Harry Potter and the Call of the Wild

Summary:

Harry's summer sucks, he's stuck at the Dursleys with nothing to do and everyone's treating him with kid gloves after Sirius' death. He decides he needs to escape and when he does is suddenly confronted with new powers and a whole new perspective on magic.

Disclaimer:

Fairly standard, the majority of the characters in this belong to J K Rowling and her publishers. The only exceptions are those you don't recognise which belong in my head but seem to have escaped momentarily.

Chapter 1 - Longing

Harry Potter was perched precariously on the edge of his bed. Balancing as he was, just on the footboard of the bed, he could snatch a glimpse of the distant trees between the opposite houses, numbers 5 and 7 Private Drive. He sat like this most days now, for some reason those trees drew him, a glimpse of a world far from the dull repetitive tedium that was Little Whining, Surrey. The town itself was a 'perfectly nice town', all neat little houses with identical silver cars parked carefully in every flawlessly paved drive. Each lawn was mowed strictly once a week on Sundays, afternoons of course, Sunday morning was reserved for a family outing to the nearest 'decent' church (none of your new age hippy nonsense with happy-clappy trendy bands).

All in all, it was numbing, Harry could predict his neighbours' routine to the nearest minute, so watching it, had driven him to doing all his homework for the coming school year. He'd even grown bored with watching mad old Roger from number 13 who's madness, at his present age of 65, had escalated to the point of him NOT going to church on Sundays and occasionally being caught staggering drunkenly from his favourite pub, two streets down in a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan 'Plays with matches' 1. After all his homework was meticulously completed, checked and double checked he had soon noticed that if he sat in this particular position he could see a small cut of deep green trees. That glimpse was only a small slice of freedom but he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He couldn't understand why but he spent more and more time staring at the trees - whenever he wasn't eating or sleeping, while he was watching them his whole mind seemed to hang dormant just floating there, idly ignoring the problems that otherwise constantly plagued it.

You would think that at 16 his dramatic and terrible problems would consist mostly of girls, playing with his friends, the tragedy of hormones, his voice breaking and that ominous first pimple. However Harry wasn't exactly a normal boy (as his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin pointed out with depressing frequency), he was a wizard and so was lucky enough to leave this mundane world for 10 months of the year and live in his school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He loved that place and it had become his first home, full of friends (and enemies, but who could survive without accumulating some of those) and the place where he learnt many interesting things and had plenty of adventures. Unfortunately, with the discovery of his wizarding ability at 11, he had found that he had a serious enemy, Voldemort, the latest maniac wanting to take over the world (apparently this was a fairly common occurrence – bound to keep you on your toes) who had terrorised the world before his birth. However Harry had managed to end the dark lords reign accidentally when the killing curse aimed at him had rebounded and hit its caster rendering him mostly dead (it seems you have to be human in order to achieve the state of fully dead) and gave Harry a cool lightning bolt shaped scar which he now hated with vengeance.

This was all very well and you'd think that after being acknowledged the saviour of the wizarding world (and the muggle – none magic one too – said ruthless dictator had an obsession with killing the inferior muggles) life would have been good to Harry. Instead he was packed off with his magic hating relatives, as 'Voldie' had killed his parents before trying it on with him, and spent most of his life pre-eleven living in a broom cupboard under the stairs (thrilling you might guess though he had a few pet spiders and had developed a fondness of woodlice). In his previous five years at school, he had somehow managed to attract all the wrong attention; namely a rather large and poisonous snake, Voldemort annoyingly back from the dead, an escaped convict with an obsession for killing small rodents (well one small rodent in particular responsible for landing said convict in prison) who turned out to be his godfather, and a bunch of deatheaters who faithfully served there master (Voldie) and delighted in destroying Harry's life.

This had come to a particular crescendo in the last school year when Harry was fooled by Voldemort into thinking his godfather was captured (damm scar seemed to act something like a faulty walky-talky but with pictures, unfortunately Voldy had got the hang of getting it to lie for him). He then, being an idiotic 'have-a-go-hero', had rushed off with his faithful band of merry men (and women) to rescue his godfather only to find it was frustratingly a trap. To cut a long story short he had royally mucked up (there was another, more accurate term for that but being a shy lad he mentally altered it to save embarrassment) and it had cast his godfather his life, not to mention injuring several of his friends. All in all life had got pretty nasty so staring at the peaceful trees seemed the perfect escape.

Several hours later he tore himself away, glancing round his borrowed room – the only signs of his habitation among the jumbled piles of broken and abandoned toys was a crude sketch of Hedwig his owl, scratched out in the remains of Dudley's old crayon set, long discarded in favour of better toys and her slightly battered cage. The cage lined with its 'borrowed' newspaper covered in mangled disturbingly furry owl pellets a shredded toy mouse aimed at cats Harry had bought for her last summer and brightly coloured chewed up bits of the crayons was presently empty. Hedwig was off delivering his twice weekly report to members of the Order of the Phoenix – a collection of people devoted to fighting Voldemort led by Albus Dumbledor Harry's headmaster. Every few days Harry had to write to them informing that all was well and his 'family' were treating him well. This meant for once in his life they were behaving reasonably to him, well ignoring him but that was better than their attention, though the lack of chores left him with too much time on his hands, hence the trees.

That was it, he'd had enough, he was going to do something, he was going to escape, he wasn't sure how but it would work. Harry knew this wasn't going to be easy, he – well more accurately the house, was watched every second of the day by an unseen wizard or witch from the Order but he had to do it, even for a moment he needed to feel free, he needed to make it to those trees…

It was several days later, full of the same mindless routine, by the time Harry felt he had successfully formulated a plan. He had noticed that when his minders apparated in (with their distinctive pop) there was a minute or so of talking (mainly 'how is he' 'fine still inside, it's unnatural at his age' 'do you think it's because of what happened?' 'Don't, know he wont talk about it to anyone' and similar patronising and pointless discussions) before the second pop sounded and the remaining watcher fell silent. This gave him a six blocks of few minutes a day when it was possible to escape (each minder had a four hour shift though sometimes, as far as he could tell, they did more than one shift a day). He had to get out, dodging the assorted occupants of his house, then get past two unseen minders while they were distracted. Then he had to return in time for the next shift, he wouldn't have minded running away for good, but he had people out there that cared for him, and despite sore provocation from a lot of them he cared back and couldn't worry them too much.

So he had set his alarm and hidden it under his pillow, it had woken him, exactly as planned at 11.55pm. After jamming his on oversized clothes (Dudley's rejects) he moved to his open window (usual in the present heat), the curtains were open as he found he couldn't sleep without being able to glance across at the trees. After a few minutes he heard the pop and then the chatting started. He immediately darted out of his room, carefully closing the door and crept down the stairs, the whole time his heart was hammering in his chest like a hyperactive rabbit but he finally felt alive again. Dodging the creaky stair and slipping through the furthest door into the moonlit kitchen he grabbed the spare set of keys of the hook. He quickly (and slightly clumsily) forced the key into the lock, turned it, pushed the door too – still unlocked and darted out. There was a big hedge in front of the fence around the back garden, but there was a gap of about 30 cm between the bottom of the hedge and fence. He'd discovered when volunteering to weed the back garden that if he lay down under the hedge he could slip behind it into the space and hide quite effectively, he could even slide himself along with his elbows.

Diving into the prickly gap as near the front garden as it was possible to go without being seen he carefully began pulling himself along, digging his elbows into the powdery soft dry soil. He could feel the branches of the privet hedge clawing at his baggy T-shirt and knew that his clothes would most likely be ruined by the mud if they weren't torn first by the branches. Still he couldn't bring himself to care they weren't his clothes and he was almost free and besides at least it wasn't a Hawthorne or rose bush, he had a fondness of keeping his blood inside his body. He could here the voices still talking so forced himself to keep up the fast pace until he could see the street light shining on the pavement in front of the house, in his haste his elbow landed on a twig, the resulting snap cutting into the still night like a knife. The talking stopped, as did Harry, his heart thundering, threatening to explode in the tense silence.

"What was that" a male voice asked sharply in a hushed whisper

"Not sure probably a cat" a hopeful familiar voice replied whom Harry recognized fondly as Tonks, a brightly haired eccentric aura (wizarding police).

Harry held his breath frozen as he waited all the while mentally screaming at himself for throwing away this chance, then by some fluke of luck a 'Meow' sounded across the still night air. Harry and his two watches released a sigh of relief, someone was definitely looking out for him tonight. The talking started up again and he pulled himself half onto the beautifully clean faintly sparkling grey pavement. The heat of the day had long since faded and the cold began to eat into him as he paused between the two worlds; one free but unknown, the other – depression and stupor.

He carefully pulled his body the last few meters out of the hedge, mentally cursing every hesitant rustle, every dragged breath, until he lay entirely on the far too cold pavement. Wondering what on earth people would think of him lying there, pressed as close to the hedge as possible he chuckled to himself quietly. Hearing the talking drawing to a close, he sprung into a crouched position and began running as fast and silently as he could in such an odd position thanking fate, luck and chance that he had but on his slightly older cast off trainers, the soles to worn to squeak. He couldn't help but be glad for once that he lived in a place famous for its tall and immaculately trimmed private hedges, regimentally bordering each pristine gardens edge (private drive had won the prestigious 'Britain's best street' competition 3 times in the last 10 years).

Harry finally stopped after rounding the corner at the end of the street and breathed a deep and contented sigh of relief replenishing his oxygen deprived body. He propped himself up against a tar streaked telegraph pole and took in his surroundings, he was near his target now, he just had to cross the street and continue up Poplar drive (surprisingly named after its collection of poplar trees neatly lining the road, Surrey council were very literal if a little unoriginal) then turn left up a nearby alley. He gathered his breath, his wits and his nerve and darted as silently as possible across the disturbingly open road, hoping it was Tonks on guard, and she was her usual slightly distracted self.

There were no shouts, no pound of running feet, no flash of light heralding an unwelcome spell, just silence, eerie and surprisingly cold. Suddenly he thought about what he was doing. He had just escaped from the place he was forced to stay in over summer because it was the safest place to be. He'd managed to particularly annoy 'Voldie' last summer and was inevitably being watched by more than just The Order. He was beginning to get that rather unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him maybe, just maybe, he was being a complete idiot again. Standing there on the in the middle of Poplar Drive he wavered; to go back or to go on, it was a harder decision than it seemed. He'd been caged too long at his family's house, he couldn't stay there any longer, not without going mad, he needed to go on but last time he'd gone off on one of his crazy plans he'd got his Godfather killed.

Pushing the cold and painful feelings deep deep down inside himself he quickly rebuilt his tired defences; he wasn't a Grifindor for nothing and something told him if he didn't do this he would be trapped in a prison of his own making for the rest of his life. Tearing free of his indecision he stepped forward into the unknown, striding purposely to where he knew the wood started. Despite his attempts not to scour the nearby areas he couldn't help it, his eyes flicked nervously from side to side (he hadn't survived the dark lords attentions so long without gaining a slight paranoia).

He eventually reached his trees, by this time quite impressed by the lack of anyone trying to kill him. The world had remained quiet and still, not even the slight rustling from the various bushes and trees unnerving him as he followed his rather over excited heart. The small wood, well really a copse, was just big enough that you couldn't see one edge from the other. It was a tiny oasis of calm in a boring sea of monotony, again and again, it had offered him refuge from his pursuers, namely Dudley and his annoying gang who conveniently seemed scared of the wood and its haunted reputation.

How it got its reputation had always impressed him, before Little Whining had been built some 30 years ago, the area was covered in trees, which had been chopped down to make way for the houses. According to the council they had left the small pocket of trees out of respect for the environment and the past history of the area. According to the rumours however they had tried to cut down this last few trees and failed. The mechanical saws had mysteriously broken down the night before, the blades oddly rusting in a single night, the workers terrified by odd lights, apparitions haunting the dreams and waking of anyone who tried to work in the forest. Then to top it all the councillor in charge of the project had suddenly died of a heart attack, the new councillor hadn't been stupid and decided to leave well enough alone and so the wood remained, if avoided by most of the inhabitants of the town.

Harry stepped into it, ignoring the odd sounds, the frantic rustle of the tree's, the fact a breeze had sprung up from nowhere and was whipping his messy dark hair in a strange dance and the odd experience of stepping in deeper and yet not being able to see the streetlights at the other side. Well he tried to ignore all of this but despite his best efforts he was growing more nervous as the streetlights on his side started to fade out of sight and there was still no sign of the other side. He began to hesitate more as the trees grew thicker, far thicker than he remembered them, their branches clawing at this hair and face, forcing him to put up his arms to defend his eyes. Ropes of tearing brambles attempted to trip or ensnare him and soft moss carpets turned into treacherous slides as he began to hesitate. If this was freedom, he was beginning to think very fondly of his cage. Stopping in a small moon lit clearing he decided to turn back, his adventure was getting a little too interesting for his taste and besides he had to get back and in position in time for the next change over.

"You worry too much," a voice exclaimed, cutting into the air and into Harry's already shaking heart, he spun around. "the trees are only trying to greet you, they don't get many visitors this deep in." Harry saw a strange woman, her colouring was peculiar and she was faintly glowing, she was definitely a ghost. She wore odd clothes, seemingly loose fitting but not likely to catch on anything, obviously not from his time; a sword was slung by her waist and a bow and quiver over her shoulder, her hair lay in a wild tangle down her back flicking and dancing in the wind. The oddest thing about her though was her eyes, there was something about them that spoke of a wild animal, no more than that, of the wild itself.

"Who are you?" he asked, then realising his mistake having met several touchy ghosts in his past stuttered "I mean who were you, sorry."

"Hmm, a very nice way to great me, and you have the audacity to be late too." She stated her unnerving eyes fixed on him examining him closely. She seemed to paused for a second delighting in his evident confusion then she added. "My name is Kyra and yours is Harry, now we have the formalities out of the way we can start on more important business…"

Harry leapt in, his confusion obvious by his clenched brow. "Wait a sec how do you know my name, and what do you mean by I'm late and what on earths the business." He said in a frantic rush reminding him in hindsight a little to much of his best friend Ron.

She shot him a glare that would have made Snape (his most disliked teacher, probably due to the fact Snape irrationally hated him for his father saving the greasy gits life) flinch. Then spat out "I was attempting to inform you of the business before you decided to let your tongue get carried away, really I suppose it was too much to expect a child to have manners in this age. As for how I know your name that would have been explained should you have waited. And you are late because I expected you some time ago but you spent so long dithering about being killed that I had to wait here. Saying that I had a good talk with a couple of friends so I shall let you off a bit." She added her eyes changing from the dangerous slits to a more jovial look.

"Sorry!" he muttered slightly reluctantly getting the general impression that this ghost was quite mad. Saying that most ghosts he had met couldn't be described as exactly sane, it seemed that the afterlife was a little abrasive on the sanity.

"Yes I am mad and I'm glad you noticed it, at least your not totally oblivious as well as rude!" she answered coldly, noticing him start her lip twitched and she continued, "No I'm not telepathic I can just read the obvious, do you not know how to hide you're your emotions, I'm surprised you have survived this long. Now rest your tongue for a moment, honestly pups and endless questions, I'm not cut out for this job." Needless to say Harry was intrigued now and wisely he decided to shut up and let the rather odd stranger get on with it.

"Well to begin somewhere vaguely logical, you do know that there are several different types of magic don't you?" She paused looking expectantly at Harry who started, realising she was expecting an answer, and racked his brains quickly for anything that sounded intelligent.

"You mean like transfiguration and charms?" he came up with, realising within two seconds of mentioning it he had utterly failed to impress her.

She sighed shook her head and continued in a sarcastic drawl, "Oh happiness, this may take some time, sit down and I'll give it a go, what do they teach in schools these days!"

Harry began lowering himself to the ground when he suddenly realised he didn't have lots of time to spare. He tried to stop half way down which turned into a complicated and untidy fall as gravity has a nasty habit of ignoring what you want it to do. Muttering under his breath something, which would have no doubt earned him several weeks of detention from his head of house Professor McGonagall, and dragged himself into a vaguely tidy pile whilst rubbing the back of his now bruised head. The ghost's lip twitched again then cracked into a smirk reminiscent of a certain blond haired Slytherin.

"I'm sorry I can't stay for long, I've got to get back before they realise I'm gone." He said hoping the darkness covered his cheeks as he could feel the tell tale creep of fire crossing them. He suddenly wondered if ghosts could see in the dark, it would make sense after all they do generally haunt in the dark…

"Don't worry about the time, we are vaguely outside of time here, no don't ask any more questions. It means we are barely taking up any time at all and you'll learn how it works later. Now back to magic, we may have plenty of time but I have very little patience." The trees around them seemed to go silent, bending there branches further into the clearing, almost as though they were listening attentively. Muffled noises Harry associated more with the depths of the Forbidden Forest then a small copse in Surrey could be heard drifting through the braches. He felt surprisingly comfortable and found he actually believed her as he settled his back against a nearby tree and prepared for the lecture.

"The general idea is that everything and I mean everything; from your shoe to that tree and even you, has its own magic. Magic flows through the air, it makes things happen, all sorts of things, even the muggles use it in their own way…" Kyra lectured, her voice taking on a strange almost hypnotic tone that one associates with lectures that are actually interesting.

Harry couldn't help himself and immediately sat forward and shot in "But muggles don't have magic, that's what makes them muggles." She glared at him again, he didn't flinch this time, determined to at least appear like a Gryfindor. He lowered himself back against the tree trying to make it appear he wasn't a little nervous of that glare, it wasn't his fault he'd developed a keen sense of self-preservation in the last few years and it most definitely wasn't cowardice.

"I didn't say they had your sort of magic, or that they had more than odd notions on how to use it. They constrain magic into what they can understand, coming up with laws to define part of it, but only a small part. Some of their theories are very good, I've picked up a fair few from various libraries that the muggles usefully built within my reach." She continued, at first harshly then slowly returning to the previous melodic tone.

Harry nodded his head; he understood Ghosts were limited in their movements to near the place where they died, or the place they were buried. They could choose between the two, but what he didn't get was her reference to more than one library especially since the local library was outside of a normal ghosts range. Still she didn't exactly seem normal.

She continued "I don't know exactly how much you know of their science but I will assume very little considering how little you seem to know, it's worth looking into later as some of it is actually right. Some of its total nonsense though, you should read the stuff on quantum physics, they've obviously been grasping for straws there." Kyra continued chuckling to herself for sometime. Harry, fed up with being told off for interrupting, kept quiet despite the urge to protest that he really knew a lot just not about the stuff she was talking about. It wasn't his fault after all that his school didn't teach 'normal' lessons and that Dudley and his gang had kept his attention firmly off his schoolwork pre-Hogwarts.

"Back to whatever I was saying, hmmm, yes, so everything has and is made up of magic. What you wizards use is only a small part. You see magic is made up of five elements as is everything else, the muggle scientist actually came really close a few hundred years ago, alas they changed their minds later though... progress ha, nonsense more like. Anyway magic is made up of Fire, Air, Wind and Earth as the main 4 'elements' everything is made of these four but the fifth binds them together and grants you your 'modern' view of magic. Its called spirit by most, I think the muggles called it ether, but they do have a habit of straying from the point. Others refer to it as 'life' but its much more than that, but then again only things that are actually alive have spirit, your shoe most definitely does not but you do. Wizards use spirit to achieve the magic you carry out from day to day, apart from the odd spell or so. It works in most cases by making the other elements conform but it is very limited in power."

"That's where I come on to different types of mages. Wizards are spirit mages, but as I mentioned of a very limited type." She continued, Harry decided he understood it, well at least part of it, but he wasn't convinced it was actually accurate yet. "They are limited only to what spirit they have contained within themselves. This is focused through a wand and controlled by words of power though most of it's down to pure will and belief it will happen."

The ghost woman settled more comfortably, leaning against the tree behind her. A small black rat darted out of a near by bush and climbed onto her lap and was soon settling to being stroked by Kyra. Somewhere in Harry's mind alarm bells were ringing but he quickly quashed them as he began to grow more interested. Finally things were beginning to make sense.

"Four of the other types of mage are obviously associated with each of the other elements. They, like true spirit mages rely mostly on what magic they can channel from their surroundings. As everything around them is made up of the elements and magic they have the potential to use vast amounts, however they can only handle so much otherwise they get …hmm what was that muggle term … oh yes, fried. This is when it gets a bit complicated; you can get all sorts of combination of mages; fire/earth (sometimes know as metal mages), water/earth (insultingly known as mud mages), air/water or storm mages, well you get the idea."

"The problem was a fair few hundred years ago there was a bit of a war. The magic was taught, originally, in several schools of magic, but soon with politics, wars and such various schools were absorbed into others until they were only two. As with pretty much anything with so much power both schools wanted more. To cut a long story short a massive war broke out, both side searching for the weapon that would win it. They made the mistake of trying to use the Wild; the idiots thought they could control it. It backfired in a big way, the Wild fought back and wiped out the mages, or a good enough portion that they dwindled and died out. Only a few with much reduced power remained, mostly those of the spirit persuasion as they could do little to effect, and so provoke, the Wild."

"This has led to the world you live in today, nearly devoid of elemental magic as it naturally flows in bloodlines. That is apart from one type, the so-called 'Wild Mage', they command all the principle elements and sometimes spirit as well. They crop up every now and then when the Wild is threatened by something particularly difficult. They are responsible for guarding the Wild and in return they're given a certain amount of control over it and the elements."

Harry put his head in his hands, shoulders slumping, he just knew where this was going. "And let me guess I'm one of those!" He half-asked tiredly. It was a shame really, he had been enjoying this, it made sense to think there was more than one way of doing things, Hermione, his obsessively bookish friend, was often going on about what inaccuracies she found in old books that weren't technically possible. Now she was leaving her 'know-it-all' youth she was beginning to suggest magic was probably different in the past. Now yet again he was given another bloody reason to be different, to be a freak.

"You catch on pretty quick for a pup you know." The smiling ghost uttered jovially.

"Merlin, cant I be normal for one minute." He replied, quickly seeing his life getting even more complicated. He tucked his knees up to his chin and hugged them protectively. After a short while of sitting like this he began banging his head on his knees trying to ignore the ghostly smirk growing on his companions face, he really didn't need this.

"You can not 'be normal' because it is an inherent fact of the chaos that is life that we are all unique, therefore to be normal is impossible." She stated as the rat darted up onto her shoulder, digging its way into her golden brown mess of hair.

Harry angrily flung his head back, narrowly catching it before he banged it again against the unforgiving tree, and glared at Kyra "But everything happens to me, I mean every year since I got out of the cupboard someone's been trying to kill me or my friends, then I find out that there's a bloody prophecy saying I have to kill the dark lord who happens to be after my guts, along with what seems like half the wizarding world, then you say I'm a wild mage. Let me guess it means I have to save the world." He demanded half sarcastically, half defeated.

"I think you will find very little has changed, you've always been a wild mage and always will be. Things happen to you because your powerful and power draws attention, even from fate, it can get a little annoying but its life. You can hardly change being born, you might regret it at times but it's pointless. If you were born different you wouldn't be you, so you wouldn't know how lucky you were. Face it, life is never going to get easier unless you accept it and take it as it comes, even then it's still likely to surprise you." She said surprisingly patiently, her fingers diving in her hair deftly attempting to remove a now utterly entangled rat that was squeaking piteously in protest. It most definitely did not want to be removed from its nice warm bed.

"But I don't want to be powerful." Harry heard himself whine leaning his head back against the comforting tree wincing slightly as he realised it was still tender from his fall earlier.

"Tough, neither did I but it happened, now the choice is you either learn how to control it or it controls you." Kyra shot back, her head whipping round to glare at Harry, the happily nesting rat forgotten. She stood up and began pacing sharply, random emotions dancing on her face. A rats tail stuck stiffly out of her hair then slowly started to windmill around and Harry could just make out an outline of the rat griping on for dear life. He smiled slightly to himself but couldn't get the sense of oddness to leave.

His breath suddenly froze in his lungs, forcing it to start again he gasped, "that's not a ghost rat is it?" A cold clawed hand of fear gripping his heart as he realised why things didn't quite feel right. Ghost really shouldn't be so solid! He leapt to his feet, his heart suddenly deciding to start again unfortunately far too fast and with the incessant pounding of a runaway horse.

Reference to T-shirt slogan from if anyone can think of a better one I'm willing to change it and give you the credit

Authors Note

Please bear with my explanations, I'm an engineer so the sciency stuff really interests me, I promise stuff will happen at some point. I'm going to update whenever I can and I hope this will be quite a long story however I work full time so I do have some limitation with when I can work (at the moment mostly time when I have nothing to do at work, depressingly frequent at the moment). If this story proves popular I'll probably update more frequently. I am looking for someone to beta if you feel like it, I'm OK at grammar but another eye always helps as I'm bound to have missed a bit. I really want someone to bounce ideas off and can put in ideas of there own and who can help me keep characters in canon. Feel free to email me on