A/N: Well, Christmas has come and gone, which means I'm back to writing.
Yay! Forgive my temporary leave of absence, please, as well as the
somewhat mundane nature of this next chapter. It's really more of a 'and
the characters develop' thing than work on the plot, which will be promptly
resumed next chapter. Special thanks to Fleab who did a wonderful picture
of Demitrius, which can be found at her yahoo group, Psuedologica
Fantastica. It's really quite beautifully done. Anyway, on with the fic!
Hermione frowned darkly at Snape. She marched further into the classroom, looking more than a little pissed-off. "I believe I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here, Professor, and that makes it my responsibility to oversee this project." She snapped. Then she took another look at the rows of bubbling cauldrons, curiosity shining in her eyes. What were they doing? She'd never seen so many potions brewing all at once, outside of class of course. It was like an assembly line! But none of the simmering, boiling, cooling substances seemed familiar. Reaching over, she lifted up a bottle of vibrant pink liquid, looking at it carefully.
"Well, I should go." Demitrius said suddenly, to both Hermione and Snape's surprise. He was looking a little pale. Something clicked in Hermione's mind, and she frowned, looking from the boy to all the unusual potions in the room. She lowered the bottle of something back to the table, and folded her arms, glaring sternly at Snape and Demitrius.
"You two are brewing potions that haven't even been invented yet, aren't you?" She accused, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Demitrius hastily slapped on a look of hurt indignation.
"Professor, I'm shocked! We would never so such a thing. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll just go and let you two work on that project..." He said, and began edging his way towards the door.
"You will stay right here, Mr. Septimus." Snape snapped firmly, and glared at Hermione. "What I do in my free time is my own concern, I believe, 'Professor'. You have no business being here, and as I no longer require your assistance in any manner, I would suggest that you find a more productive way of occupying your free time." He said darkly. Hermione scowled, and neither she nor Snape noticed the slight wince that flickered over Demitrius' face.
"You overbearing, egotistical old bat!" Hermione declared, and Snape raised a single eyebrow at the unexpected and somewhat childish insult. "I have every right to be here, this is the Potions classroom, not your private quarters! And if what you're doing in your free time is in any way threatening to this school, I'll have Dumbledore down here in heartbeat, and I'm sure he'd be interested to see what you two have been up to!" She said, rage burning in her chest. How dare he insult her like that? Dismissing her as though she were some student of his again! The man was absolutely, completely insufferable. Even if he was quite good-looking in a very dark sort of... No, no, just insufferable! Just insufferable!
Snape opened his mouth, which was twisted in something of a sneer, to make his reply. Demitrius, however, cut him off when he suddenly slipped and knocked one of the brewing cauldrons to the ground. Sickly yellow fluid erupted from the wide mouth of the vessel as it tumbled over, getting on Demitrius' robes and spreading out over the stone floor. Hermione let out a shout as the liquid began to smoke, eating at the floor and burning young Demitrius' skin. She rushed over, careful not to touch any of the foreign potion, but Snape beat her to the punch. He grabbed Demitrius by the collar of his robes and physically lifted him off the ground, in a surprising display of somewhat hidden strength. Hermione paused. Something about the scene moved her. Snape, tall and strong, pulling Demi away and quickly muttering a charm that cleared away the burning potion. She snapped out of the odd feeling and moved closer to the rattled student. "Are you alright?" She asked, suddenly feeling guilty for fighting with a fellow professor in front of a student.
"I better get to the infirmary, just to be safe." Demitrius said, and then quickly marched out, hiding his face in his hand. Hermione and Snape both watched him go, silent as his retreating form disappeared from the doorway. Once he was gone there was a brief pause, as only the quiet sound of cauldrons brewing filled the room. Then Snape turned away to right the fallen cauldron. The floor was covered in scorch marks where the now-gone potion had touched it.
"What was that?" Hermione asked, fighting off her guilt, and replacing it with outrage again. Letting a student deal with something so obviously caustic. What if he'd been hit in the face? What if neither she nor Snape had reached him in time?
"That's none of your concern, Professor Granger." Snape replied darkly. Hermione scowled and opened her mouth to start in on her 'I'm the DADA teacher here, you cranky old prick' rant again, when Snape suddenly hissed and dropped the cauldron, holding his hand tightly. Quickly Hermione raised her wand and cleared away the toxic potion. Some had apparently remained on the rim of it's cauldron. Snape had been too distracted to take the proper safety precautions, which really wasn't like him, if Hermione remembered her Potions classes accurately. Which she was fairly certain she did, as such a trying experience would be hard to forget.
"Honestly!" She declared, and stalking over, grabbed Snape's wrist. Second degree burns, it looked sore, and would probably blister. "You'd better go and see Madam Pomfrey as well." She advised. Suddenly Snape wrenched his hand back forcefully, glaring at Hermione.
"There's no need." He said darkly.
"Yes, there is. I'm not having you screw up a project we've been working on for far too long just because you're too stubborn to keep yourself well cared for!" Hermione said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for lecturing Ron and Harry about getting themselves into trouble. When she used it on them, it was usually followed by an abashed look to the ground, and a few half-heartedly muttered excuses. Or, occasionally, the frantic waving of arms as they tried to convince her just why, exactly, they felt the need to go and get themselves killed. Snape had a completely different response. He stiffened, and glared at her. Looking her up and down in a darkly judgemental manner until she felt like a cockroach on the wall. For a few seconds, Hermione forgot that she wasn't a student any more, and shouldn't be so easily intimidated by her colleague. But the moment passed as Snape looked away and gave a curt nod.
"Very well then. We'll continue with 'our' project," He sneered, "Tomorrow." Then before Hermione could say anything else he swept from the dungeons, and moved along the same path as Demitrius, up to the infirmary. Just as he was about to leave she heard him say. "And Professor Granger? Don't touch anything."
~
Demitrius was still cursing himself inwardly as he made his way wearily to the dungeons. How could he have not thought of that? What if he'd just interfered in a critical moment in his parents' relationship? He paused for a moment, double-checked to make certain he was alone, and then forcefully slammed a fist against the heavy stone wall. The only thing he had been able to think of to get himself out of there was an accident. Which had made him look like a complete fool in front of both of them, not something he particularly enjoyed doing. And he'd had to endure one of Madam Pomfrey's lectures, before Snape himself stormed in, sporting a burnt hand. Then Demi was pulled through another painful shouting-match. And it was all for naught, since obviously he hadn't given his parents the 'alone- time' he'd wanted to.
Dinner was over now, and most students were either studying in the library or their common room, or else goofing off somewhere. Demitrius looked back down at the dungeons. He should go back, check on the potions. Then he should probably find his mother and talk to her about a few of the other items on is list. Demi was certain he could convince her to help, if only by exploiting her undeniable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Sometimes it was a wonder the woman hadn't been Sorted into Ravenclaw.
Demitrius frowned. He loved brewing potions, loved thinking up incredible plots and concocting marvellous schemes, but right now he needed to clear his head. He was too caught up in his thoughts. With a small, resigned sigh, he turned and retraced his steps in the other direction. A walk would do him good. His father had left the infirmary first, and was no doubt more than capable of wrapping up the remaining potions. Nothing critical was left now that he had demolished the highly caustic poison had been disposed of. A most unpleasant potion, used only for the most necessary assassinations by the Light, and the most painful executions by the Dark. When finished it would look, smell, and taste pretty much like pumpkin juice. However, when consumed, it began to eat out a person's flesh from the inside, burning it's way down. A most unpleasant substance, but useful enough.
Demitrius pushed his way past a group of Hufflepuffs who were looking at him warily, and made his way onto the school grounds. The fresh air was crisp, clean, and wonderfully invigorating. On it was carried the hint of rain and moisture. The sky had darkened into shades of the early night time. Stars, barely able to pierce the sky through the remaining light, glittered coldly above. Nearby the surface of the lake was wide and dark, only the brief reflections of the castle's glow making it seem any different than a great, black pit. The forest loomed ominously in the distance. Demitrius looked around himself curiously, momentarily forgetting his frustration. Everything seemed farther out. Hagrid's hut was off in the distance, and the Quidditch pitch could not be seen. 'The forest must not have turned on the school yet.' Demitrius realised. He paused, racking his brain as he tried to remember when that had happened. 'Oh, right, second year.'
Second year. The sky had been bright, unnaturally so for autumn. Traces of summer lingered, and no one had been prepared for the attack that came, during the first Quidditch match of the season. Demitrius had been looking away from the players zooming along not far off. He would have avoided the game altogether, but that was too obviously rude, as Slytherin was facing off with Gryffindor. It had come like a shudder. First a tremor, and then an explosion. Many had died that day. He halted his walk, and closed his eyes for a moment. Better not to think of it. The memory was pushed back, back to where it could be analysed for useful information, and then discarded. This time around things would not be that way.
"Here, now, yer not ta be outta the castle past dark." A gruff, familiar voice said from behind, and Demitrius turned sharply. He had been too lost in his thoughts, that the groundskeeper had caught him off his guard. Hagrid stood not far off, a dark creature some distance behind him. He was big and bushy and carrying what looked to be a dead bird in one hand. The colours of grey, so familiar in Demi's mind, had yet to mar the half- giant's mane of wild brown hair. Oblivious to the observations he was being given, Hagrid continued. "Tha's been the rule fer three years now, so don' try an' say yeh didn' know." He warned, shaking the dead bird menacingly at Demitrius.
Demitrius drew himself up to his full, intimidating height. Which was nothing compared to Hagrid, but still, it was habit. "My sincere apologies, Hagrid, I merely needed to clear my thoughts." He explained. Hagrid fixed him with a sceptical look.
"Hey, yeh don' look at all familiar. What class are yeh in?" He asked suddenly, looking Demitrius up and down. Demi smiled a charming smile.
"Fifth year. My name is Demitrius Septimus, it's a pleasure to meet you." He said, adding in a polite bow for good measure. Hagrid's eyes widened, and he moved closer. 'No tact, but then, I wouldn't expect it from him.' Demi thought somewhat fondly. He liked Hagrid. The older man was, if nothing else, trustworthy. And that counted for a lot in his time. Suddenly an image flashed up, a memory moving too quickly to be suppressed. Hagrid's hut, caught up in crimson flames, as all around light flashed and screams could be heard. The door burst open and the burly half-giant came running out, fire everywhere, and the sound of a dog barking...
Slam. The memory was pushed away, locked back in Demitrius' mind, back where it belonged. Under lock and key. Hagrid stood before him now fine and healthy. There was no fire. In fact, the half-giant was smiling. "Yer the one all the staff's been talkin' abou, aren't yeh? The one from the future an' all?" Hagrid said, and Demitrius nodded. "Well I'll be. Yer a fair bit more polite than most o' the Slytherin's, I'll give yeh that."
"Why thank you." Demitrius replied. Ah, yes, that lovely negative stereo- type about his house that most of his fellows seemed hell-bent on perpetuating. 'Evil, pureblood assholes, who always turn out to be Death Eaters and walk around, money tumbling out of their pockets.' Demitrius repressed a snort at the thought. There were plenty of evil wizards and witches who came from other houses, but no one seemed to think of that. Peter Pettigrew, one of the greatest traitors in wizarding history, was a Gryffindor. Arial Wilks, the Death Eater responsible for the forceful over- taking of Gringrotts by You-Know-Who, had been a Ravenclaw. Ambition did not necessarily equate darkness. Demitrius himself found that there was more to be had in the Light, more than the life of some subservient pig, grovelling at the feet of a twisted wretch. But, there was that oh-so- lovely stereo-type, which he completely despised. Which had been the reason for starting the Slytherin Reformation. When one wants to change one's image, they must first stop others from perpetuating that image. Demi was drawn out of his thoughts by Hagrid's voice.
"All the same, yer not ta be outside after dark." He was informed firmly, and promptly began to remove some of the feathers sprayed onto his robes by the foul Hagrid was shaking at him again. Not precisely charming. Then suddenly Hagrid was looking at him again. "Say, yer a might bit familiar lookin'. Don' suppose yer related to Hermione, do yeh?" He was promptly asked. Demitrius almost choked on his own tongue. Hermione? Snape, he might have expected, but no one ever told him he looked like his mother! "Oops, fergot, I'm not ta be askin' yeh questions. Still, in this light, yeh do look a bit like 'er." Hagrid said. Demitrius was about to say something, or anything really, when he was cut off by something big and wet being pressed against his palm. He blinked and looked over.
An absolutely massive dog was currently nuzzling his hand, drool dripping onto the grass beside his boot as it slobbered, a rough tongue reaching out to lick his fingers. It was both endearing and nauseating at the same time. "Ah, Fang." He said without much thought, and moved his hand to scratch behind the big dog's ears. He wasn't really all that good with animals. They tended to sense his rather deceptive nature, and steered clear. But Fang had always seemed a bit oblivious to such things. Well, he was a little dim, wasn't he? As dogs go, of course. Hagrid chuckled a bit.
"Seems Fang's taken a likin' to yeh." He said, as the dog moved it's head into Demitrius' cool hand. Then the moment passed, and the dog was back at his master's side. With a nod Demitrius bid Hagrid good night and returned to the castle, without losing any house points for being out past dark. In the broad scheme of things house points seemed very little now. But if nothing else, his walk had cleared his mind, and reminded him of his very important purpose. Changing the path of time. 'I'll simply have to try and keep out of my parents way, or even push them together a bit, when it's convenient.' He thought with resolve. The idea of playing match-maker to his mother and father was a bit awkward. Perhaps this would be even more complicated than he had planned on.
'Tomorrow, I'll talk to Professor Granger, and try and get her to help.' He resolved. It had been only so small a time since everything had changed. During that time, he doubted his mind had ever stopped planning and scheming in great detail, even during classes. He needed something of a break. 'I'll go to the Slytherin Common Room.' Demi thought, turning as he walked down the hallways to avoid knocking a Gryffindor first-year over. This earned him a look of shock which he ignored. 'Surely there must be someone there with more intellect than that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect.' His mind encouraged him. Of course, Slytherins were very adept at getting information they weren't supposed to have, he could easily let the 'wrong thing' slip to one of his cunning fellows. The school would be filled with rumours in no time. 'But do I really want rumours? Panic wouldn't be good. And once something becomes a rumour, it is hard to take it seriously.'
"Did you hear? Whoever it was left a card, saying something about a reformation for the Slytherins."
"You don't suppose it was a Gryffindor then?"
"Well, who else would want to reform Slytherins? What I want to know is how they got into their Common Room."
Demitrius paused as the sounds of a conversation drifted down to his ears. He sighed. So, rumours of the SR had already begun. There was another problem to deal with as well. The Reformation. He would have to deal with it, but his mind shivered at the prospect. Too many connections, too many ill-fated memories surrounded that cause. That name.
"Demitrius!" His head sunk lower as the deep, thick voice called out to him, and he resisted the urge to smash his own skull against the nearest wall. Heavy footsteps thudded nearby as Fitsgibbons thundered up to him, book-bag swaying out dangerously behind him.
"What do you want?" Demi snapped, turning on his heel to glare at the other boy. 'Be civil, be civil, it's never wise to show contempt so openly.' His mind reminded him firmly, and he tried to force some of the venom out of his voice. It didn't matter anyway; Fitsgibbons hadn't noticed.
"Where did you go? You weren't at dinner." Brutus asked, pulling up to pace with Demitrius. He earned himself a derisive snort.
"I was taking care of more important things than stuffing my face." Demi told him, maintaining every ounce of outward composure, but keeping his voice cold. He didn't want to seem inviting or welcoming, since he, well, wasn't. Again the art of subtlety was lost on Fitsgibbons.
"Oh." Was what he got back. Then a pause, punctuated by heavy breathing. "We've got a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week. I could show you around." Fitsgibbons offered. Hogsmeade? Students were still going to Hogsmeade? Things must have been better than Demitrius originally thought, if Dumbledore had yet to halt trips outside the school.
"I'm from the future, not another country, you know. I don't need a tour guide." Demitrius snapped. Truth be told, he'd never been to Hogsmeade. He'd hardly ever left Hogwarts, which was something of a disadvantage and a gift at the same time. When he was younger he had visited his mother's parents once or twice. Before that one day, when his mother had wept, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet that had the Dark Mark etched over her family's home. Back then, he'd been too young to understand what had happened. All he really knew was that seeing that mark usually meant he wouldn't be getting visits from someone or another any more. A confusing thing, since he'd glimpsed that same mark on his father's arm. It wasn't until he was older that he'd finally understood. "I'd rather not go to Hogsmeade, thanks." He said with a slightly strained voice. Fitsgibbons looked crest-fallen.
"No!" He said suddenly, and Demi raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was a bit abrupt. He looked Fitsgibbons up and down. The boy was nervous, obviously a little stressed. He couldn't hide his emotions well at all. A few passing students stopped to look at them in surprise. Fitsgibbons laughed. "Well, what I mean is, you won't want to miss it!" He added lamely.
'Hmm.' Demitrius thought. How intriguing. Now why would a big, dumb pureblood Slytherin want to drag him, a sophisticated and obviously unimpressed acquaintance, to a fairly mundane school trip? Why would he be so anxious about it? 'Two answers. One, he's being pushed to make sure I get there. Two, he has a crush on me.' Well, the second one, aside from being immensely disturbing, was highly unlikely. No one talked about women as crudely as Brutus Fitsgibbons if they were flying for the other team. Which left the first reason. Someone else wanted Fitsgibbons to make sure Demitrius Septimus went to Hogsmeade.
Had he not just travelled seventeen years into the past, Demi wouldn't have been so surprised. He had enemies of his own after all. But, as it was, there simply hadn't been time to earn himself powerful opposition. Curious. Then again, he was from the future, and if his identity had leaked out that meant that there would be those who wanted to get at the information he had. Maybe they weren't yet as powerful as they could grow to be, but there were still Death Eaters to worry about. Dark Marks could yet mar the sky with their ugly message of fear and hatred.
"Oh, what an enticing offer. Let me think. No." Demitrius said. He wasn't going to walk, arms open, into such a blatant and stupid trap. If someone wanted him they'd have to do a little better than that. Honestly, he was beginning to think no one in this time had any respect for his brilliance! Assigning asinine brutes like Fitsgibbons to follow him around, setting up obvious traps and blocking his doorways. If only all who wished him harm could be so obvious. It would make life a lot easier all around. More boring, definitely, but sadistic freaks like the Dark Lord would have a hell of a harder time gaining power.
Fitsgibbons looked as though he were about to throw some kind of massively proportioned tantrum. His face was red, and his meaty fists were clenched tightly in frustration. "You can't say no!" He declared loudly, yet again managing to draw the immediate attention of all those within hearing range. Demitrius blinked.
"Funny, I was under the impression I could." He mused, crossing his arms. He had to admit on some insanely cruel level it was fun to watch the brute behave a bit like a tea-kettle. Any minute now he should start whistling as steam blew out of his ears.
"I mean, you won't want to miss it. Really! Everyone's going." Fitsgibbons tried, obviously desperate. It was quite apparent that his tiny brain couldn't fathom why his incredibly brilliant attempts at diplomacy were failing.
"Good, then I'll have some time to myself." Demitrius answered. He watched as a vast array of emotions and colours danced across his companion's face. His look changed from anger, to frustration, to worry, to more frustration, and back to anger again. Suddenly a rather large fist planted itself in the wall next to Demi's head. A few people scurried away at the sight of the unexpected punch. Demitrius looked at Fitsgibbons in mild irritation. The boy was literally fuming.
"Now you look here. You're going to Hogsmeade with me or I'll turn your face into mashed potatoes, you little worm." Fitsgibbons growled angrily, retracting his fist and cracking his knuckles. Demitrius looked at the place where the blow had hit the wall. He looked at Brutus' meaty, sweaty hands, all bunched together and cracking, and he looked at the snarling expression on the boy's ugly face. Before anyone could blink Fitsgibbons was backed up against the other wall, the tip of a wand pressed just below his chin, as Demitrius scowled.
"Never, ever threaten me, you moronic lump of flesh." He hissed, and with a muttered incantation and a flick of his wrist, he released Fitsgibbons. It would have been preferable to turn him into something nasty. Like a monkey, or a pig, or a particularly warty toad. However, there were witnesses. Displaying his obvious ability to transform anything in an instant would not be wise at the moment, as everyone was still talking about Finly and Ross. So he'd settled for a nice Furnunculus curse. Fitsgibbons howled as the painful boils began to sprout over his skin, and fumbled carelessly for his wand. "Expelliarmus." Demitrius hissed, and the short rod of rough pine zipped over to his hand. He glanced at it. Not at all well cared for, and it had taken Fitsgibbons far too long to draw it. Pathetic really. He turned, head held high, and began to walk away.
Vibrations were easier to sense when he was a spider, but even humans could tell when something almost the size of a bulldozer was thundering towards them at a great speed. Demitrius darted to the side at the last minute was Fitsgibbons' boil-covered fist hurtled towards him. Lost in his momentum, the larger boy kept going as his intended blow passed through nothing but air, and he hit the ground with a painful smack.
"What on earth is going on here?" A female voice demanded, and Demitrius almost started as his mother pushed past a few students to take in the scene before her. Fitsgibbons lay cringed on the ground, looking pained and murderous at the same time, while an entirely unscathed Demitrius stood with a falsely innocent expression above him. Hermione shot him a dark look, which was greeting by one which simply screamed 'who, me?'.
"Oh, thank goodness you're here Professor. Fitsgibbons here attacked me." Demitrius said. Hermione looked at him sceptically. Even he had to admit, the evidence was rather stacked against him. Mostly thanks to the fact that he was unhurt. Fitsgibbons opened his mouth, and unfortunately for him, had the poor judgement to spend the next several moments swearing quite loudly. Hermione paled a bit at the obviously tasteless language. Demi's story began to look a little better.
"Save it, both of you." She snapped, and Fitsgibbons shut up. Hermione turned to a nearby student. "Lillith, take Mr. Fitsgibbons up to see Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Septimus, come with me please." She said. A dark-skinned girl with short, curly hair nodded, but looked at Fitsgibbons rather warily as she lead the fifth year away.
Demitrius followed his mother down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and to the right. Along the way several passers-by whispered and watched them curiously. Hermione led Demi to her office in the DADA section of the school, a slender room just past her classroom. Demitrius blinked as he stepped in. The place was covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and bits of sentimental odds and ends. On one side of the wall was a pair of bookcases, filled with books not only on Defence Against the Dark Arts, but also on Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and... Dentistry? Oh, right, his grandparents. A desk, which should have been larger and on the other side of the room, was pushed up towards a wall. It was littered with organised sheets of paper, which looked to be students' assignments, and a few photographs. Demi recognised some of them. A young man was bright red hair waved out of one, flanked by two older boys of a more boxy build, but with the same shock of hair. Ron Weasley, and the other two, who had died as well. What were their names? Frank and something? Demi couldn't remember. They'd died before his mother had.
In another photo a younger version of his mother sat between Ron Weasley, and a younger version of Potter, as well as a girl who Demitrius recognised as Ginny Weasley. The Charms teacher. Well, in his time anyway. They sat around the Gryffindor Common Room, Christmas items littered around them, smiling and opening presents. There was one image of a younger Potter again, tending to a preening white owl which sat upon his shoulder. In another picture Ron and two other boys dressed in Gryffindor clothes held broomsticks at their sides. All were dressed in Gryffindor's Quidditch robes. They goofed off, looking relatively happy and care-free. At the bottom of the picture was a scribbled note, which read: 'Finally on the Quidditch team!' And was signed Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. Demitrius re-read the last name. Thomas. Hmm, maybe he was related to Michael. His thoughts stopped there, not daring to tread any deeper.
"Something interesting about my desk?" A voice asked, and Demitrius turned a little, to find Hermione looking at him curiously. Well, that was stupid. He'd almost been gawking.
"No, just seeing if anyone looked familiar." Demitrius supplied enigmatically. Good. Imply connections, but keep her guessing. Hermione frowned and took the seat behind her desk.
"Well, then I suggest we get down to business. Take a seat." She told him, and gestured at the chair across from herself. Demitrius sighed inwardly. He knew that tone of voice. And though he would never thought he'd admit it, it actually felt a little good to hear it again. Something familiar. It was the 'you are in so much trouble young man' tone. "Now." Hermione said, fixing him with a particularly piercing look. "Explain."
A/N: Well, sorry to cut it off there, but I need sleep so everyone's going to have to wait until the next chapter to find out what Demi will say. Not exactly a suspense-ridden ending, but at least it keeps you guessing. I want to thank everyone who so kindly reviewed, especially those of you who left those particularly long, flattering ones, and those who e-mailed me. Oh, and everyone who's been a consistent reviewer. I'd do shout-outs, but I'm tired, and I'm willing to guess you'd prefer me to sleep and live to write again than die trying to show my appreciation. So, shout-outs next time, and just know that every review makes me oh-so joyous. Especially one that comes from you in particular! ^_^ Thanks for reading.
Hermione frowned darkly at Snape. She marched further into the classroom, looking more than a little pissed-off. "I believe I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher here, Professor, and that makes it my responsibility to oversee this project." She snapped. Then she took another look at the rows of bubbling cauldrons, curiosity shining in her eyes. What were they doing? She'd never seen so many potions brewing all at once, outside of class of course. It was like an assembly line! But none of the simmering, boiling, cooling substances seemed familiar. Reaching over, she lifted up a bottle of vibrant pink liquid, looking at it carefully.
"Well, I should go." Demitrius said suddenly, to both Hermione and Snape's surprise. He was looking a little pale. Something clicked in Hermione's mind, and she frowned, looking from the boy to all the unusual potions in the room. She lowered the bottle of something back to the table, and folded her arms, glaring sternly at Snape and Demitrius.
"You two are brewing potions that haven't even been invented yet, aren't you?" She accused, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Demitrius hastily slapped on a look of hurt indignation.
"Professor, I'm shocked! We would never so such a thing. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll just go and let you two work on that project..." He said, and began edging his way towards the door.
"You will stay right here, Mr. Septimus." Snape snapped firmly, and glared at Hermione. "What I do in my free time is my own concern, I believe, 'Professor'. You have no business being here, and as I no longer require your assistance in any manner, I would suggest that you find a more productive way of occupying your free time." He said darkly. Hermione scowled, and neither she nor Snape noticed the slight wince that flickered over Demitrius' face.
"You overbearing, egotistical old bat!" Hermione declared, and Snape raised a single eyebrow at the unexpected and somewhat childish insult. "I have every right to be here, this is the Potions classroom, not your private quarters! And if what you're doing in your free time is in any way threatening to this school, I'll have Dumbledore down here in heartbeat, and I'm sure he'd be interested to see what you two have been up to!" She said, rage burning in her chest. How dare he insult her like that? Dismissing her as though she were some student of his again! The man was absolutely, completely insufferable. Even if he was quite good-looking in a very dark sort of... No, no, just insufferable! Just insufferable!
Snape opened his mouth, which was twisted in something of a sneer, to make his reply. Demitrius, however, cut him off when he suddenly slipped and knocked one of the brewing cauldrons to the ground. Sickly yellow fluid erupted from the wide mouth of the vessel as it tumbled over, getting on Demitrius' robes and spreading out over the stone floor. Hermione let out a shout as the liquid began to smoke, eating at the floor and burning young Demitrius' skin. She rushed over, careful not to touch any of the foreign potion, but Snape beat her to the punch. He grabbed Demitrius by the collar of his robes and physically lifted him off the ground, in a surprising display of somewhat hidden strength. Hermione paused. Something about the scene moved her. Snape, tall and strong, pulling Demi away and quickly muttering a charm that cleared away the burning potion. She snapped out of the odd feeling and moved closer to the rattled student. "Are you alright?" She asked, suddenly feeling guilty for fighting with a fellow professor in front of a student.
"I better get to the infirmary, just to be safe." Demitrius said, and then quickly marched out, hiding his face in his hand. Hermione and Snape both watched him go, silent as his retreating form disappeared from the doorway. Once he was gone there was a brief pause, as only the quiet sound of cauldrons brewing filled the room. Then Snape turned away to right the fallen cauldron. The floor was covered in scorch marks where the now-gone potion had touched it.
"What was that?" Hermione asked, fighting off her guilt, and replacing it with outrage again. Letting a student deal with something so obviously caustic. What if he'd been hit in the face? What if neither she nor Snape had reached him in time?
"That's none of your concern, Professor Granger." Snape replied darkly. Hermione scowled and opened her mouth to start in on her 'I'm the DADA teacher here, you cranky old prick' rant again, when Snape suddenly hissed and dropped the cauldron, holding his hand tightly. Quickly Hermione raised her wand and cleared away the toxic potion. Some had apparently remained on the rim of it's cauldron. Snape had been too distracted to take the proper safety precautions, which really wasn't like him, if Hermione remembered her Potions classes accurately. Which she was fairly certain she did, as such a trying experience would be hard to forget.
"Honestly!" She declared, and stalking over, grabbed Snape's wrist. Second degree burns, it looked sore, and would probably blister. "You'd better go and see Madam Pomfrey as well." She advised. Suddenly Snape wrenched his hand back forcefully, glaring at Hermione.
"There's no need." He said darkly.
"Yes, there is. I'm not having you screw up a project we've been working on for far too long just because you're too stubborn to keep yourself well cared for!" Hermione said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for lecturing Ron and Harry about getting themselves into trouble. When she used it on them, it was usually followed by an abashed look to the ground, and a few half-heartedly muttered excuses. Or, occasionally, the frantic waving of arms as they tried to convince her just why, exactly, they felt the need to go and get themselves killed. Snape had a completely different response. He stiffened, and glared at her. Looking her up and down in a darkly judgemental manner until she felt like a cockroach on the wall. For a few seconds, Hermione forgot that she wasn't a student any more, and shouldn't be so easily intimidated by her colleague. But the moment passed as Snape looked away and gave a curt nod.
"Very well then. We'll continue with 'our' project," He sneered, "Tomorrow." Then before Hermione could say anything else he swept from the dungeons, and moved along the same path as Demitrius, up to the infirmary. Just as he was about to leave she heard him say. "And Professor Granger? Don't touch anything."
~
Demitrius was still cursing himself inwardly as he made his way wearily to the dungeons. How could he have not thought of that? What if he'd just interfered in a critical moment in his parents' relationship? He paused for a moment, double-checked to make certain he was alone, and then forcefully slammed a fist against the heavy stone wall. The only thing he had been able to think of to get himself out of there was an accident. Which had made him look like a complete fool in front of both of them, not something he particularly enjoyed doing. And he'd had to endure one of Madam Pomfrey's lectures, before Snape himself stormed in, sporting a burnt hand. Then Demi was pulled through another painful shouting-match. And it was all for naught, since obviously he hadn't given his parents the 'alone- time' he'd wanted to.
Dinner was over now, and most students were either studying in the library or their common room, or else goofing off somewhere. Demitrius looked back down at the dungeons. He should go back, check on the potions. Then he should probably find his mother and talk to her about a few of the other items on is list. Demi was certain he could convince her to help, if only by exploiting her undeniable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Sometimes it was a wonder the woman hadn't been Sorted into Ravenclaw.
Demitrius frowned. He loved brewing potions, loved thinking up incredible plots and concocting marvellous schemes, but right now he needed to clear his head. He was too caught up in his thoughts. With a small, resigned sigh, he turned and retraced his steps in the other direction. A walk would do him good. His father had left the infirmary first, and was no doubt more than capable of wrapping up the remaining potions. Nothing critical was left now that he had demolished the highly caustic poison had been disposed of. A most unpleasant potion, used only for the most necessary assassinations by the Light, and the most painful executions by the Dark. When finished it would look, smell, and taste pretty much like pumpkin juice. However, when consumed, it began to eat out a person's flesh from the inside, burning it's way down. A most unpleasant substance, but useful enough.
Demitrius pushed his way past a group of Hufflepuffs who were looking at him warily, and made his way onto the school grounds. The fresh air was crisp, clean, and wonderfully invigorating. On it was carried the hint of rain and moisture. The sky had darkened into shades of the early night time. Stars, barely able to pierce the sky through the remaining light, glittered coldly above. Nearby the surface of the lake was wide and dark, only the brief reflections of the castle's glow making it seem any different than a great, black pit. The forest loomed ominously in the distance. Demitrius looked around himself curiously, momentarily forgetting his frustration. Everything seemed farther out. Hagrid's hut was off in the distance, and the Quidditch pitch could not be seen. 'The forest must not have turned on the school yet.' Demitrius realised. He paused, racking his brain as he tried to remember when that had happened. 'Oh, right, second year.'
Second year. The sky had been bright, unnaturally so for autumn. Traces of summer lingered, and no one had been prepared for the attack that came, during the first Quidditch match of the season. Demitrius had been looking away from the players zooming along not far off. He would have avoided the game altogether, but that was too obviously rude, as Slytherin was facing off with Gryffindor. It had come like a shudder. First a tremor, and then an explosion. Many had died that day. He halted his walk, and closed his eyes for a moment. Better not to think of it. The memory was pushed back, back to where it could be analysed for useful information, and then discarded. This time around things would not be that way.
"Here, now, yer not ta be outta the castle past dark." A gruff, familiar voice said from behind, and Demitrius turned sharply. He had been too lost in his thoughts, that the groundskeeper had caught him off his guard. Hagrid stood not far off, a dark creature some distance behind him. He was big and bushy and carrying what looked to be a dead bird in one hand. The colours of grey, so familiar in Demi's mind, had yet to mar the half- giant's mane of wild brown hair. Oblivious to the observations he was being given, Hagrid continued. "Tha's been the rule fer three years now, so don' try an' say yeh didn' know." He warned, shaking the dead bird menacingly at Demitrius.
Demitrius drew himself up to his full, intimidating height. Which was nothing compared to Hagrid, but still, it was habit. "My sincere apologies, Hagrid, I merely needed to clear my thoughts." He explained. Hagrid fixed him with a sceptical look.
"Hey, yeh don' look at all familiar. What class are yeh in?" He asked suddenly, looking Demitrius up and down. Demi smiled a charming smile.
"Fifth year. My name is Demitrius Septimus, it's a pleasure to meet you." He said, adding in a polite bow for good measure. Hagrid's eyes widened, and he moved closer. 'No tact, but then, I wouldn't expect it from him.' Demi thought somewhat fondly. He liked Hagrid. The older man was, if nothing else, trustworthy. And that counted for a lot in his time. Suddenly an image flashed up, a memory moving too quickly to be suppressed. Hagrid's hut, caught up in crimson flames, as all around light flashed and screams could be heard. The door burst open and the burly half-giant came running out, fire everywhere, and the sound of a dog barking...
Slam. The memory was pushed away, locked back in Demitrius' mind, back where it belonged. Under lock and key. Hagrid stood before him now fine and healthy. There was no fire. In fact, the half-giant was smiling. "Yer the one all the staff's been talkin' abou, aren't yeh? The one from the future an' all?" Hagrid said, and Demitrius nodded. "Well I'll be. Yer a fair bit more polite than most o' the Slytherin's, I'll give yeh that."
"Why thank you." Demitrius replied. Ah, yes, that lovely negative stereo- type about his house that most of his fellows seemed hell-bent on perpetuating. 'Evil, pureblood assholes, who always turn out to be Death Eaters and walk around, money tumbling out of their pockets.' Demitrius repressed a snort at the thought. There were plenty of evil wizards and witches who came from other houses, but no one seemed to think of that. Peter Pettigrew, one of the greatest traitors in wizarding history, was a Gryffindor. Arial Wilks, the Death Eater responsible for the forceful over- taking of Gringrotts by You-Know-Who, had been a Ravenclaw. Ambition did not necessarily equate darkness. Demitrius himself found that there was more to be had in the Light, more than the life of some subservient pig, grovelling at the feet of a twisted wretch. But, there was that oh-so- lovely stereo-type, which he completely despised. Which had been the reason for starting the Slytherin Reformation. When one wants to change one's image, they must first stop others from perpetuating that image. Demi was drawn out of his thoughts by Hagrid's voice.
"All the same, yer not ta be outside after dark." He was informed firmly, and promptly began to remove some of the feathers sprayed onto his robes by the foul Hagrid was shaking at him again. Not precisely charming. Then suddenly Hagrid was looking at him again. "Say, yer a might bit familiar lookin'. Don' suppose yer related to Hermione, do yeh?" He was promptly asked. Demitrius almost choked on his own tongue. Hermione? Snape, he might have expected, but no one ever told him he looked like his mother! "Oops, fergot, I'm not ta be askin' yeh questions. Still, in this light, yeh do look a bit like 'er." Hagrid said. Demitrius was about to say something, or anything really, when he was cut off by something big and wet being pressed against his palm. He blinked and looked over.
An absolutely massive dog was currently nuzzling his hand, drool dripping onto the grass beside his boot as it slobbered, a rough tongue reaching out to lick his fingers. It was both endearing and nauseating at the same time. "Ah, Fang." He said without much thought, and moved his hand to scratch behind the big dog's ears. He wasn't really all that good with animals. They tended to sense his rather deceptive nature, and steered clear. But Fang had always seemed a bit oblivious to such things. Well, he was a little dim, wasn't he? As dogs go, of course. Hagrid chuckled a bit.
"Seems Fang's taken a likin' to yeh." He said, as the dog moved it's head into Demitrius' cool hand. Then the moment passed, and the dog was back at his master's side. With a nod Demitrius bid Hagrid good night and returned to the castle, without losing any house points for being out past dark. In the broad scheme of things house points seemed very little now. But if nothing else, his walk had cleared his mind, and reminded him of his very important purpose. Changing the path of time. 'I'll simply have to try and keep out of my parents way, or even push them together a bit, when it's convenient.' He thought with resolve. The idea of playing match-maker to his mother and father was a bit awkward. Perhaps this would be even more complicated than he had planned on.
'Tomorrow, I'll talk to Professor Granger, and try and get her to help.' He resolved. It had been only so small a time since everything had changed. During that time, he doubted his mind had ever stopped planning and scheming in great detail, even during classes. He needed something of a break. 'I'll go to the Slytherin Common Room.' Demi thought, turning as he walked down the hallways to avoid knocking a Gryffindor first-year over. This earned him a look of shock which he ignored. 'Surely there must be someone there with more intellect than that bucket-headed oaf of a prefect.' His mind encouraged him. Of course, Slytherins were very adept at getting information they weren't supposed to have, he could easily let the 'wrong thing' slip to one of his cunning fellows. The school would be filled with rumours in no time. 'But do I really want rumours? Panic wouldn't be good. And once something becomes a rumour, it is hard to take it seriously.'
"Did you hear? Whoever it was left a card, saying something about a reformation for the Slytherins."
"You don't suppose it was a Gryffindor then?"
"Well, who else would want to reform Slytherins? What I want to know is how they got into their Common Room."
Demitrius paused as the sounds of a conversation drifted down to his ears. He sighed. So, rumours of the SR had already begun. There was another problem to deal with as well. The Reformation. He would have to deal with it, but his mind shivered at the prospect. Too many connections, too many ill-fated memories surrounded that cause. That name.
"Demitrius!" His head sunk lower as the deep, thick voice called out to him, and he resisted the urge to smash his own skull against the nearest wall. Heavy footsteps thudded nearby as Fitsgibbons thundered up to him, book-bag swaying out dangerously behind him.
"What do you want?" Demi snapped, turning on his heel to glare at the other boy. 'Be civil, be civil, it's never wise to show contempt so openly.' His mind reminded him firmly, and he tried to force some of the venom out of his voice. It didn't matter anyway; Fitsgibbons hadn't noticed.
"Where did you go? You weren't at dinner." Brutus asked, pulling up to pace with Demitrius. He earned himself a derisive snort.
"I was taking care of more important things than stuffing my face." Demi told him, maintaining every ounce of outward composure, but keeping his voice cold. He didn't want to seem inviting or welcoming, since he, well, wasn't. Again the art of subtlety was lost on Fitsgibbons.
"Oh." Was what he got back. Then a pause, punctuated by heavy breathing. "We've got a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week. I could show you around." Fitsgibbons offered. Hogsmeade? Students were still going to Hogsmeade? Things must have been better than Demitrius originally thought, if Dumbledore had yet to halt trips outside the school.
"I'm from the future, not another country, you know. I don't need a tour guide." Demitrius snapped. Truth be told, he'd never been to Hogsmeade. He'd hardly ever left Hogwarts, which was something of a disadvantage and a gift at the same time. When he was younger he had visited his mother's parents once or twice. Before that one day, when his mother had wept, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet that had the Dark Mark etched over her family's home. Back then, he'd been too young to understand what had happened. All he really knew was that seeing that mark usually meant he wouldn't be getting visits from someone or another any more. A confusing thing, since he'd glimpsed that same mark on his father's arm. It wasn't until he was older that he'd finally understood. "I'd rather not go to Hogsmeade, thanks." He said with a slightly strained voice. Fitsgibbons looked crest-fallen.
"No!" He said suddenly, and Demi raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was a bit abrupt. He looked Fitsgibbons up and down. The boy was nervous, obviously a little stressed. He couldn't hide his emotions well at all. A few passing students stopped to look at them in surprise. Fitsgibbons laughed. "Well, what I mean is, you won't want to miss it!" He added lamely.
'Hmm.' Demitrius thought. How intriguing. Now why would a big, dumb pureblood Slytherin want to drag him, a sophisticated and obviously unimpressed acquaintance, to a fairly mundane school trip? Why would he be so anxious about it? 'Two answers. One, he's being pushed to make sure I get there. Two, he has a crush on me.' Well, the second one, aside from being immensely disturbing, was highly unlikely. No one talked about women as crudely as Brutus Fitsgibbons if they were flying for the other team. Which left the first reason. Someone else wanted Fitsgibbons to make sure Demitrius Septimus went to Hogsmeade.
Had he not just travelled seventeen years into the past, Demi wouldn't have been so surprised. He had enemies of his own after all. But, as it was, there simply hadn't been time to earn himself powerful opposition. Curious. Then again, he was from the future, and if his identity had leaked out that meant that there would be those who wanted to get at the information he had. Maybe they weren't yet as powerful as they could grow to be, but there were still Death Eaters to worry about. Dark Marks could yet mar the sky with their ugly message of fear and hatred.
"Oh, what an enticing offer. Let me think. No." Demitrius said. He wasn't going to walk, arms open, into such a blatant and stupid trap. If someone wanted him they'd have to do a little better than that. Honestly, he was beginning to think no one in this time had any respect for his brilliance! Assigning asinine brutes like Fitsgibbons to follow him around, setting up obvious traps and blocking his doorways. If only all who wished him harm could be so obvious. It would make life a lot easier all around. More boring, definitely, but sadistic freaks like the Dark Lord would have a hell of a harder time gaining power.
Fitsgibbons looked as though he were about to throw some kind of massively proportioned tantrum. His face was red, and his meaty fists were clenched tightly in frustration. "You can't say no!" He declared loudly, yet again managing to draw the immediate attention of all those within hearing range. Demitrius blinked.
"Funny, I was under the impression I could." He mused, crossing his arms. He had to admit on some insanely cruel level it was fun to watch the brute behave a bit like a tea-kettle. Any minute now he should start whistling as steam blew out of his ears.
"I mean, you won't want to miss it. Really! Everyone's going." Fitsgibbons tried, obviously desperate. It was quite apparent that his tiny brain couldn't fathom why his incredibly brilliant attempts at diplomacy were failing.
"Good, then I'll have some time to myself." Demitrius answered. He watched as a vast array of emotions and colours danced across his companion's face. His look changed from anger, to frustration, to worry, to more frustration, and back to anger again. Suddenly a rather large fist planted itself in the wall next to Demi's head. A few people scurried away at the sight of the unexpected punch. Demitrius looked at Fitsgibbons in mild irritation. The boy was literally fuming.
"Now you look here. You're going to Hogsmeade with me or I'll turn your face into mashed potatoes, you little worm." Fitsgibbons growled angrily, retracting his fist and cracking his knuckles. Demitrius looked at the place where the blow had hit the wall. He looked at Brutus' meaty, sweaty hands, all bunched together and cracking, and he looked at the snarling expression on the boy's ugly face. Before anyone could blink Fitsgibbons was backed up against the other wall, the tip of a wand pressed just below his chin, as Demitrius scowled.
"Never, ever threaten me, you moronic lump of flesh." He hissed, and with a muttered incantation and a flick of his wrist, he released Fitsgibbons. It would have been preferable to turn him into something nasty. Like a monkey, or a pig, or a particularly warty toad. However, there were witnesses. Displaying his obvious ability to transform anything in an instant would not be wise at the moment, as everyone was still talking about Finly and Ross. So he'd settled for a nice Furnunculus curse. Fitsgibbons howled as the painful boils began to sprout over his skin, and fumbled carelessly for his wand. "Expelliarmus." Demitrius hissed, and the short rod of rough pine zipped over to his hand. He glanced at it. Not at all well cared for, and it had taken Fitsgibbons far too long to draw it. Pathetic really. He turned, head held high, and began to walk away.
Vibrations were easier to sense when he was a spider, but even humans could tell when something almost the size of a bulldozer was thundering towards them at a great speed. Demitrius darted to the side at the last minute was Fitsgibbons' boil-covered fist hurtled towards him. Lost in his momentum, the larger boy kept going as his intended blow passed through nothing but air, and he hit the ground with a painful smack.
"What on earth is going on here?" A female voice demanded, and Demitrius almost started as his mother pushed past a few students to take in the scene before her. Fitsgibbons lay cringed on the ground, looking pained and murderous at the same time, while an entirely unscathed Demitrius stood with a falsely innocent expression above him. Hermione shot him a dark look, which was greeting by one which simply screamed 'who, me?'.
"Oh, thank goodness you're here Professor. Fitsgibbons here attacked me." Demitrius said. Hermione looked at him sceptically. Even he had to admit, the evidence was rather stacked against him. Mostly thanks to the fact that he was unhurt. Fitsgibbons opened his mouth, and unfortunately for him, had the poor judgement to spend the next several moments swearing quite loudly. Hermione paled a bit at the obviously tasteless language. Demi's story began to look a little better.
"Save it, both of you." She snapped, and Fitsgibbons shut up. Hermione turned to a nearby student. "Lillith, take Mr. Fitsgibbons up to see Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Septimus, come with me please." She said. A dark-skinned girl with short, curly hair nodded, but looked at Fitsgibbons rather warily as she lead the fifth year away.
Demitrius followed his mother down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and to the right. Along the way several passers-by whispered and watched them curiously. Hermione led Demi to her office in the DADA section of the school, a slender room just past her classroom. Demitrius blinked as he stepped in. The place was covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and bits of sentimental odds and ends. On one side of the wall was a pair of bookcases, filled with books not only on Defence Against the Dark Arts, but also on Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and... Dentistry? Oh, right, his grandparents. A desk, which should have been larger and on the other side of the room, was pushed up towards a wall. It was littered with organised sheets of paper, which looked to be students' assignments, and a few photographs. Demi recognised some of them. A young man was bright red hair waved out of one, flanked by two older boys of a more boxy build, but with the same shock of hair. Ron Weasley, and the other two, who had died as well. What were their names? Frank and something? Demi couldn't remember. They'd died before his mother had.
In another photo a younger version of his mother sat between Ron Weasley, and a younger version of Potter, as well as a girl who Demitrius recognised as Ginny Weasley. The Charms teacher. Well, in his time anyway. They sat around the Gryffindor Common Room, Christmas items littered around them, smiling and opening presents. There was one image of a younger Potter again, tending to a preening white owl which sat upon his shoulder. In another picture Ron and two other boys dressed in Gryffindor clothes held broomsticks at their sides. All were dressed in Gryffindor's Quidditch robes. They goofed off, looking relatively happy and care-free. At the bottom of the picture was a scribbled note, which read: 'Finally on the Quidditch team!' And was signed Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. Demitrius re-read the last name. Thomas. Hmm, maybe he was related to Michael. His thoughts stopped there, not daring to tread any deeper.
"Something interesting about my desk?" A voice asked, and Demitrius turned a little, to find Hermione looking at him curiously. Well, that was stupid. He'd almost been gawking.
"No, just seeing if anyone looked familiar." Demitrius supplied enigmatically. Good. Imply connections, but keep her guessing. Hermione frowned and took the seat behind her desk.
"Well, then I suggest we get down to business. Take a seat." She told him, and gestured at the chair across from herself. Demitrius sighed inwardly. He knew that tone of voice. And though he would never thought he'd admit it, it actually felt a little good to hear it again. Something familiar. It was the 'you are in so much trouble young man' tone. "Now." Hermione said, fixing him with a particularly piercing look. "Explain."
A/N: Well, sorry to cut it off there, but I need sleep so everyone's going to have to wait until the next chapter to find out what Demi will say. Not exactly a suspense-ridden ending, but at least it keeps you guessing. I want to thank everyone who so kindly reviewed, especially those of you who left those particularly long, flattering ones, and those who e-mailed me. Oh, and everyone who's been a consistent reviewer. I'd do shout-outs, but I'm tired, and I'm willing to guess you'd prefer me to sleep and live to write again than die trying to show my appreciation. So, shout-outs next time, and just know that every review makes me oh-so joyous. Especially one that comes from you in particular! ^_^ Thanks for reading.