond with? Or remember her bond to, that is. You didn't tell her, did you?

No, I figured that, in a manner similar to gaining Eternal powers, the bond was something she should discover on her own. Nice to see you again.

We saw each other yesterday.

If the pattern continues–although just the two of us could hardly be construed as a real pattern–the next person will regain their Eternal form tonight.

If it's Michiru, Chibiusa–do you think she will gain the power? She's not from the Silver Millennium, but you'd think that, since she has the power to become a Super Sailor Senshi, she ought to become an Eternal Sailor Senshi too. Anyway, or Minako or Usagi, I'll see and let you know.

Why Minako and Usagi? Oh, right, Potions tomorrow for you. If it's Rei, I'll let you know. But neither of us will know if it's one of the Ravenclaws. I wonder if Mamoru has an Eternal form . . .

You're drooling, dear.

Baka! I am not! Besides, I got over *him* ages ago.

I know. But I can't help teasing you about it. It's just so much fun!

You, my dear, have an extremely warped sense of humor.

And you find many of the same things funny that I do. So what does that say for your sense of humor, Miss Guardian of Time?

*Biida*

And the same back to you.

* * *

Hotaru shook her head sadly. She can't see it. I can't believe she can't see it.

Who see what? Chibiusa asked of her friend.

Haruka. See the way Michiru looks at her. Determined, resigned, and totally devoid of anything resembling hope. Sad smile. The look of a person who is about to lose something incredibly important to them, and won't do anything about it, because it's for the good of the other person.

I had noticed how much closer Haruka and Puu seemed. But that's friendship, if incredibly deeper and more meaningful than it has ever been. It's a friendship that is good for both of them. Still, it's obvious that Michiru has nothing to worry about. Haruka loves her, plain and simple, and that will never change.

You know that. I know that. But Michiru doesn't. It's one of the ways my parents are so alike–neither of them have faith in anything. Except, perhaps, their love for each other. And now, for some reason, Michiru's lost that faith in their love, and now fears that Haruka doesn't love her anymore. Or won't.

And the worst thing is, we can't do anything about it. Chibiusa sighed with frustration. Anything we do would only make it worse.

Exactly. Like with Usagi, this is something they're going to have to work out on their own. Anything else would only be a temporary measure. Hotaru nodded agreement, and the two friends shared a long look. They did not look forward to when this particular storm would break.

But still . . . I don't understand how it is that she just can't see!

* * *

Interesting little group they've gathered, there.

Ah, Minerva. Please, have a seat. And I agree, interesting indeed.

The stern professor in yet another of her emerald robes sat crosslegged on the roof beside the one who often seemed to be her nemesis, training her eyes on a small group of first year students sitting on a nearby roof. Why, Severus, you seem positively mellow. A very unusual attitude for you. What brought on this radical change?

She hates me, you know. No, that's not quite right. She is contemptuous of me. I'm not enough of a threat for her to bother hating me. I never would have believed that the opinion of one student–even the daughter of an old friend–would come to matter so much to me.



The blonde. Haruka Ten'ou. For all that she was put in Slytherin, she's as honor-bound as her father ever was.

I think I remember him. Hiroshi? He was the only Slytherin I ever found even remotely likeable. If she's anything like him, I'm surprised she got put into Slytherin.

Doubtless Gryffindor would have been a better match. He smirked at his fellow professor. But to return to the subject of the group. Four Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw. Not to mention the fact that they are on amiable terms with Potter's crowd in Gryffindor. The twist in his mouth, a grimace of disgust, was fleeting almost to the point of not being noticeable. Then, an abrupt laugh. More friendly than they are with the rest of Slytherin. For quite a while, Haruka and Draco had a regular feud going . . . it seems to have slacked off recently. Haruka isn't provoking Draco nearly as much, and his heart doesn't seem to be quite as much into the feud anymore, either.

I just wish that Haruka would tell me what is bothering her. Something is, of that I am certain.

You know, I don't think I've ever seen you show this much interest in another student. Up to and including that brat Malfoy.

Haruka affects me. I'm not sure exactly why, even. It has something to do with how damn honorable she is, I think–so much like her father, bringing back memories of the early days. The good days. And she's much more self-sufficient than Hiroshi ever was, and yet strangely vulnerable at the same time.

Hiroshi would never have dreamed of facing down a mountain troll his first semester here. It would have been simply inconcievable that anyone would do something so reckless . . . and just plain stupid. Yet . . . I get the feeling that Haruka could have taken the troll on alone and won. That any of them could, with the possible exception of the Granger girl.

But she depends on her friends. Even as antisocial and grouchy as I am, I can see that. Not in a physical sense, but if she lost her friends, I get the feeling that she'd completely fall apart. I guess the main thing is, she's an enigma. And you know how I've always been about solving puzzles.

Yes, she knew. When there was something he wanted to figure out, Snape was absolutely relentless. He would let next to nothing stand in his way–although he would never intentionally harm someone.

She almost felt sorry for the girl.

* * *

At a small table in the nearly deserted library, the blue-haired girl finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had tortured her the past few weeks.

Her study partner looked up from the large tome she had been reading, and smiled slightly, tucking a strand of ebony hair behind her left ear. Because I was unhappy. So I rearranged my priorities. I finally realized that to me, friendship is more important than duty. And that even more important to me than friendship, is family. You have all been friends to me, and my duty lies with the princess. But in addition to being my friends, they're also my family.

She closed the book and stood up, a strange smile on her face. I still acknowledge my duty, and I still love you as my dear friends . . . but I will no longer let my duty and your friendship stand in the way of my happiness when really, it hurts no one and helps others than just myself.

What are your priorities, Ami? You really ought to figure that out, before you are forced into making a decision you will later regret. And for you, you may not be as lucky as me, to get a second chance, to undo the damage you never really meant to cause.

Think about it.

* * *

As she got into bed that night, Hotaru tilted her head at a strange feeling. Something was going to happen. Something related to her growing friendship with her family now that they were all the same age. Something related somehow to the conversations she had enjoyed recently with Mako-chan, the observations she had shared with Chibiusa that afternoon, the advice she had given Ami. Something that would happen to her alone. Soon. But not that night. So she went to sleep, confident that when it happened, she would confront it, ready for whatever might come.

Asleep, she dreamed of a young woman in an emerald green dress that matched her eyes, one of the few that had ever dared befriend her. But when she woke up, she remembered nothing of the dream . . . except that it had been a good dream . . . and a vague, half-remembered flash of emerald.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
17. The Other Shoe

It was a Friday morning. For most people, this would be a cause for excitement. Thank goodness it's Friday! the students cry, glad the weekend with its temporary cession of classes is finally nearing.

For at least half of the first year population at Hogwarts, the sentiments were widely different. We mutter, shaking our heads disgustedly. Wonderful. Potions again.

On our way down to the dungeons, I scoped out my fellow Slytherins. Michiru? Unfortunately, no. Chibiusa? Again, no. As class started, I glanced over to the Gryffindor side of the room, completing my survey. Usagi? Nope. Minako? Nuh uh. On my front, at least, the coast was clear. No one else in Gryffindor or Slytherin changed last night. I sent the message to Setsuna.

Brief spike of amusement and disappointment. No one new in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, either.

*Sigh* Dang. Pause. History of Magic?

Yup. Am I to take it he combined Gryffindor and Slytherin?

Silence.

I see. How many injuries resulted? Combined inner laugh, shared solely between the two of them.

Surprisingly enough, none. We even got the decision made, amazingly.

Ooh. What?

Phantom of the Opera, by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Uprorious laugh. You'll never believe this. We just decided on a musical too–one called Cats. And guess who it's by?

Andrew Lloyd Webber? I could only barely suppress a snicker myself as we cut off the conversation and went back to concentrating on our individual classes. Hermione–my partner for the day since Snape had decided to mix things up by assigning random partners–looked at me quizzically. I shrugged it off. Just remembered something rather funny.

Anything I'd understand?

Yeah . . . but don't worry, you'll find out soon enough.

And class continued. I was aware, peripherally, of Snape's gaze as it traveled throughout the room–but always seemed to land on me. I had to admit, he wasn't quite as bad as I had once painted him, anymore. He stopped singling Harry and the other Gryffindors out for criticism *quite* so single-mindedly, and even corrected the Slytherins–even Draco!–a few times.

As petty as it seems, though, I still hadn't quite forgiven Snape for being the sort of person who would be friends with HIM. My original and long-standing nemesis, the one person who had perhaps the greatest impact on my life . . . until Michiru came along and healed most of the damage.

Our potion of the day nearly finished and being left to boil, I slipped into fond daydreams of Michiru. With my eyes glazed over (and perhaps even a few hearts floating around my head–what a disgusting thought!), I probably looked just like one of the Inners, mooning over the latest cute guy. Pardon me while I go off and snicker about the thought. (*snicker*) I turned my head Michiru's direction and smiled softly, a special smile that only she ever generates in me.

Did I imagine the slight hesitation before she returned my smile? The question itself was driven completely out of my head when I heard the agonized scream torn from the throat of one of the few people I cared the most for.

* * *

Potions seemed to be going well, Severus Snape decided. Even Neville seemed to be managing not to spill anything, with Usagi as his partner. The pink-haired girl had seemed to hit it off with the poor boy–and despite her natural cheeriness, she had a very steadying effect on him. And Serenity–the other person in the class with a nearly infinite klutz rating–had ended up with Lindsey as her partner, a quiet, steady girl who kept the blonde on track and out of trouble, and another of the group of four who he and McGonagall had dubbed the un-Slytherin Slytherins–the four who managed to be both Slytherin and nice people, and were well on their way to ruining the house's reputation (which could be considered a good thing). Yes, class seemed to be working extraordinarily well, today.

Until trouble came in a strange manner, from one of the least likely sources. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She didn't mind causing trouble to people she did not like–or at least, being sarcastic and cutting whenever possible in his case. He sighed silently. Even though Haruka had mellowed a bit recently–she didn't tease Malfoy nearly as much anymore, for example–she had not at any time let up on her stance of complete contemptuousness towards himself. What could Hiroshi possibly have done to evoke such feelings of hatred in his own daughter?

Prejudicing her against Snape, he could understand slightly–Hiroshi had never approved of their decision to join Voldemort, and his disproval had fallen especially hard on Snape, because the two boys had always been the closest of their group of friends, being the only ones with more than vestigial consciences. But that didn't make sense, when compared to the way in which she reacted the first time the subject was brought up.

No My father told me about *you* as he might have expected. While hurtful in the extreme, he still would have understood a rejection of himself, personally. Instead, her face had hardened, eyes glittering angrily. I have no father. Cold. Definite. Without any doubt or room for change left in her mind. She disliked him because he had known, and been friends with, the father she no longer acknowlegded.

So the question remained on his mind . . . What on Earth could Hiroshi have possibly done?

He watched her fantasize about something (or someone, although he felt she was rather young to even begin having crushes)–and yes, a couple of hearts did float around her head, much to Hermione's discomfort (she ended up ducking, more than once). The secret smile shared with Michiru, once she snapped out of the daydream (Snape was becoming more and more certain that *something* existed between the two, something deeper and more tangible than mere friendship).

And then . . . the moment of absolute shock and horror. Haruka stood violently, more quickly than he would have thought possible, and looked around with wide eyes. She screamed, a scream that formed itself into a name, the green-haired girl from Hufflepuff, one of her few and closest friends. She ran out of the room, again a great deal more quickly than he would have thought possible, and he stood to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Michiru, Usagi, Lindsey, Serenity, and Minako doing the same, and filed that fact away for further consideration at a later time.

For now, he just ran.

* * *

The Gates of Time were in flux. Like a TV screen with such horrible reception that all one could see is static, the Gates of Time had been unusable since, well, since they had all reversed back to eleven years old so unexpectedly. The Guardian of Time no longer had control of the Time Stream. Well, she had never had control anyway . . . Time has no master. But she had been able to influence events, through what it showed to her.

What it chose to show her. Because, despite what her logic centers informed her of, she knew that Time was alive, after its own manner of living. There was just a little too much irony in what she saw ahead of time–and what she didn't see–for it to be simple coincidence. Not that she believed in coincidences, anyway.

She might not ever admit it to any of the other senshi, but stopping time this time had been hard. Not in the consequences, but in the actual action itself. She remembered so clearly the last time she had stopped time . . . right before the helicopter had blown up. Then, although the consequences were great, the actual action itself had been . . . simple. A focus of the will, a bend in the stream of time, and it was done.

This time . . . the time stream had nearly slipped from her grasp, not once but several times. And that scared her, ever so much . . . more than anyone else could ever possibly understand–more, she was afraid of what it might mean. Almost as if Time no longer recognized her as its guardian, was no longer willing to grant her the limited use of its powers. Oh yes, the signs had certainly appeared, and she had taken note of them. It was quite obvious that something would happen soon, something that would change the relationship between herself and Time. Occasionally, she wished there was someone she could talk to–like her mother, or even Pluto–that would understand what she was going through. Someone who could explain the situation to her, for once. So she wouldn't have to go on, pretending to everyone that nothing could possibly be wrong . . . while waiting patiently, anxiously, for the other shoe to drop.

This explains why she wasn't particularly surprised when, in the middle of History of Magic, she felt the first serious crack in her bond with the Gates of Time, a splintering, complete destruction of the bond step by step, growing worse and more painful every breath she took. Why, as the pain grew worse but was still bearable, she staggered out into the hall away from class, away from the human beings who couldn't possibly understand . . . and even more importantly, away from her fellow senshi who just might.

She staggered blindly, not consciously aware that every choice of paths in the twisting halls made brought her closer to the Potions classroom. Closer to the one person she had the closest relationship with, who would support her even though she didn't, couldn't possibly, understand. And, when the pain became too much even for her to handle, she crumpled . . . and when she could hold it in no longer, she screamed.

* * *

I tore down the hallways, headed unerringly towards the History of Magic room and the horrible, tearing pain that echoed through my skull. Everyone was in class at that time, so there were no obstacles for me to deal with in my haphazard passage towards my goal–a good thing, since I probably would have run them down with all the subtlety (and less attention payed to them) of a freight train.

By the time I reached Setsuna, I had become so frantic with worry that I almost tripped over her, before slowing enough to recognize her as the objective I had been running towards. I knelt beside her. What's wrong? A verbal question, followed by a querying probe.

Not stopping screaming for a moment, even mentally she was nearly incoherent. . . . contact . . . Gates . . . breaking . . .

Give me a key, and I'll go check out the situation. There must be something we can do! By that time, not only was I frantic with worry for her, but about the entire world. Something very severe would have to happen to cut her off from the Gates of Time, and those were the only Gates I could think of that she'd be likely to be talking about.

She stopped screaming, and the cessation of noise was, in its own way, nearly as horrible as the screams had been. Growing steadily paler, she smiled encouragingly as she struggled to get up. And I, knowing nothing I could say would change her mind, had to stand there, helpless, and let her. No. I will . . . come too. I must . . .

We glanced around. The hall, amazingly enough, remained empty of anyone except the two of us. Still leaning heavily on me, she brought out her staff, the garnet orb growing dim. Take us to the Gates through which the Stream of Time flows . . . the orb, previously so ominously dim, began to flare painfully, and I was suddenly aware that she spoke in no language I had ever learned, in either life . . . yet I could understand her perfectly . . . at the Beginning and at the End . . . the garnet glow enveloped both of us, a strange feeling, yet one I knew would not hurt me. A hand tentatively touched my shoulder, and I began to turn . . .

. . . open the road before us!

And we disappeared.

* * *

We reappeared right in front of the Gates of Time. And before our horrified eyes, a crack appeared, running roughly diagonal across the entire immense structure. Tearing herself from my grasp, Setsuna limped forward and laid her tiny hands against the ancient doorway, rested her forehead against the cool metal, and cried. The pain still remained, nearly as powerfully as before–I could tell through our link–but it had been subliminated by her truly phenomenal power of will.

Is it something I did? She whispered sadly, still in that strange language that I could somehow understand perfectly. Am I no longer good enough? I will pass on the guardianship, if that is what you want . . . if that is what you need . . . just don't die. The breaking of the link tears me up so much inside, I can hardly stand it . . . but I can live on without the link . . . if you die, I'll die too. Even unlinked, I am tied so tightly to you . . . I wish I knew what to do.

I understood the last wish all to well. I wished I knew what to do, to heal the breach between Inner and Outer Senshi. To open up to others. But most of all . . . I wished I knew how to make Setsuna better again. How to help her through such an experience as I never had . . . and hope I never will . . . an experience I can't even understand.

All I could do was walk up and hold her. Let her know that someone else was there for her. That I didn't care whether she remained guardian of time or not, as long as she remained Setsuna. Hold her as Michiru and I had held each other, those times when the right path seemed dim and hard to navigate, when we felt we no longer had the strength to go on, we drew strength from one another.

The pain welled up closer to the surface, but I helped her push it back down. Keep it out of the way of what must be done. She drew herself up and brought the silver staff, symbol of her position, into being. I, Meiou Setsuna, Princess and Avatar of Pluto, hereditary Guardian of the Gates of Time, hereby renounce, the crack grew larger and split in several places, and Setsuna paused, unsure, before continuing. For now and forever more, my place as Guardian of Thy Gates. As proof, I return the Time Staff to thee. She held it out, and it shimmered with a violet-black light, leaving only the Garnet Orb. So mote it be. The orb also shimmered in the garnet light that was purely Setsuna, recombining itself with her the way it had been for so long, before all three of our talismans had been brought into the light.

With an anguished groan, the Gates shuddered and collapsed in on themselves, until only a pile of rubble remained. Setsuna turned to me, eyes wild. Did I do the right thing?

I . . . I searched myself, and found a small niggling feeling of wrongness–one so small that I hadn't even noticed its existence until I went searching for it–that seemed somehow slightly more right. Yes, Setsuna. You did the right thing.

Oh good. I'm . . . She slumped over, breathing slowing.

I called with both mind and voice. Setsuna? No, you can't leave me! I won't let you leave me again, damn it!

Garnet eyes fluttered open, and her hand reached up shakily to touch me gently on the cheek. Silly Haruka. I'd never leave you, not really. I'm just . . . taking a . . . short . . . vacation . . . It is you who has always left me . . . Not an accusation, but an accepting sorrow.

Never again. Not for anyone or anything. I promise.

* * *

What is going on? Snape stared around into the all-encompassing mists, certain that they were no place he had ever seen before, and quite possibly no longer even on Earth. Where are we?

Looking up from where she knelt by the side of her fallen friend, Haruka smiled slightly. A contemplative look in her eyes, she brushed silky strands of hair out of her eyes and back behind an ear. To answer your second question first, we are at the Gates of Time. As to what is going on–that is entirely too long a story to tell in one sitting . . . or to a person I trust less than absolutely. The implication being that she did not trust him nearly that much.

What language were you speaking in?

Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned in thought. I don't know. It just . . . happened. Setsuna probably knows, though.

What's wrong with her?

I think . . . it's backlash from the breaking of her link to the Gates of Time. But I don't know, so I don't know how I can help, or even if I can! Setsuna's face had grown pale, and there were lines around her eyes where she clenched them tightly shut, even in the coma-like state she had fallen into. I just don't know . . . She wiped her eyes angrily with a free hand, then sighed. But until she wakes up, we're stuck here.

And though uttered lightly, the words seemed heavy with a feeling of doom.

Until she wakes up, we're stuck here. And when will she wake up?

* * *

Chibiusa bit her nails nervously. Haruka and Snape had both disappeared . . . and probably Puu as well . . . and no one had seemed to notice. Professor Quirrell had been substituted in as Potions teacher (and was doing about as effective a job here as in Defense against the Dark Arts). Added to that, her time key felt different. Not . . . alive seemed silly, but it was the best way she could think of to put it. It seemed dead, and somehow heavier as well. She looked over at Michiru, sitting placidly at her desk. She would have thought Michiru, at least, would be more worried.

Quirrell dismissed class, and she rushed over to Michiru. Do you think Haruka is all right? She asked, desperate for reassurance. Surely if anyone knew, it would be the teal-haired violinist.

The other girl looked up, slight confusion in her eyes. Haruka? Who is that?




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
18. To Forget and to be Forgotten

So we just sit here and wait until she wakes up?

Got any better ideas? Haruka snapped, kicking an illusory stone further into the mists. Because if you do, I'd sure love to hear them!

Snape smiled. He could remember many times when, after staying up too late studying (or engaging in other activities), Hiroshi would snap at him in just that way after he made a stupid error. What are you smiling at?

You remind me so much, in so many ways, of your father. Why, if you cut your hair, you'd even look exactly like Hiroshi!

Haruka had started to boil over, he saw, and mourned whatever terrible mistake Hiroshi had made. But then, just as suddenly, she stopped. Did you say . . . Hiroshi?

Yes, of course! Who else would your father be?

Let me make sure I've got this straight. Hiroshi Ten'ou. Blonde hair, blue-green eyes. Younger of two brothers. Kinda quiet, but smiles a lot. You following me so far?

Yes, that sounds like Hiroshi to me. Although I must admit, I haven't seen him for at least fifteen years now, he can't have changed that much.

He died in a car crash when I was six. Haruka stated flatly. Less than a week before . . . well, never mind that.

Hiroshi didn't die. As far as I know, he's still alive and well. Snape frowned. It was his older brother, Ichiro, and his wife who died in the crash five years ago–I remember him writing me a letter about it.

Ichiro died? Haruka's eyes widened impossibly large. Darkish hair, same blue-green eyes, short, nasty, and all around (including especially personality) ugly as hell? That Ichiro?

Mind your language. Snape replied automatically, before smirking. I must admit your assessment is right on the mark, however. Yes, that Ichiro Ten'ou.

So let me see if I understand this all correctly. Ichiro is dead, in a car crash five years ago, and Hiroshi, the *younger* brother, is my father?

Yes. Of course.

Haruka bounced up and around, stopping briefly to hug Snape. I'm sorry, I misjudged you. If you were friends with Uncle Hiroshi, you're a pretty cool guy. Then she was off again. YES! He's dead! And gone! He will never haunt me again! I dance a German polka and a tango on his grave! I'M FREE!

And Snape was left, once again, with the inescapeable conclusion that he had missed something.

* * *

After Haruka calmed down adequately, she smiled apologetically at Snape. I'm sorry I flew off the handle at you like that. It really wasn't fair of me to tar you with the same brush as . . . HIM. All I can say is that I reacted without thinking . . . and by the time I began thinking again, I had forgotten the name you used. My friends are always telling me I ought to learn to control my temper better.

She sighed. It's hard to believe that Uncle Hiroshi is my father. I mean, I never got to know him well, since he practically never came over to visit. I don't think they got along too well, Uncle Hiroshi and HIM.

What I find hard to believe is that you could be the daughter of anyone *but* Hiroshi. Your hair, your eyes are exactly alike. And even more than that . . . your willingness to tell people when they are being stupid, your sense of justice, your loyalty to your friends is even stronger than his, though, I think.

Haruka sat, lost in thought, before looking up at Snape. Professor Snape? Would you be willing to tell me about him? Uncle Hiroshi . . . my father? And somehow that one simple phrase had changed from a synonym for hatred to something almost . . . warm. Rather nice, even. Finally, she had found the fundamental change in her life that this switching of realities had brought. And, like all the others–parents who had not died, schisms that had never happened–it was undeniably a good change.

Snape thought back, and a gentle smile rose to his face. Let's see. The first time I met Hiroshi, he was not in that great of a mood. He had just been assigned to Slytherin, of all places . . .

* * *

The boy with short blonde hair sat on the rooftop and mourned, alone with only his guitar for company. If anyone had been around, approaching more closely they might have heard the mournful chords he strummed, and the words he sang, ever so softly.



//To think that only yesterday,
I was cheerful bright and gay;
Looking forward to, well, who wouldn't do
The role I was about to play:

But as if to knock me down,
Reality came around;
And without so much as a mere touch,
Cut me into little pieces:

Leaving me to doubt, talk about,
God in his mercy,
who if he really does exist
why did he desert me
in my hour of need?

I truly am indeed
Alone again, naturally.//



He sighed. My angel . . . Uranus . . . you left me without even a hint that you would do so, the same way Haruka did. I thought we had become closer than that. I thought you understood me better, understood how much your friendship meant to me.

Self-conscious laugh. Would you believe, I even miss Haruka? More than that Michiru girl does–which is funny. Even I, as emotionally stunted as I am, noticed that Haruka and Michiru had something really special going on. I'd like to tell you about Haruka . . . but you left me, most likely for good.

He stood up, going towards the stairs. At the top, before starting down, he turned to look back at the empty roof top. I suppose I don't really blame you. The only one in my life who hasn't left me is my father–perhaps the one person that I wish most would. But . . . if you've moved on, to another troubled person like the true angel you are . . . I hope you make as big, as deep an impact on their life as you have on mine. Goodbye. His last word rang with finality in the early morning air on the now empty rooftop, as he disappeared silently into the building.

* * *

The pink-haired girl turned, curious, at the other girl's strident call.

Mako-chan! It's nice to see you again. She smiled. What can I do for you?

Do you know where Haruka and Setsuna are? I just got a real bad feeling, that something bad had happened to them. Just out of sight, beginning to turn the corner that would bring him into view, Draco froze and slid back a bit.

Chibiusa's expression froze, and Makoto's face fell. I'm too late, aren't I.

Something happened. Chibiusa bowed her head, the words falling softly but distinctly audible in the dead silent hall. I don't know what. But Haruka, Puu, and Professor Snape all disappeared.

Professor Snape. Draco's brow furrowed. He was sure he had heard that name somewhere . . . but where had it been? He concentrated, and slowly it came back to him. Professor Severus Snape. Potions instructor, and Head of Slytherin. Black hair and black eyes. Distinctly disliked Potter–even moreso than Draco himself, whose dislike was mostly inspired by his ingrained habits of sarcasm and ridicule and by his father. Yes, now Draco remembered Snape–so why had he ever forgotten? He tuned back in to the conversation.

. . . doesn't work anymore. And *no one* remembers any of them, Mako-chan.

Don't tell me Michiru has forgotten Haruka! Makoto's voice was frankly disbelieving. Those two are *solid* Chibiusa. Always have been, and always will be. It's like a regular law of nature or something. Even *this* didn't shake their relationship. I don't believe that Michiru could forget Haruka, just like that.

Ask her yourself. Chibiusa's voice flattened with despair. And I quote–'Haruka? Who is that?'

Yes, who is Haruka? Michiru's smooth, cultured tones washed over those present. You never did get around to telling me, Chibiusa. Much less why I would be likely to know about this person.

The rest of that conversation was lost to Draco as he walked away, head down. He had much to think on.

* * *

No way! Uncle Hiroshi had a crush on Michiru's mother? That is so totally weird! Haruka laughed, hanging onto every word Snape spoke about their many adventures back then.

Michiru is Sachiko's daughter? Somehow, I'm not surprised, although Michiru is a great deal quieter than Sachiko ever was. She always seemed to be falling into one scrape or another–usually with what's-his-name . . . Aki! Usually with Aki Kaiou–Michiru's father?

I can easily believe that. Haruka laughingly related some of the tricks Michiru's father had suggested they pull. I really ought to try the one with the fudgesicle and paperclips at some point–though I don't know where I'd be able to find a fudgesicle. And then again, I don't know who I'd pull it on.

You always used to play your dirtiest tricks on Malfoy. May I ask why you stopped? You haven't done anything more harmful than issuing cutting remarks, lately.

I . . . I really didn't want to reveal our early morning talk sessions. Those were something special, just between the two of us–and then I'd have to explain how it is that Draco didn't recognize me. Finally I shrugged. I just haven't really been in the mood recently.

All interest in out conversation was broken as I felt Setsuna stir back into wakefulness. . . . 'ruka . . .

What is it, Setsuna? I immediately dashed to her side as she opened her eyes slightly. Don't try to talk. You're still too weak.

*cough* Silly 'Ruka. You worry too much. I'll *hack* be fine soon enough. I just need to regain my strength.

I held her. Don't worry. I'll take care of you until then.

No. She tried to sit up. You must . . . go on. Without me, if necessary. The longer we are trapped here, the harder it will be to leave–and as we stay, everyone's memory of us will grow dimmer and dimmer . . . if they haven't forgotten already. You *must* find Pluto. He will help . . . She slumped, by all appearances having returned to that coma-like state. . . . find pluto . . . The echo whispered.

But how? I don't know where he is, or even what he looks like! This is hopeless.

Flutter of eyelashes as her eyes reopened briefly. . . . he has a strange sense of humor. Look for a huge . . . ominous . . . black castle. He'll probably be . . . there . . .

And this time, there remained no echo of near-consciousness. I looked around through the all-encompassing greyish mists. I'm sorry, Setsuna, but there is no imposing black castle. And even were it feet away from me, I doubt I could see it.

Will even Michiru forget? No, I won't, I can't believe that. She's stronger than that, we both are. Oh, Michiru . . . please . . . remember me, until I can find a way to return . . .

* * *

Small Lady, this is *not* a good idea. You don't even know if it will work! I doubt LunaP even exists anymore . . . and you're too old to be using it in any case.

You know I mean this in absolutely the nicest way . . . shut up, Diana. I am going to hypnotise Professor Binn, and there is *absolutely* *nothing* you can say or do to stop me. Doing the musicals without Haruka and Puu would not only be mean, it would be absolutely wrong.

The pink-haired girl continued walking down the hall with a determined stride as the small grey cat fell behind and stopped, sighing. But he's a ghost. You don't even know if the hypnotism will work. But will you listen to me? No, of course not, you just go along in your own stubborn fashion, doing what you believe is right. Why do I even bother? Wearily, she continued after Chibiusa. Perhaps, if she was there, she'd be able to prevent at least a little of the chaos that would almost certainly occur.

Following a carefully casual distance behind the cat, Draco raised his eyebrows. So the cat talked, in human speech no less. And hypnotism? Did the girl actually believe it would work? Well . . . obviously so, but why? This was bound to be interesting.

He paused a short way away from the classroom, waiting until the pink-haired girl had gone in and left before ambling up to the room himself. He had his own two cents to insert, after all.

At the doorway, he heard a mumble from Professor Binns. Now what was that all about?

Tell me, professor, he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb, do you remember a certain Slytherin student who goes by the name of Haruka?

Of course. The professor brushed the query off as beneath his notice. Why wouldn't I?

Because Usagi, a Hufflepuff named Makoto, and I are the only ones who do. Draco stated quietly. There may be a couple more, I'm not certain. But that is why Usagi tried–unsuccessfully, I presume–to hypnotize you.

You're not making any sense, Malfoy. Delivered in a flat tone of voice.

Usagi believes–a belief I agree with, by the way–that doing the musicals without Haruka's presence would not only by horridly unfair, it also just wouldn't be the same. As much as I dislike the blonde, she brings life to everything she does, and everyone she is around. She ought to be here, not wherever she, that green-haired Hufflepuff first year, and Professor Snape disappeared off to.

Who are you, and what did you do with Draco Malfoy? Professor Binns asked.

Draco laughed. Malfoy hasn't existed for a couple of weeks now. You see, I met an angel one morning . . . and found no reason, anymore, to allow him to continue to exist. So now, all that remains is me . . . and a convenient mask I hide behind. He shook his head. Everyone I know has become so accustomed to Malfoy . . . Draco, I think, would make them nervous. Look at you, after all.

Very true . . . Draco. Perhaps there is more to you than I originally thought.

Of course there is. Whose idea got accepted by the class, after all? He grinned, and left the room. I entrusted my soul to my angel. And now that she's gone . . . there is no one who knows me. Perhaps I may show myself to someone else, someday . . . but not soon. Not until there is someone I know I can trust, even more than I trusted her.

* * *

I'm disappointed in you. The voice resonated throughout the all-encompassing black darkness. I thought you understood our cause, but no, as soon as I turn my back you run off and forget everything I've taught you.

Even in my dreams. The boy curled up into an even tighter ball. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll leave. Oh God, let him leave soon. I can't take this. Not anymore. Not since . . .

Look at you, stooping even to associate yourself with the commonest of Muggles–that Haruka person. You disgust me.

But . . . Haruka is my enemy! He raised his head with surprise. Of all the points he had expected to be brought up, this was not one of them. You should know that.

Is she? You would not miss an enemy, you would just give thanks that she had died or left. But you miss her, don't you?

No! Of course not! Why would I! His denials grew more and more frantic as he stopped trying to convince the voice, and began trying even to convince himself. I *don't* miss her. Why would I? Just . . . because she brightens the lives of everyone around her simply by existing? Because I've grown to look forward to our daily battles of wits nearly as much as I have the early morning conversations with my angel . . . both of which are now gone. Leaving me, as always, alone again, naturally. Why not admit it, at least to myself? I *do* miss her, oh how I do . . . but not because I like her or anything!

The darkness coalesced to form an image of the one person he most hated. You are no longer any son of mine. He said, disgust rife in his cultured voice. And now, you must be disposed of.

A wand appeared, as the sonorous voice began. Avada . . .

He didn't care anymore. Why should he? The only person who had ever seemed to care for his existance had disappeared into thin air–leaving the only other person who had ever put on even a façade of caring to kill him. Nothing mattered anymore, and so he prepared to let the darkness swallow him permanently. A sickly green light appeared, dim at first, then began to grow in both size and luminosity.

The voice cut off and his father disappeared, leaving a surprised silence.

You can't die yet. A soft, gentle voice remonstrated. One that reminded him of his angel in one of her more introspective moments. You still have too much yet to do, too many important roles to play, too much of an impact left to make on the lives of too many other people. I won't let you suicide on me, and I won't let your father kill you, either.

He found his voice, hoarse and rusty, but there. Why me? Surely there are better people than me for you to choose–for whatever it is you are planning. To be honest, even Haruka is a better person than I am. A great deal better.

Was that a muffled chuckle? Haruka has her own role to play, though her life and the lives of many others are also closely intertwined with yours. But this . . . this is your destiny–yours and no one else's.

I don't understand.

And, an accompanying thought that he knew was not his own, but you will in time. Another feeling of a suppressed chuckle. In time, everything will become clear.

* * *

When the dreamscape around her changed to a place that she had never before in this life seen, yet held a feeling of aching familiarity, she merely smiled as the accompanying memories began to seep back. She sighed lightly, closed her eyes, and turned around slowly, reveling in sensations she had not felt for ever so long. Ah, Saturn . . . it's been a long time. She murmured. Far too long.

It has, hasn't it. Another voice remarked quietly. I've missed you.

She turned to see a young girl with dark violet hair, about waist-length and left free, and black eyes that seemed to suck in the light as well as the attention of anyone nearby. The two girls rushed each other and embraced. Oh, Saturn-chan, I've missed you too. Even when I didn't remember you.

You do know, don't you, that your memories of that time are more whole than any except Setsuna . . . and Haruka now.

Setsuna . . . Haruka . . . who are . . . oh, right! The girl smacked herself on the forehead. Man, I can't believe I actually forgot Setsuna-mama and Haruka-papa!

Well . . . Saturn laughed nervously. I may (inadvertently, of course) have something to do with that.

Hotaru glared. It's not just me who forgot them, it's everyone else too. Spill.

Well, you see . . . Setsuna doesn't fit the Time Gates anymore. She could still control them, just barely, but sooner or later they would have broken loose. So I ganged up on Pluto and got him to prod the Gates just that little extra bit so that Setsuna would go and see what went wrong, and then we could confront her and get her to abdicate the position then.

Something went wrong. Hotaru sighed.

Well, yeah. For one thing, I didn't expect her to drag Haruka and Snape along with her–though Haruka at least (stupid me) should have been self-evident. Then, instead of merely being overstressed, the Time Gates shattered when Setsuna abdicated her position. Now, whoever takes the position up (and I do have an eye on someone) will have to rebuild them completely from scratch. In addition, all three of them are trapped at the Gates until they can find a way to reach Pluto–rather hard to do, even when he's in a good mood. And believe me, with everything that went wrong with this operation, that is definitely one thing he is not.

Saturn sighed, and sat on a chair-high treestump that appeared at her random thought, resting her head in her hands. I've made such a mess of things!

Hotaru was struck with a horrifying thought. You didn't call me here because . . .

Short laugh. Oh, heavens no! No, you are Sailor Saturn, and Sailor Saturn hasn't been Guardian of the Time Gates for simply forever–they decided that concentrated too much power in a single person, you see, being senshi of destruction, rebirth, *and* time. So they shoved it off on the poor Sailors Pluto instead, since originally they weren't all that useful in a knock-down, drag-out fight. Healers, mostly.

Cocked head. Actually, you called me here, if anything. I was rather surprised, until I remembered . . .

Remembered what?

I remembered that this was one power up that you would recieve directly from me, instead of through an intermediary, and one that would come to you only when you were truly ready. Readiness can determined when you call me, and I remember. And now I have. She held out her hands, shimmering violet-black. If you don't think you're ready, you don't have to take this. You'll just go back to sleep and ordinary dreams, and forget that any of this ever occured.

I . . . Hotaru became mesmerized by the shimmer. She shook her head lightly. I'm ready. Her hands reached out to clasp those of the humanoid representation of her guardian planet, and she smiled. Saturn Eternal Make Up!

The violet-black light expanded and enwrapped Hotaru, until she seemed completely covered by a shimmering cocoon. The cocoon broke, steadying itself on either side of her body as a pair of great, feathery wings in a deep, intense, light-devouring black. The sash around her waist, with a bow in the back and long, nearly ankle-length trails, held the same shade of black as her wings. The dress itself, a little shorter than knee-length with sleeves in the same torn-looking pattern as those of her original fuku, was made of a deeply violet cloth, recognizably that color even though it was only a few shades lighter than the black.

She twirled again, as she had when the dreamscape first appeared, reveling in the feeling of freedom the wings gave her. And as the Saturnian dreamscape faded away to black, Saturn winked and smirked, her soft voice reaching Hotaru easily through the ever widening distance. Oh, Hotaru? How would you like to have a sibling?

?? But I'm an only child. Even in the Silver Millennium–I remember that much. So what could she possibly have meant?

Oh well. If her gleeful expression is any indication . . . I'll be finding out soon enough.