Filmstrips

Chapter Two

Crying for them all

"Weep for the lives your wishes never led."

Disclaimer: It's not mine. I'm just borrowing J.K. Rowling's world for a little while.

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"My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night;

 But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light."
-- Edna Saint Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

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Images flickered through my mind. I saw my mother, my father, my family…my so-called friends from primary school. The filmstrip they had compiled was playing. The pictures started when I was baby, and I gradually progressed in age. There was the formal portrait that I'd posed for at the age of six – my ankles crossed demurely, showcasing the pretty black patent leather shoes that adorned my feet rather than the frizziness of my oft-combed hair. Those shoes were the first things that indicated I was everything but normal. Mum had purchased the shoes at my insistence. We'd been out shopping for my school uniform, as I was about to start my first year at St. John's Primary, the local school that was affiliated with my mother's parish. A requirement for girls was one pair black dress shoes. We'd headed to the local shoe shop, Mum intent on purchasing a sensible pair of sturdy flats. It wasn't often when I was a child that I was stricken by a sudden flight of fancy, but in the window of Fleet's Shoes was a pair of patent leather dress shoes, black with a tiny suggestion of a heel. I wanted those shoes, fiercely. And when we left Fleet's that afternoon I was clutching my fanciful shoes to my chest, determined to walk into St. John's with the prettiest shoes in the whole of my year.

I wore those shoes everyday for years. I never grew out of them. They seemed to grow with my feet. Inside, where the size was marked, they were an eleven when the rest of my shoes were ones or twos, but they always fit. The funniest thing, though, was the way no scratch or scuffs ever marred the perfect patent leather. Although I wasn't the most active of children, most of my shoes still scuffed. These never did. It scared my mum, I think. She thought I must be spending my pocket money on new shoes, but when she found my piggy bank full I don't know what she thought. She threw them out when I was about eight. Only problem was, the next morning they were right beside my uniform, waiting for my feet to slip inside them. My mother is a dentist; usually nothing fazes her. The sight of the shoes that she personally placed in the garbage shiny and sitting by my uniform was a bit too much for her. That's the only time my mother ever fainted. It was funny, although she took away my sugar free snacks for laughing.

The next pictures that flashed through my mind were from my primary school years. Those years were spent primarily reading during lunch and recess and endearing myself to my teachers while alienating myself from peers for knowing every answer. There'd been only one time when I hadn't been the teacher's little darling, and that had really been no fault of my own.

When I was in my third year at St. John's, I lost control of my anger and my hidden magic. Jimmy Murphy was the class bully. He'd been the one responsible for coming up with my nicknames. Hermione is naturally a difficult name for even adults to pronounce, but young children mangle it horribly. When my classmates were through with it Hermione had been mangled to a horrific Hermy. Which, of course, was then discovered to rhyme with "Wormy". Jimmy had anger problems, according to the school psychologist, whose sister was one of my parents' hygienists.

Well, Jimmy was bouncing the golf ball the psychologist had given him to help control his anger. Apparently, whenever he felt angry, he was supposed to take it out on the golf ball. Unfortunately, that meant that Jimmy bounced the golf ball all the time, not because it relieved his temper but because he found that the clunk the ball made on the marble floors of St. John's Primary was supremely annoying to all who heard it. In this particular instance I was sitting on the steps outside, waiting for my mum to come pick me up to take me along on her errands. Jimmy had just ended one of his sessions with the school shrink. He walked outside to wait for his parental unit or guardian, or whoever had spoiled Jimmy so horribly.

I was minding my own business, buried deep in whatever thick book it was I was reading at the time, when Jimmy started bouncing that infernal ball to a little ditty he'd created that used my rhyming nicknames – which probably would have taken all of his expendable brain cells – his literary talent went up one notch in my estimation – he'd discovered rhyming! I tried to ignore him, really, I did, but gradually my attention shifted from my book to Jimmy's words and I got madder and madder. I could feel my face reddening and my fists clenched when I stood up, whirling to face him. My control shattered into pieces. When the red fog cleared from before my eyes I realized that the fog hadn't been the only thing red I'd seen. Jimmy's crisp white collar was stained with the blood dripping from his nose. I looked down at my clenched fists. I hadn't moved, yet Jimmy's nose was clearly as damaged as if something had hit it. And then I realized what had happened. The golf ball had flown up and connected with the bridge of Jimmy's perfectly sculpted nose. He was screaming long unintelligible sounds of pain – that attracted the Mother Superior. Of course Mother Mary Agnes didn't believe me when I'd told her the truth. My explanation didn't stack up with the fact of Jimmy's bloody nose. So I earned two detentions. One for violence and one for lying to the mother superior.

Luckily the one other very obvious manifestation of my magic was attributed to a freak accident. No one ever realized that I'd lost control of my temper again during the school play of my last year at St. John's. I was mad at Sally Dormer for taunting me about my costume – ironically, I was dressed as a stereotypical witch complete with warts, black greasy hair, and a long crooked nose. She'd made so many snide remarks and barbed jokes – made even crueler by the fact that she was in charge of the costumes – that I was fuming. When Sally pranced onto stage in her princess outfit I saw red again. One second her chair was right under where Sally was gracefully lowering her posterior and the next it was four inches back and Sally bounced. My parents – who'd realized that whenever I got mad or unusually upset odd, random, inexplicable events seemed to occur around me – taught me that maintaining my temper was very useful skill.

Even my mother – who could recognize one of my tempers easily because she'd had so much practice with them - never realized that Sally's bruised pride (and bottom) were the result of my odd ability to cause strange occurrences. Mum had first hand experience with my tempers. I'd shattered her prized china teapot once when she'd tried to force me to drink tea instead of chocolate. Once she'd ended up at Worthington Green's Public Library when we'd argued about whether or not she would pick up the book that I'd put on hold – it had just come in – and well, one minute she was in front of me, obstinately refusing to go to the library for one measly book when she had other things to do – and the next, she was gone. She showed up about fifteen minutes later, book in hand and no memory of either our argument or her strange disappearance. I figured later that some obliviators had gotten a hold of her after the Misuse of Magic office received the report of my little temper tantrum.

The filmstrip that my family and non-Hogwarts acquaintances had compiled still played. After I got my Hogwarts letter everyone assumed that I had gone to boarding school in Surrey. Most other girls at my primary school went on to St. Mary's School for Young Catholic Ladies in the next neighborhood. My parents had asked around – no one in the neighborhood knew of anyone else who attended St. Anne's – if they had it would have become obvious that I didn't attend there.

When I came home for Christmas Holidays of my first year, the doorbell rang one night to reveal Sally and her group of giggling girls. Apparently they were interested in what boarding school was really like. I got my first real practice at lying – and I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't bought a Sneakoscope or some other magical lie detector in Diagon Alley and concealed it in my trunk. When my mum had told me who was at the door I panicked. I wasn't allowed to use magic at home – how on earth was I supposed to conceal all my books in the few minutes it would take Sally and Miranda and Leonora to climb the stairs?

In the end I just threw a blanket over my bookcase and hoped that the girls were as insipid as they'd been last year and still only interested in boys and makeup and other typical girly topics that I didn't have any inclination for. Fortunately they were only interested in what the boys at St. Anne's sister school, St. Andrews, were like. I had had the presence of mind to snap a few Muggle photos of my mates at Hogwarts – in case any of my prying, clueless extended family members were to inquire about friends. I was able to show Sally and her gang snapshots of my Gryffindor classmates in Muggle clothing taken on weekends. They giggled over Seamus, cooed over Harry "look at his eyes! They're sooo green!" and glanced appreciatively at Dean. Ron elicited the most response. "OOHHHH…he's tall! I love freckles…. and red hair…" The picture that caused the most stir by far was the one that pictured Harry and Ron and I together, in front of the common room fire. Miranda glossed over the photos of Lavender and Parvati gossiping together. Every vacation for the rest of my Hogwarts years – at least those that I had returned home for – Sally and Miranda and Leonora dutifully showed up for what they termed 'exciting boarding school gossip.' We forged somewhat of a tenuous friendship – renewable yearly – that I was semi grateful for my first four years of school.

But the summer following fourth year the secret I had striven to hide for four years from my neighbors was almost exposed. Miranda had come over, eager for the gabfest she'd heard had occurred during Leonora and Sally's visit. Apparently she was misinformed, as those two had done all the gabbing and I had only provided brief, succinct answers when asked questions. I put up with the girls because my mother was so eager for me to have friends. She'd never met Harry and Ron – even though I talked about them (omitting the rule breaking that was ever present in our friendship, however) I don't think she thought that it was possible for me to have two male best friends, especially since she'd gone to an all girl's school. We were sitting cross-legged on my bed, engrossed in conversation (I'd found that when separated from Sally and Leonora, Miranda was actually a very intelligent person who could hold her own when discussing any topic dealing with the Muggle World) when there was a sudden flash of light and the lanky body of Ron Weasley unfolded from the fireplace in the corner of my room in which flames had previously been dancing merrily.

Needless to say Miranda was a bit more than startled. She didn't scream. She just, I don't know, goggled for a few seconds and fainted dead away. She'd been sitting on the edge of the bed and as a result her rather limp body just folded in on itself and she landed on the floor, with a rather jarring crash.

Ron's voice was tinged with incredulity, laughter, and a tiny bit of apprehension.

"Erm…I guess I should have owled first, then. To make sure you weren't, ah, umm, receiving Muggle visitors?"

I think my glare spoke volumes and my silence even more, as Ron quickly made a fire call home and fetched Percy to help deal with the mess he'd inadvertently caused. While Ron's head was buried in the fireplace, Miranda's shock wore off a bit. As he turned around, I silently handed her some bits of sugared candy I'd snuck home from Honeydukes. I'd read somewhere that sugar helped with shock. When Percy apparated with a "pop!" Miranda's eyes got even wider. I had to give her credit; she didn't faint again or say anything, which I thought was a bit odd. Most Muggles I know would have been convinced that they needed a visit with a mental health counselor if people suddenly started appearing before their very eyes. Percy surveyed the scene with an incredulous eye, muttering.

"Wait till the Ministry gets hold of this, it'll be the end of Mum yet, what were you thinking, you ….you…."

Ron just stood there. He was obviously seeing some humor in the situation that I wasn't, for his shoulders were silently shaking. Percy was puttering about Miranda, making sure she hadn't hurt herself falling off the bed, while I gave Ron what I figured was a good dressing down – although I wished Mrs. Weasley were here, she'd have given him a real beauty.

"I would like to know what you think is so funny, Mr. Weasley. Miranda knows now, thanks to you. Its not safe for anyone but my parents to know and they're in enough danger as it is…what if Death Eaters were monitoring the house, they could get both of us at once, what are you going to do, obliviate Miranda? You know what memory charms do to people…remember poor Mr. Roberts at the Quidditch World Cup? What will your parents say? And Dumbledore? Heaven forbid the people who think you're responsible? Why on earth would you floo here without owling first? What did you…."

Ron's voice was dripping with undisguised laughter.

"Do you realize that you just said all that without breathing? "

If I would have had my wand – and been able to use it – I don't think I could have been held responsible for whatever hex I had chosen to inflict. And I knew some beauties that not even Percy would be able to reverse – thanks to Harry's training for the triwizard tournament and my summer reading – much of which dealt with defense against the dark arts.

"One question at a time. First, you just fed Miranda – is that her name? - one of Fred and George's new creations. They mixed some of their products in with your stuff from Honeydukes on the train. I was coming to tell you that, as George only let it slip last night. Didn't want you to sprout two heads like Ginny did awhile back. They slipped something into her cake when Mum was out visiting the Fawcetts. I think what you gave her was one of the Silencio Sugars or some equally odd product name that makes use of the literary device of alliteration. She should be able to talk again soon. It's not just the shock. Oh, and that's why I was laughing. That and you just did a remarkable impression of my mother. Are you taking a correspondence course or something in the scolding of Ron and other miscreants?"

"Get back to the point, please, Ronald."

"Which one?"

"I don't care if they cite me. Where's my wand?"

"Okay, okay. I'm aware of the danger. I was just afraid you'd attract attention if you happened to start acting like a squirrel – that one was inspired by Dean in Moody's err, well, DADA class, you know – or sprout two heads, or do something else that they didn't tell me, the wankers. And Hermione? I'm sorry but I think Miranda will have to be obliviated. If someone starts asking questions or something and she just happens to mention a red head popped out of your fireplace things could get pretty dodgy for you here. The charm won't have to be as powerful as the one the Ministry used on the Roberts'. It shouldn't harm her. She'll just be a little disoriented for a while. She'll be fine, really. About Dumbledore…my intentions were good – I was being responsible by coming to tell you what Fred and George had done. So I don't think there'll be much of a problem there. And the ministry won't have to get involved – Perce can do a pretty mean memory charm.

I didn't owl first because Hermes was "busy, delivering important ministry correspondence" but I think just flying a letter over to Penelope's, and Errol was recuperating. He flew into the window again, after Mum sent him to Surrey with some food for Harry – the Dursley's are starving him again. Ginny was borrowing Pig – when I asked where she sent him she mumbled something unintelligible and turned a rather odd shade of magenta. Which of course led me to believe she's conducting some sort of secret correspondence with none other than Harry. So as you can see, no owl. Even though my hilarity would know no bounds if you just happened to spontaneously start pawing the air like a squirrel, I don't think you would have appreciated it. Dad's had you connected to the Floo Network in case there was an emergency and I thought this qualified as a minor one. And besides, I missed you, good friend and all that you are. "

That earned him some points. And what he had said made sense – but I wasn't so sure about how his parents would react, or how mine would, for that matter, if they were to suddenly walk up the stairs and see Ron and Percy in my bedroom. I think I smiled shyly, and said something along the lines of you're right, lets go see my mum and dad and see what they say - or something equally inane. My mind wasn't currently processing anything other than the fact that Ron had said he missed me – and had gone pink while he said it.

My mum and dad had been astonished when Percy and Ron walked down the stairs with a silent Miranda and I. Miranda's Silencio Sugar had worn off about five minutes after we'd finished explaining everything to Mum and Dad. They'd been considerably upset but in the end quite understanding. Miranda just looked around dazedly.

"What the …."

Percy obliviated her before she could say anything else. While Miranda stared blankly at the wall – Percy had assured my parents that it would take her no more than five minutes to return to normal – He said his goodbyes and disapparated with a "pop!" My parents were a bit stunned at that - "Where'd he go?"- and I didn't want to get into a long drawn out explanation of Apparition – even though I'd explained it quite thoroughly before- so I turned to Ron.

"You'd better go before Miranda requires any more explanations."

"What? No thank you for keeping you from turning into a mime? That was the one I'd forgotten about earlier. And they didn't tamper with all your Honeydukes stuff. You can tell what's real and what's not if you look carefully. Fred and George marked all their products with three w's if you look closely enough. You know, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and all that…right, well, I'd better be going. G'nite, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione, I'll owl about you maybe coming to the Burrow if Dumbledore gives Mum permission…she'd like nothing better, you see…ah, right. Well, take care of yourself, Hermione. I'm off."

He gave me a shy smile and I said a quick good bye. There was a flash of light and off he went. Mum frowned a bit and said,

"Honeydukes? Isn't that the candy shop in …."?

Drat. Now she'd know I'd snuck bits of candy home. I changed the subject, quick.

"Miranda, did you want to see those photos?"

"Yes, of course, Hermione. I'd just felt a bit off-color for a moment. Let's go to your room and see."

Well then. It appeared that Ron had been reading during his summer vacation. We certainly hadn't covered Memory Charms in class yet. Reading up on memory charms certainly hadn't been assigned as holiday work, either. Hmm, I thought. Maybe we were both thinking the same thing. With Voldemort rising again every shred of knowledge might help us in some way. I knew that Harry was definitely spending time reading – when he wasn't performing manual labor, that is. Maybe I could try and see if Mum and Dad would mind if he came to visit for a little while before going off to the Burrow. That is if Dumbledore okayed it. All the time Miranda spent poring over the pictures in my room I spent thinking, rather absently answering Miranda's queries.

That summer was the last I spent whiling away in the throes of childhood. Oh, there was tension, fear, and a bit of uncertainty. But there was still plenty of laughter and light-heartedness. I made many fond memories that summer, too many really to recall. When I returned to Hogwarts that fall I returned to a much darker world, one on which I don't like to dwell overly much. My filmstrips, I knew when they'd end. They would end on August 31, my last day at the Burrow and my last as a child.

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Suddenly my trip down memory lane was interrupted by a high, pitched scream. I realized that someone must have found me, lying crushed under the stones. I'd read places that victims that are unconscious can hear things, they just can't respond. I wanted to scream that I was here. That I wasn't gone. I was just trapped in the depths of my mind by the excruciating pain that was sure to greet me as soon as my consciousness was regained. I wondered who had found me. The scream – it was more like a wail, really – had been very high, very feminine. It wasn't Neville. I'd sent him off to warn the others in Gryffindor Tower. Hopefully he'd made it. The scream was followed by the sound of stone rasping on stone and the pressure of a familiar hand on my outstretched wrist. The hand was calloused, strong, long-fingered. Ron. It had to be. If it had been able to, I think my heart would have sung. He was all right. He was alive. The scream would have been either Lavender, who'd been partnered with Ron, or Ginny. But Ron and Lavender had been guarding the Ravenclaw's dormitory, which was on the opposite side of the Hall from where I currently was. If Ron were here, looking for me, it would have to be after the battle had concluded. So my bets were that Ginny had been the one accompanying him.

I felt the pressure that had been anchoring me to the floor slowly ease, and the first slivers of pain worked themselves into my recognition. Suddenly there were arms lifting me, cradling me, to a strong, solid chest. Hands smoothing the hair over my brow, running lightly over my limbs to check for broken bones, brushing bits of dust and dirt from my cheeks. Who knew that Ron could be so gentle? But it was undeniably him. He smelled of smoke, sweat, and that something else that I had identified as solely Ron. I think it might have been a soothing salve Molly had given him to relax his muscles after Quidditch or defense practices. Whatever it was Ron wore it all the time. It was an earthy smell, made out of herbs that would have grown in her garden at the Burrow. It was his scent and it lingered on the robes of the person cradling me. He had stopped checking for injuries and now he was just holding me, tightly.

And I knew that he felt the same as I. I'd hidden my feelings for him for years, and I think he must have done the same. That summer after fourth year, I'd thought I'd felt something. I'd buried it when I got back to school, though. It just didn't seem appropriate to live and be happy while so many were dying. Besides, the thought of losing Ron –or Harry – was to me unbearable. I knew that losing Ron if he would have become something more than cherished friend might have been my undoing. I'll never know. I never let anything happen. Neither did he. Now it might be too late for me. This pillar, it might have accomplished what Voldemort and his minions could not. I could die. I can feel myself grow weaker. Ron was whispering to me.

"Hermione, please, come back to me…you have to…I need you. We need you. You're my anchor, you're my rock. I…I love you, Hermione…we're going to win this war, you know. And when its over we're going to have a house and as many kids as you want…and we'll live happily ever after…you'll be right by my side and I'll stand by yours…and Hermione, please come back to me."

He's crying. I can feel his tears. They're falling on my cheeks. His words give me strength. I'll get better. I'll wake up. I have to. For Ron. And for the circle that it is my destiny – and Harry's and Ron's and Ginny's and Draco's- destiny to create. Even as I tell myself this I can feel my body losing its tender hold on life. I can feel my breath slow. Ron's tears are falling harder. I am crying too, inside. Crying for them all.

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Through the haze of pain that enveloped me I could hear footsteps approaching. There were three sets. It's amazing, really, how much sharper one's other senses become once one has been lost. One person was striding with long purposeful steps. Another was taking short, quick steps, striving to keep pace with the other two people. The last set of footsteps that I can distinguish is lighter, closer. I've heard that tread before, many times. Ginny is coming, with help.

There is someone kneeling beside Ron. A whiff of pungent potions, salves and herbal medicines mixed with the acrid smells of burning, sweat, and fear assails my nostrils. Ginny has brought Madame Pomfrey, then, and someone else.

Ron shifts me in his arms. There is silence for awhile. Then Madame Pomfrey's familiar voice rings through the still air.

"Enervate"

Nothing happened, of course. Madam Pomfrey probably figured I'd been struck by a curse of some sort – but all of those are reversed by Enervate. Some in the wizarding world have trouble believing that magic isn't the cause of all things. Madam Pomfrey was apparently having one of those moments. Who could blame her? She'd probably been faced with many curse related injuries earlier.

"What happened…she didn't respond to Enervate… there are no spells that can do this…"

Ron answered her. His voice was shaky. His tears had stopped but he hadn't yet regained control. "I think the pillar fell on her shoulder. It must have been hit by a powerful spell, and she couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Is she going to be all right?"

Ron's voice is full of fear and tinged with desperation. He's right to be worried. The voices are fading. I'm falling further and further away, losing my grip on all that I hold dear. The only thought in my mind is for Ron. I must hold on, for him. But I don't think I can.

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Someone is speaking. I can hear the rumble of their voice but not their words. I'm falling, faster. The picture of Ron in my mind is blurring. I think my body has given up. I wish I could say goodbye. I wish that Ron could know how I feel. I pray fervently that they can cast the circle without me. I wish that they succeed. I wish for so many things that in the end none of them really matter. The only thing that matters, truly, is love. Love that I have so much more of to give. Yet that love will probably die with me. Not probably, will. My life is fleeting – there is nothing…

The blackness has been replaced by light. Dazzling, golden, radiant light. It is pulsing with strength, energy – and that strength is flowing through my veins. I am being buoyed by the light – I can feel myself coming back, returning to my body whereas my soul had previously been slipping away.

The warmth is moving, from being centered near my skull to just above my collarbone. The sensation is somewhat like that of the feel of a Muggle soda sliding down one's throat. Bubbling, yet at the same time sharp. It is the feeling of being alive and the promise that I will live to see the end of the old and the beginning of the new. I know that no matter how long it takes, someday, somewhere – Ron and I will stand side by side, arm in arm, watching the sun set on a peaceful world.

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"Hope, like the gleaming taper's light

 Adorns and cheers our way;

And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray."
-- Oliver Goldsmith

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               In order to understand a key concept in this chapter, it is highly recommended that you read Momenti Morti, a fic that parallels this one from Ginny's point of view.  Outside Looking In deals with Ron's point of view throughout Filmstrips.  However, the stories can stand alone.

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A/N

 First off, I need to explain any abnormalities that occurred during the chapter. The shoe sizes are American and based loosely on what my sister and I can recollect about what are shoe sizes were 9 years ago for me and six for my sister. I didn't look up the UK sizes because I figured it was such a little detail that it didn't really matter (there's that laziness issue too). The golf ball is real and owned by one of my friends. He happens to have the same annoying habit that Jimmy does, although I'm not sure what its cause is. The golf ball hasn't broken any noses yet – but it just might if I have to hear it one more time. Sally Dormer's falling off the chair actually happened at an Ensemble concert – only difference being bsaxfen didn't need any magical help to fall on his arse. So, he gets a lot of credit for some of the material in this chapter. "Silencio" means silence in Spanish. I don't take Latin, so I figured Spanish would be close enough – and besides, it was in Spanish class that I wrote that scene so I guess it was one my mind.

The inclusion of the word "wanker" is a nod to my beta, Mauvvie. She discovered it awhile ago and has been bugging me to include it ever since. Not being British, I'm also not aware of any negative connotations it might carry or its exact definition, so…yeah. It's a just a funny word that Mauvvie and I happened to like.

The fact that Hermione can hear while unconscious comes from me having heard, read about or been told that people who are in comas retain their sense of hearing and my two previous experiences of having passed out. Granted, both of those instances occurred during recess at my former elementary school. But what I do know is that when the soccer ball smashed into my face – after being kicked with great force at close range – everything went black and I fell down. I could still hear my friends shrieking "Blood! Blood!" So yeah, that was fun. It also helped to exacerbate my irrational fear of flying objects. I duck when something comes within twenty feet of my head. I'm not very good at Battleball in gym class, obviously.

Anyways, my second instance was the result of an old wives tale that was circulating around the playground. Apparently, one of the girls had heard if you turned around in a circle fifty times, put your back against a tree and someone pushed – hard- on your chest, you would pass out. I was the only one who was adversely affected by this. Although I think it came more from striking my head on a tree root after I fell down because I was so dizzy, I did pass out. And I could still hear voices, although they were far away. That's where the reasoning for Hermione's being able to hear came from. Besides, it fit the plot really well. So please over look that if it doesn't really happen that way.

Anyhow, this chapter was the result of a bright, cheery Saturday on which I sat at my computer with the windows in my room open and my stereo blaring in an attempt to block out the rap/pop music coming from next door. The main ideas were formulated during various classes – namely oral comm, but algebra also helped too, since my betas are both in that class. The whole thing was cemented together during an uninterrupted span of six hours. I forgot to eat lunch, so if any of this is a bit disjointed blame it on hunger pangs.

Many thanks to betas Mauvvie and Ellie Starmaker. (Ellie, I'm sorry I didn't give this to you in a class I knew you could ignore – instead I had to give it to you during science! Lo siento…) Also thanks much to the reviewers of all of my stories. They definitely make me write faster and are greatly appreciated. Sorry for the wait – its been more than a month! (For reasons see A/N posted before this chapter) Anyways, thanks much for reading and please review! If anyone wants update notices, my email is flourishes@suscom.net. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

The quote directly following the chapter title is from  Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-73)