Death of Earth

A/N: In which the author commences with the heavy symbolism. Disclaimer from earlier chapters still applies. I'd sort of like to claim the Heiress of Slytherin as my own idea, but I'm not sure I can entirely. Anyway, I rather like her. I should have mentioned this before, too: this is very nearly as much as T.S. Eliot fanfic as a Harry Potter fanfic. I've used his poetry as inspiration and backdrop. All of it is, I presume, copyright his estate. Anyway, I didn't write it. I'm really not a good poet.

Extra thanks to Nemi for beta-reading and providing inspiration.

There are flood and drouth

Over the eyes and in the mouth,

Dead water and dead sand

Contending for the upper hand.

The parched eviscerate soil

Gapes at the vanity of toil,

Laughs without mirth.

This is the death of earth.

~T.S. Eliot, 'Four Quartets', 'Little Gidding'

Harry pushed through the broken slats of the picket fence. On the other side was an overgrown, rocky garden. Everything in it seemed to be dead and brown, and dust rose in clouds every time he took a step.

"Where do I get in," he asked Thanatos, looking at the boarded-up windows of the house.

Circle the house. Somewhere you should be able to find an opening.

Skeptical but willing, Harry climbed over the trunk of a fallen tree. It crumbled beneath him, depositing him in a heap into a bed of withered lilies. They were grey-white, and seemed almost mummified. He touched one, and it fell to dust.

I do not recommend that, Thanatos said, You will encounter resistance in one form or another. Any object here might be a danger to you. You are in hostile territory.

"Everything here represents something, though, right? I mean, it's my mind interpreting? So what are the flowers?"

Potential, perhaps. Lilies that fester… Death replied cryptically.

This didn't help Harry much, so he got up and moved on.

He found there was, after all, one thing very much alive in the garden: a vast network of evil briars that sprung up now and then when he was least prepared for them. They tore his clothing and skin and refused to break. He was involved in escaping from a patch of these when Thanatos tugged at his attention.

I remember her…I am amazed he does as well.

Harry staggered free of the brambles and looked up. Around the corner ahead of him he could see what looked like marble steps, white and gleaming faintly even in the dark. Around them curled a few climbing-rose vines. They were alive, and quite possibly the source of the wicked thorns that had been impeding him, but next to the marble pedestal they looked softer and more innocuous. The stems were very green, and the blossoms were silver. Harry's eyes traveled up the steps to a shell-like arch of alabaster over which a curtain of light seemed to hang. Behind the curtain stood a woman.

Drawn by the light, Harry approached the steps.

Be wary, Thanatos warned, but he, too, seemed curious.

The rose vines rustled at his approach, but they did not seek to entangle him, nor did they withdraw. He stepped over them carefully, advancing up the steps until the woman was clearly visible.

She was very beautiful. She was quite tall, with a delicate, willowy figure. Her cheekbones were high and angular, but she had a gentle, rosy mouth and serious, intelligent dark eyes. Her hair was long and curly, a brown so deep it was nearly black. She was dressed in a bell-shaped skirt in many shades of green, over which she wore a corset in a snakeskin pattern. She had no shirt on, and as the corset did not reach her chest, her breasts were bare. Blushing fiercely, Harry looked down and noticed that she held a writhing silver serpent in each hand. They glared at him with beady, bright eyes.

He whispered to Thanatos, "Who is she?"

An echo. Harry, you know that your mother left a powerful protection in your veins by giving her life for you…

"Yes…"

Voldemort's--or, rather, Tom Riddle's--mother died in childbirth. She, too, gave her life that he might live.

"She's…his mother…?"

The snakes hissed.

The personification, rather, of the protection his mother left behind. She was a great Lady, the Heiress of Slytherin. Show her respect. You will not get into his mind except through her.

Harry advanced the rest of the way up the steps slowly, tensing as the snakes in the woman's hands became increasingly agitated. At the top of the pedestal, he sank to one knee.

"What do you seek here, Lion-cub?" the voice came not from the Heiress but from the left-hand snake.

"I…I'm here to free Thanatos," he stammered, looking up.

The curtain of light parted and the woman stepped through, holding the snakes high. Her face was cold and stern now. The expression combined with the sense of power coiling and uncoiling within her reminded Harry of Albus Dumbledore when he was angry.

Stand your ground, Thanatos said quietly.

"Liar," hissed the right-hand snake, "You are here to take knowledge from my son's mind."

"I have to," Harry said, "He's trying to control Death."

"To practice healing is to try to control Death," the left-hand snake said reasonably, "to seek survival is to try to control Death. To defend oneself against an enemy is to try to control Death. To be human is to try to control Death. You would deny Tom Riddle this right?"

"He doesn't go by that name anymore," Harry said quietly.

"That is not your concern," snapped the right-hand snake.

"And he's not human anymore," Harry added, "not really."

"Do you dare insult my child to his mother's face?!" The right-hand snake lashed out at him with its fangs.

Harry jumped back just in time to save his eye. But the rose-briars surged up the steps toward him, binding his arms to his sides, the thorns digging into him.

"I know you, Lion-cub," the left-hand snake remained calm, even thoughtful, craning its neck forward. Its tongue flickered across Harry's forehead, tasting the scar. It drew back abruptly.

"You should," Harry said, "Lord Voldemort's tried to kill me four times."

"My son," the left-hand snake hissed softly, "is not a murderer…no." It sounded deeply grieved.

"No," agreed the right-hand snake, "if he tried to kill this boy, the boy surely deserved it. Perhaps we should finish the job." The snake regarded Harry with malice.

Harry flinched as the thorns tightened around him, "Thanatos…"

Stay calm…they cannot kill you.

The young wizard took a deep breath, eyeing the woman's face, then the left-hand snake, "You can't have wanted this for him. What he's become."

"He was a good boy…so clever…" the left-hand snake curled up the Heiress' arm as if trying to escape, but the pale, slender hand did not release it.

"Who are you to tell us what we wanted?" the right-hand snake said sullenly. "You do not know us. You do not know our son."

"He has made mistakes," the left-hand snake admitted softly.

"Mistakes?!" It was Harry's turn to lose his temper, "Killing innocent people is more than just a mistake! Look around you! Look at this place! It's rotting from within!"

"Shut up!" both snakes howled together. The thorns whipped around Harry's neck, cutting the skin. He felt a few drops of blood roll down, soaking into his collar. The woman turned away.

Do not move…the thorns are close to your windpipe, Thanatos said tensely. If your astral body sustains such damage, it will spread to your brain.

Harry lay frozen for a long moment, then spoke again, carefully. "I'm sorry," he told the woman, and meant it. "He's done you wrong, too."

"Do not speak to us." The left-hand snake's voice was cracked with sorrow, "You have no right. No right."

"Yes I do. I'm one of his victims. He'll kill me, sooner or later, if you don't let me in. If you won't let me do this."

The Heiress looked at him, anguish intermingling with the sternness in her expression. "He is my son," the left-hand snake said, "How can I let you in? What word can you give me that means more than the blood-bond I share with him?"

Harry met her eyes, "In the name of Lily Potter, who died innocent to protect her son from yours. You're a mother. You can understand that love better than I can. Better than he can."

The woman's breath hitched, and she turned to stare at him.

"In my mother's name," he repeated, "let me go. Let me do what I came to do."

The dark eyes flooded with tears, and the snakes curled limply around her arms. She nodded slowly and spoke for the first time, "Go quickly. Do not make him suffer." The thorns released him.

Harry stood a little tremulously, rubbing his torn neck, and bowed. "Thank you."

She shook her head, "Don't thank me. Just go."

As Harry backed away, he heard Thanatos chanting softly in his mind, Lady of Silences

Calm and distressed

Torn and most whole

Rose of memory, Rose of forgetfulness

Exhausted and life-giving

Worried Reposeful…

Grace to the Mother

For the Garden

Where all love ends.

"Go," said the Heiress again. She pointed at the wall of the house, and a door appeared.

The young wizard took one last look at her, then ran down the steps and through the door.

Well done, said Death.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"I don't understand, though," Harry told Thanatos as he walked through the empty, dusty hall of the Riddle House, "If it's *my* mind interpreting, how did I know what *his* mother looked like?"

Because he remembers, and he has seen pictures. You have shared his power, after the first time he tried to murder you. And he has since shared your blood. You are part of one another, like it or not.

Harry stood still. "No we're not."

Thanatos was silent for a long moment, then said, You are his nemesis, Harry. That is why I chose you.

"He's no part of me. I'm not like him."

In the ways that count, no. You are not. Nor will you ever be. The dark voice was sad and gentle.

Harry walked on again, saying nothing for several moments, "What else will I see like he sees it? Will I see myself the way he sees me?"

I do not know. I hope not.

"Will I be able to see things my own way after this? Will I go back to normal?"

Thanatos did not answer, and after a moment's thought, Harry realized he did not want him to.

The halls were long and tortuous and seemed devoid of life, but they seemed to be changing as he moved deeper into the house. At first they had been torn and water stained wallpaper over plaster, but soon they became battered, splintery wood. Harry could see pictures of children and framed samplers with Biblical verses on them, and he wondered if this was what the orphanage Tom had grown up in looked like. In a chipped oak frame there was a watercolor of Jesus surrounded by small, sandal-footed children. It read: 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God. Mark 10:14'. The glass was shattered over the face of one little dark-haired boy. Harry felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if the orphanage was really this bad, or if it was just Tom's perception.

The hall opened out into a room full of small, neat cots. A boy of about six years sat on the edge of one. He was tall for his age, but spindly and a bit sickly-looking. His feet would have touched the floor if he hadn't had his ankles crossed and his knees pressed together. He was looking at his feet, and Harry could not see his face, but he assumed this was Tom Marvolo Riddle, as he was as a little boy. A heavyset, red-faced man loomed over him, shaking a slightly crumpled piece of paper at him. On it was a childlike crayon drawing of the Heiress, dressed in green, her hair long and loose. She had white wings and a yellow halo around her head. She also had a black and grey serpent entwined around her waist.

"It's my Mum," the child said calmly.

"You've told me that," barked the man, "I asked why you drew her with a snake?"

"I like snakes. I bet she liked them, too. I had a dream once. She was in it, talking to one."

"Snakes don't talk," the man growled.

It reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon telling him that motorbikes do not fly.

"I bet they do in Heaven. Mum's in Heaven. I bet she gets to talk to snakes whenever she wants."

"There are no snakes in Heaven! Snakes are a symbol of Satan!"

"Why did Jesus compare them to Himself, then?"

"What?"

"'And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.'" Tom quoted, looking up with a little smirk on his face. "John, Chapter 3, verses 14 and 15."

The man said nothing for a long moment, his face getting redder.

Tom looked back down. "I like snakes."

"Your mother had you out of wedlock," the older man said softly, but with venom, "That's a sin. She's not in Heaven."

The little boy twitched as if he'd been slapped, but did not look up again.

The older man crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor, then left the room. Little Tom watched him go with narrowed, gleaming eyes.

He hated this place, Thanatos told Harry quietly.

"I would have, too," Harry moved quietly around the child and took the same door out of the room that the older man had. He'd never felt lucky to be living with the Dursleys before.

As they moved on, the halls went from wood to stone, and Harry recognized the damp, cool scents of Hogwarts. He passed through classrooms, dormitories, bathrooms, and the Great Hall. It all looked much the same as it did in his own time; maybe just a little less weathered. He saw a few students, moving past him like ghosts. He thought he caught a glimpse of young Hagrid, hulking and clumsy and brown as earth. He saw Headmaster Dippet as a faint, watery yellow shade, and then a red-gold light broke over him, and he winced, pressing against the wall. The blaze hurt his eyes, but if he squinted at it through cupped hands he could just barely make out what looked like a pair of beating wings, and a tall, male figure shadowed against them. "What is that?!" he breathed.

Look closer, Death told him, look with your own eyes.

Harry rubbed his face a moment, eyes closed, then tried again, and gasped. It was Albus Dumbledore, auburn-haired and straight-backed, in the prime of his life. He was robed in grey, and on his shoulder Fawkes was perched, gleaming like an ember.

Albus has gained much skill since his youth, Death said, but he has lost some of the raw energy he once possessed. Not all, and never enough that he should be taken lightly, but…

Dumbledore turned to look at Harry, and he was reminded of his expression when he had interrogated young Barty Crouch. He looked wise and stern: fierce as flame, strong as stone, swift as air, subtle as water.

Voldemort knew even then that Dumbledore was a wizard to be reckoned with.

Harry watched as the apparition of Albus turned away and moved on. "Voldemort still fears him?"

Oh, yes. With good reason.

Harry moved on, but he felt the red-gold glow behind him, heating his back like the sun on a summer's day. He felt relieved when he turned the corner and entered the next room. It was cool and lit only by a faint aqua light reflecting off of pools of water scattered haphazardly across the floor. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that caught in his throat as he realized where he was. An enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed before him. He was in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood at the statue's foot, silhouetted against the gleaming granite. He was shaking, but the air sang with his joy, and Harry felt himself infected with it. Before he could stop himself he had run up behind his archenemy to stare into Slytherin's carven face.

Harry…remember where you are.

The young wizard's heart fluttered, "Home…" he replied. "We're home…he…"

Tom Riddle fell to his knees, and Harry followed unconsciously, his green eyes blazing. The statue's face no longer seemed to him to be twisted with hate and bitterness. It seemed to glow with approbation. Home, it said silently, and family.

"This is where I belong," Tom said next to him, and Harry felt himself nod with agreement.

Harry…you are not Tom Riddle. You are not the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself stubbornly, trying to hold onto the joy. Next to him, the young Heir cried, "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts' Four!" It came out in the bubbling hiss of Parseltongue, and the stone mouth ground slowly open.

Tom gasped and cried out with delight as something moved within the statue. The Basilisk was coming.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling caught between Tom's joy, Thanatos' quiet logic, and his own fearful memories of the giant serpent. But when the beast hit the floor, shaking the rock, he looked again. The King of Serpents was circling them, coiling tighter and tighter around Tom. Its great yellow eyes were closed, to protect its new master, and it was making a low thrumming sound, like a giant cat purring. At length it came to a halt and rested its chin in the lap of the astonished Tom Riddle, eyes still tight-shut. "Master…" it hissed, "At last! At last you've come for me…"

Hesitantly, Tom reached to stroke the scaly muzzle, and tears flooded his eyes as the serpent trembled with joy. "You and I," he said softly in Parseltongue, "We are going to do great things together."

"Yes!" The snake's tail twitched excitedly. "Yes! I 've waited so long! Let me kill for you, master…"

Tears pricked at Harry's eyes. "I killed it…" he reached to run his fingers over the diamond-hard skin.

He jumped when Thanatos answered him gently, It would have killed you if you hadn't.

"I…didn't know…I mean…it's just an attack dog, isn't it? It wouldn't have hurt anyone if it hadn't been ordered to…"

An attack dog…that is an apt analogy, I suppose, Death said dispassionately, However, it would have had to eat regardless. I suspect if it had been left masterless in Hogwarts Castle it would have devoured much of the student population. Basilisks, while they are animals, and think like animals, are not naturally occurring creatures. Therefore, they are dangerous and prone to cause disruptions in the Balance.

Harry stroked the gleaming scales a moment. His sense of logic was returning to him slowly, and the manic joy fading away. Still, the regret lingered, and as he stood to leave, he glanced longingly at Slytherin's statue.

Come, Harry. Your home is elsewhere.

"He isn't human anymore," Harry said quietly, "but he was once…"

Yes, there was a note of grief in Death's voice as well, he was.

Harry didn't remember much else of the journey deeper into the mansion. He passed walls of stone, brick, wood, plaster. He crossed rivers and fields, and once he thought he saw the arching dome of a monastery. The house was bigger inside than it was on the outside. But that was to be expected, as the same is true of the mind.

After what seemed like hours, or maybe even years, Harry came to a long hall lined with framed portraits. The carpet here was deep blood-red, and the walls were white as bone, but green light showed through cracks in the ceiling.

You are close, Death said softly.

Harry looked at the first portrait and started at the familiarity of the face. It was a girl wearing thick glasses. Her hair was limp and dark, her eyes empty and sad, her lips down-turned in a pout, and her skin was speckled with acne.

"Myrtle?" He exclaimed. "Moaning Myrtle?"

Yes…his first kill. He stared at her body afterwards, for over an hour, before Olive Hornby found her…

Harry felt a chill. "His first…then all these people…??"

Are those he has murdered. Yes.

Harry started purposefully down the hall, scanning the portraits. Myrtle's was the most lucid. The others were blurry, or too dark, or overexposed, with only parts of them coming across clearly; eyes mostly, or clenched hands, or lips parted in screams.

I advise you not to look, Death told him.

"My parents," he said softly. "I want to see."

At the moment of their deaths? Are you quite certain?

"I don't care. I want to see them. I've heard them scream, how much worse can it be?"

Thanatos was silent.

A portrait close to the end of the hall caught his eye, and he rushed toward it, gripping the frame and pulling it off the wall. It was a man with wild dark hair: James Potter. A green glare was reflected in the lenses of his askew glasses, and his eyes could not be seen. But his mouth was set in a line of grim determination, and his bloodied hand still clutched a broken wand. Harry sat on the carpet and stared into the picture greedily.

He died well, for what it is worth.

"It's not worth much," Harry said bitterly, running his fingers over the blurred lines of his father's face. After a moment he asked, "Do I really look like him?"

Yes and no. He was a good man; pleasant, friendly, clever. But you have several times the power he was gifted with, for one reason or another. Perhaps another human would not notice this, but I see it in you very clearly. Very clearly…

Harry clutched at the portrait a little. "I can't take it with me, can I?"

It is a memory, Harry. You already have.

The young wizard nodded and stood, looking for his mother's portrait. It was, as he expected, right next to his father's. It was overexposed, vivid and bright. She seemed to be in motion, her hair waving wildly behind her like a crimson flag. But her face was turned away, and he could only barely make out the flicker of her eyelashes above the curve of her cheek. Her skin was gleaming white, as if she were glowing with some inner light.

"She looks like an angel," he observed softly.

She was trying to reach your crib.

Harry touched the image of the fiery strands of hair. "It isn't fair."

It never is.

"Have I ever really cried for them?"

You were too young to understand.

He nodded slowly, then carefully re-hung his father's portrait. After a moment, he leaned forward and kissed his mother's image on the cheek impulsively.

Next to his mother there was a blank space. "I was supposed to go here."

Yes…he has not filled that space. But he has reserved another place for you, should he manage to destroy you yet.

Harry glanced over and saw an empty frame at the end of the hall. It was twice the size of the others. He moved toward it hesitantly, glancing at the remaining few portraits. Some he recognized, but one was missing. "Cedric," he choked, stopping in his place, "Why isn't Cedric here?"

Because Voldemort did not kill him. Wormtail did.

"Under his orders!" A hot rush of fury and despair filled the young wizard, "And he doesn't even care! He doesn't even remember what he looked like!" His fists clenched, and angry tears sprang to his eyes.

Peter Pettigrew does. He will never forget.

"It's not right…he should remember, too…he should know…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "*I* remember…"

There was a moment of silence, then Thanatos said quietly, Your mind is touching his. If you wish, you can leave him that memory.

Harry placed his palms against the wall. "How? Tell me how."

Remember.

Harry slid to a seat on the floor. "He was a good Seeker…he had brown hair and his eyes were blue. Everyone called him Pretty-Boy Diggory. Except the other Hufflepuffs, I mean. And…Cho."

Go on.

"And I liked him. I didn't want to. But he was the kind of person you can't really dislike. You could envy him, but you couldn't dislike him, because…he was just so bloody NICE and he NEVER did anything to ANYONE and IT ISN'T FAIR!" His voice rose to a shout, and he clenched his fists in his hair, rocking slightly and trying not to cry. He had never cried for his parents properly. He mustn't cry for Cedric before he'd cried for his parents. "And he just…died…he didn't even get a chance to do anything brave first. He just died. He looked surprised…and his arms were out…"

The tears broke free in a sudden violent flood, and Harry felt a wave of power rip through him at the same time, but he didn't care. He just sat with his hands clutching at his hair, rocking and crying silently for several minutes. At last, Thanatos' voice entered his mind again, gently.

It is done. Harry, look.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up slowly. In front of him, the wall was marked brown and black, as if it had been burned. As he studied the burns, they resolved themselves into an image of Cedric, sprawled lifeless on the grass. Harry shuddered, but it was what he had wanted, so he rose slowly, steadying himself as best he could, and walked the rest of the way down the hall, past the empty frame, and into a long, dark stairwell.

Are you all right, Harry?

"I'm…fine. Sorry." He suddenly realized he had cried in front of Death twice tonight. Three times, if you counted his reaction to the Basilisk.

Do not be sorry. I have seen both grief and remorse before. They are pure emotions, and I honor them both. But I must tell you, Harry…there is more anger in you than I realized, more than appears on the surface. Thus far it has been turned to righteous causes, but you must be careful. Power and anger can be a dangerous combination. Do not let your own emotions master you.

Harry took a deep breath, nodding. "I'll be careful." He studied the stairs. "Do I go up? Or down?"

Up. You are seeking access to his knowledge. Memories are the earth from which the mind grows. Knowledge is the air that blows across the mind, giving it form.

The young wizard began to mount the stairs slowly. "I'm tired. How long have I been gone?"

Only an hour or so. Thought travels quickly.

"Why--" Harry began, but the rest of his question was lost in a cry of fear. There was a rumbling in the stairwell, and the ground shook beneath his feet. He clutched at the wall; there was no banister. "Thanatos! What's happening?"

Hold on, Harry, Death shouted back, as if from a great distance, and prepare to defend yourself. Voldemort knows you are here!

A/N: Deliberate cliffhanger. You may throw things at me at your discretion. I will dodge as best I can.

Boy, that turned out long. I couldn't find any reference to Cedric's hair and eye color, so forgive me if I've gotten it wrong. And correct me, so's I can fix it.

Um. I had lots to say about this chapter, but writing it wiped me out. Let me just reiterate that I like the Heiress and am considering writing a fic(let) just for her.

Wave at the Beta-dragon, and fellow Death Slasher; Nemi

Thanks to all reviewers!

Double thanks to repeat reviewers!

Triple thanks to—you get the idea.

Windflower: Haven't gotten many chances to read yet, but you're still on my list. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like Thanatos.

Kandra: I have Harry's reward well worked out already, actually, but I don't dare give it away. I have a couple sketches of Thanatos I've drawn. I'd upload them, but the last time I tried to put up a URL, the whole document went screwy, so I'm not sure how to make them available. Anyway, glad you like him. ;-)

Talyra: *blush * Thank you! Um…the Max Payne comment goes right over my head. But the bold was actually my way of indicating telepathy. I'd do the block caps, but I'm not sure it would carry over in html format, and if I wrote his dialogue in all caps…well, people would wonder why he shouted all the time. ;-) Anyway, you get your wish, because I was planning on using bold through the rest of the story. ^_^

Quoth the Raven: Exactly my thoughts. I wanted enough indication of distance between them to provide Harry a safe 'quarantine'. I'm glad the Riddle Mansion isn't too cliché as a destination. I was afraid it might be too obvious. I think my idea there was that it would be a place that was relatively familiar to both Harry and Voldemort.

Stormyfire: Actually, I have a pretty clear basic outline for the shape of the story, and a few mental notes of scenes and points I want to make. Aside from that, I'm kind of BS-ing it. Still, it's gotten more pre-planning than Pig in a Wig. When it comes to plot, I'm usually just lucky. ^_^;; I'm glad you think Harry's realistic. I think I've had him cry too much, but I'm going to try and remedy that next chapter.

Atalante: Um…wow. That's quite a compliment. I'm glad you like the story. I don't know that it's *that * unique, but I'll take all the praise I can get regardless. ^_~

He_who_must_not_be_named: Well, now I've continued. *pokes at your mind * ;-)

Smitha-r: I am quietly rereading 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' as reference for the appearance of the Avada Kedavra, but that's all I'm going to say about that. Thank you for the encouragement.

Ozma: I like the idea of a compassionate Death. Someone who does what s/he has to do, but who really knows what it's like to be human and cares about all the people who live and die. I really like the Death in the Sandman series, and Mulberry, who I've mentioned in your LJ, and the Pale Slayer in Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane. You know, it never occurred to me that the owner of the shirt might be Molly. I wish it had, I'd have left it ambiguous longer. ::tries to look innocent:: Have I mentioned I have a thing for phookas? I'm glad you liked mine. ;-)

Nemi: *waves enthusiastically * Honestly, we've discussed this enough that I'm not sure I need to reply to you much in my responses here. But I'm glad my additions of fae lore went over well. Thanks for the support and all your help!

Moon Kitten, Koneko-chan: Glad you liked the chapter. Hope the update came soon enough!