Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to J.K. Rowling
This chapter dedicated to the author Majick. Go ahead and try to read Ginderella with a straight face, I dare you. Really, it's pure goodness.
Harry stood in a deserted grave, one not unlike the cemetery he remembered perfectly from fourth year. It was dark still; the boy had the distinct feeling daybreak didn't bother to light such a place. He drifted through crisp grass, floating surreally past grave markers and dead leaves. Harry's spine prickled; the hair on the back of his neck stood alert.
The wizard didn't know what he was searching for, and yet Harry felt compelled to press forward. He circled the granite markers, listlessly absorbing the names chiseled in to the cold stone. Harry shivered. So much pain lay just beneath the silent ground.
It was different than his other night terrors. Harry wasn't surrounded by malicious Death Eaters, nor could he hear the earsplitting final cries of faceless victims. Only silence surrounded him, a queer sort of ache. This dream was different. His scar was not split in pain, but dully thumped with the loud buh-bum of his own heartbeat.
He couldn't put his finger on why this place felt so surreal. The air was stagnant, dead. In his nightmares, at least, Harry knew where he was. This place was utterly foreign, yet . . . something else as well.
Harry knelt at a grave, brushing aside cracked leaves and dust from the aged letters. Dorcas Meadows. The name was eerily familiar. Harry slipped past the stone to the next one. Amelia Bones.
He started, slamming his eyes shut tight. Harry remembered those names. Members of the order. Marlene McKinnon. Benjy Fenwick. They had died. Forever. Dead. Names and dates blurred together, merging into each other as shades of grey swam before him. He swayed on his feet, fighting to stay standing. Harry felt tears prickle at the back of his eyes. The cemetery spun around and around, spiraling out of control. Caradoc Dearborn . . .
Then it stopped, just as sudden as the whirling began. Harry fell to his knees, his hands splayed on the ground. He took a shaky breath and wrenched open his eyes, surprised to face a single tombstone. He adjusted his glasses, dimly registering the name carved into the rock.
Lily Potter.
The boy sucked in his breath, his eyes swimming again. Harry heard the dull roar of pain surface into his conscience. The false serenity of a quiet cemetery bored into his mind, filling his ears with it's deafening shriek.
Harry slid to his side, gasping for air. He had never experienced a panic attack, but was almost sure this qualified as such. He gazed at the stone, lost memories and regret so acute it pierced his heart like a saber. All Harry had ever wanted was a mother, and his was dead.
He blinked again, this time not to shut out pain, but rather a blinding glow flooding his eyes. The cemetery was filled with orange . . . no . . . red light. He looked up, lifting himself onto his heels. Ginger light radiated out of the dying blades of grass, shining from the words written on the graves. It surrounded Harry, glowing in impossible luminescence.
The wizard backed up, awestruck. The light was everywhere, growing brighter still, drowning out the vision of the grave. Harry clamped his eyes shut, the light too bright for him. He felt the cemetery spin again, faster than before. Harry could have sworn he actually was going somewhere . . .
The Boy-Who-Lived sat up in bed, clutching his forehead with one hand, the other clasped onto his sheets. He was breathing heavily, but awake now, with no eerie cemetery or light in sight.
Just a dream . . .
Yet something felt odd about it, though. Harry paused to consider, carefully weighing the "dream" in his mind. He couldn't shake the surreal feeling that had nestled itself in the pit of his stomach.
Harry slowly brought his hand back down, surprised to find that the usual ache in his scar that accompanied his dreams was gone. He frowned, contemplating. The details were already slipping away. He remembered a lot of bright light, but unlike the visions of green Harry often experienced, he didn't feel palpable malice or sorrow.
Whatever. It was weird.
A soft rustle brought him out of his thoughts. He stiffened against the headboard and waited for the intruder. Harry wondered for a moment if he was acting melodramatic.
After all, how likely was it that escaped murderers, dark lords, or hidden Animagus could prowl around his dorm?
Er — point taken.
Harry decided he couldn't be wary enough considering his share of bed-trespassers. And before the wizard could properly blush at all the connotations of his previous thought, the bed curtains parted to reveal a scarlet head of hair.
No way.
"Ginny?" Harry blanched. "What are you doing . . .? Why —?"
She smiled coyly, slinking onto his bed. The witch arched her back, slowly and deliberately making her way across his bed. She rocked back on her heels, kneeling in front of him. Harry blinked.
Surely this had something to do with yesterday . . . after all; all of this Ginny rubbish didn't concern him until then. Coincidence, was it, that Ginny Weasley was in his bed, looking . . . well, risqué just when he discovered she had, er, feminine qualities?
Harry gulped. Hard.
There was something off about the way she moved. Her every motion was liquid, like molten grace. She almost purred, creeping toward him, never breaking eye contact. Harry was strongly reminded of a cat, as feline arms sought his body.
Ginny's eyes blazed. Harry felt his mouth open and close, working to find the right words. He wanted to shove her away, to be repulsed by the little girl in his bed — yet the come hither expression on her face, and the distinct, yet subtle pout of Ginny's lips held him at bay.
It felt like he had somehow swallowed an entire cauldron full of ice water. Harry was both terrified and exhilarated at the same time, the two emotions mixing in his blood.
The teenager took a deep breath, surprised at how flustered he was. He weakly rose to protest, but was silenced by an efficient finger to his lips. Ginny never said a word, smiling demurely under hooded lashes.
He tore his eyes away, only then aware of the gentle swell of her body against his covers. In fact, Ginny's pale nightdress made her seem older somehow, worn through enough years that it had a translucent quality. The neckline gaped a bit, clearly exposing a good bit of Ginny's collarbones and breasts.
He could feel her hot breath now against his neck, making Harry's heart clap against his ribs.
The wizard shut his eyes, willing the siren to leave. He took a calming breath, summoning up visions of arctic tundra in place of the gentle pressure her curves had against him. He licked his dry lips, fighting the urge to . . . .er, give her a sweater.
"Ginny —" the boy gasped, finding it altogether too hard to speak.
"Shhhhh," she breathed, now face to face with him. She pouted her lips, tracing the tip of her tongue across her teeth. "Don't you want to kiss me?"
"Wha —?"
"Come on." Her voice was husky, something Harry wouldn't admit he liked. "Everyone else has. Don't you want to tell Dean how good I am?"
Harry lamely shook his head. There were rules here. He couldn't like her. There were rules he had to follow. Like not to get involved with girls. Especially ones like this witch.
Rules.
She was just Ginny.
Rules.
And Ginny was here. With him . . .
XxX
"Oi, Harry! Get up, you sod!" Harry jerked out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor.
The boy gasped, finding himself tangled in red sheets. Just sheets.
"Harry; you all right? You're all . . . sweaty."
Yes. Rather peachy, thanks.
"You didn't have another, you know, nightmare right?"
Harry stood up, brushing himself off, and hoping the flaming red blush that had blossomed when he awoke had gone down. "Er — no. Well," he paused. "Not really. It was . . . odd."
"Oh, Harry!" Ron choked, staring at him with a knowing expression. "You wanker."
"What? No — I didn't . . . it wasn't-" Harry protested, growing hot in the cheeks. He self consciously pulled the sheet a bit closer to himself.
"Mm-hmm." Ron shrugged, dressing himself.
Harry, meanwhile, remained propped up against his bed on the floor. He'd never really had that kind of dream, and now that it was over, wasn't sure what was so great about it. Harry was jumpy, confused, and yes . . . he had broke out in a cold sweat.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Harry had known Ginny for five years now, but had barely met her, it seemed. Ginny's schoolgirl infatuation was old news (as her endless slew of boyfriends proved) and the boy wondered by he hadn't bothered to get to know her a bit more since then. Aside from his common Weasley knowledge, Ginny was a complete stranger to him.
He frowned. Hermione had once called Ron an insensitive jerk for not noticing her. Harry had dismissed it as silly at the time, but now? He was by definition far more "insensitive" for not bothering to notice Ginny before.
"Hey, Ron?"
"Umph," his friend grunted in reply.
"D'you think I'm insensitive?"
Ron barked a snort of laughter. "'Mione bribe you to ask that?" The redhead shook his head, grinning at himself in the mirror.
Harry pulled on his robes, scowling. "Nevermind."
"I mean, really. It's something she'd hack off about, though, yeah? All that rubbish about feelings and emotions, and what not. Bloody mental, that one."
Harry dully nodded, still not able to explain the rush of disappointment in his stomach.
XxX
Harry was sitting in his favorite squashy armchair, lost in thought. His classes had come and gone easily enough. 14 inches on the thirteenth century for HoM, were assigned for next Monday, but The-Boy-Who-Lived had no plans to start on that 'till the night before.
Harry snorted to himself. He had really been trying hard not to think of Ginny anymore. Mercifully, Harry hadn't seen her around much today; he didn't know how he'd handle himself if he had to.
Besides, Harry chided himself. He was quite certain that he most certainly did not fancy Ginny — or care for her at all in that way. The idea was horribly trite: in a single day, the hero finds he has fallen deeply in love with someone he'd barely met? No thank you. The wizard wasn't about to become a cliché.
And besides, there still remained all this business about Voldemort, impending world-domination, and his certain lack of family to deal with. Harry rubbed his temples, wishing for a moment that he could have the luxury of overanalyzing the finer sex.
He glared up at his forehead, jade eyes crossing slightly. The boy sighed. Honestly, nothing could ever be as easy for a marked man, could it? He smirked a bit, vaguely wondering if Voldemort had privy to his thoughts last night. Harry drew grim satisfaction from knowing that however embarrassing his fumblings around Ginny had been, an evil, void-of-hormones, maniacal, dark lord couldn't have fared better.
Take that you sod.
He really wished he could owl his dad for help. Or Sirius. Yeah — from what Harry heard, Sirius was the ladies-man of the group. In spite of himself, Harry smiled a bit; it would have been nice to hear his Godfather guffaw about Ginny Weasley's developments.
Ron was definitely off limits for obvious reasons.
Speaking of whom, Harry could make out Ron's distinct growl as he entered the common room, slamming the door behind him.
"If you hadn't been fooling around with that thing—"
"Well excuse me, Mr. I'm-so-obsessed-with-my-girl-friend-that-I-have-to-draw-all-over-my-notes-and-get-detention! Some of us, you know, actually try to bother with class."
Ron's ears had gone bright red from the provocation by his sister. They were in the middle of a nasty argument. Harry noticed that Ginny also had a bandage wrapped around her right forearm, as Ron kept pointing at it emphatically.
"Oh that's rich! Coming from the girl who got her arm hacked into in Herbology because she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the teething Venomus Tentacula."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Pomfry fixed it—"
"Don't give me that. She said it would be stiff for another three days! We've got a match—"
"—on Saturday, and our chasers absolutely must be in good condition!" Ginny finished sarcastically.
Ron towered over her, poking her in the chest with his finger. "Don't you blow me off. That's your throwing arm, wrapped up, and so help me as captain of the team I will not have my chaser unable to score!"
"Well, Ronald, maybe if you hadn't landed yourself in detention tonight, I could have practiced loosening it before the game tomorrow. But since you're so enamored with Hermione, then I guess I'll just—"
"First of all, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about. And secondly, don't call me that."
"Why? Only like it when your special friend does it . . . Ronald?" Ginny burst into laughter, watching Ron grow steadily redder.
Harry watched in fascination. He had only seen Rob bicker with Hermione, but his kid sister seemed to know exactly what to say and how far to go with it. The look on his friends' face was priceless. He had to hand it to her, Ginny could argue her way up and down Ron's temper like nothing else.
"You — I . . . er, 'Mione —" the redheaded wizard sputtered. Harry cringed; this was just pathetic.
He cleared his throat, hoping to spare Ron further humiliation.
"Harry!" Ron screeched, just now noticing his friend's presence. Ginny was smirking behind him, silently laughing. "Heya, Harry," Ron said again, slower this time, as if he had solved a difficult spell.
Harry backed up a bit, not liking the gleam in Ron's eye. "Hey, you gotta help me."
The bespectacled wizard raised his eyebrows.
Ron continued, looking like he was doing some very fast thinking. "Harry — you, you know how to play right? You can practice with Gin tonight. Oh, you have to do it. I can't afford a loss this early in the season!"
Ginny had raised an eyebrow behind her brother, her hands on hips. Harry backpedaled; no way in hell would he be subject to . . . her for an entire night. After what happened yesterday, nuh-uh.
"I'm a seeker," Harry stressed the word as if explaining why the sky was blue to a very small child. He shook his head. "No, sorry."
"C'mon, it's not hard. You know what a Quaffle is. I can't ask Kirke or Thomas, they've both got charms club or something. And I will not ask that Sloper bloke — the way he was staring at Gin last practice . . . .always knew he was a bit seedy. No way in hell am I going to let him get his grubby hands all over —"
"Ron!" Ginny smacked him in the shoulder. "I am quite certain that I can more than handle myself in that sort of situation. After all, I grew up with you, didn't I?"
Harry winced; when she said it that way . . .
Ginny also coloured slightly. She turned to Harry and hastily amended her thought. "Not that Ronnie's incestuous." She paused. "Hermione wouldn't have it."
Ron snorted, giving his sister a look of pure revulsion. "Anyway," he sniffed. "You owe me one. Remember last week; the run in with Trelawney?" Harry cringed.
Ron, sensing his near victory pressed on. "Harry, this is important to the team. I've got bloody detention, so I can't. Please? When we win tomorrow, it'll all be worth it. And Ginny's . . . er, nice."
The girl in question snorted, her eyebrow raised. He's begging.
"Yeah, you'll get some practice too. She's a good player."
Harry fought a mental battle. Spending more time with Ginny would undoubtedly add to his situation. What the wizard really needed was time right now. Time enough to figure things out and then formulate a plan. He didn't like not being in control. More than that, he didn't much care for the dimple in the witch's left cheek when she grinned at him like that.
What am I getting myself into?
"Fine," he grumbled. Curses on Gryffindor sense of duty.
"I knew you would!" Ron blurted, racing up to his dorm.
Harry glanced at Ginny as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. "So . . ." she drawled expectantly.
"Ill, er, go change then," Harry muttered. "See you in a bit."
"Looking forward to it." And despite the dry sarcasm, Harry couldn't help but wonder if she meant it.
XxX
He and Ginny walked onto the pitch, brooms in hand. She was lightly tossing the bright red ball with one hand, reminding Harry just a bit of his dad. Oddly enough, once Harry was in her company, the wizard found Ginny actually a very soothing person to hang around with.
He remembered a brief exchange between them last year at Easter. She had helped him, Harry reckoned. Ginny had understood some things, helped him find a way to reach Sirius,and had them kicked out of the library for eating chocolate . . .
He smiled at her, wondering if she ever thought about that.
In fact, the boy reasoned, he didn't pay enough attention to a lot of personality Ginny had. She was just as willful as her brothers, inheriting Fred and George's scheming and determination.
What was it she said? 'Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.' Hm.
"You can stop staring at me, you know."
Harry jerked up. "What? Oh, I didn't realize I was doing it."
She shook her head, letting it pass. Harry stopped, just now noticing how very shiny her hair was in the sunlight.
"Well, I'll just, fly over by the hoops, and you can practice throwing at me, er, the goal." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I supposed you could chuck 'em at me if you wanted . . ."
Ginny giggled, making a face. "S'alright." She said, touching his arm. "Why don't I just warm up by tossing it with you?"
They flew off the ground, about 20 feet away from one another. It was different, Harry realized, flying with Ginny alone than with the entire team. The swell of exhilaration he felt on his broom was intensified and coupled with . . . anxiety?
He shook it off, smiling cheekily at her. "Now, don't laugh when I'm rubbish at this."
Ginny tossed back her head and chuckled. "I'd be much too afraid to tease the great Harry Potter." She wrinkled her nose and lobbed the ball over to the wizard, making an exaggerated show of her movements.
Harry caught it easily, surprised that he didn't wobble on his broomstick. "How's your arm?"
She caught his (slightly off) return pass. "Actually, this feels good. I'm glad I don't have to work it out tomorrow, though."
The wizard caught on quickly — this wasn't so much different than regular flying. Harry found that if he wrapped his feet around his Firebolt, he could make a good show of "lunging" for the ball in any direction and still maintain balance. Ginny would laugh after he made a particularly amusing move, her voice filling the pitch. Consequently, Harry tried more ridiculous moves, hurling himself outlandishly after the Quaffle to make her laugh again.
They soon found themselves lost in conversation, absentmindedly flipping the Quaffle back and forth.
"Crying. Fred and George couldn't stand it when I'd get all teary eyed and start sniffling. That's why they used Ron as their test subject. He didn't have the dignity to wail."
Harry privately agreed with her. Merlin knew how helpless he was with crying girls. "You did it on purpose?" She nodded happily.
"Once you learn how, it's easy to manipulate my brothers."
"They should've put you in Slytherin."
"Mmm," she mused. "I'm afraid there may have been a conflict of interest."
Harry feigned seriousness. "After all, what would your brothers say?"
"What would you say?" she lowered her voice a couple of octaves. "'What? Go rescue a Slytherin from certain peril? Never!'"
"I may have made an exception," he waggled his eyebrows at her.
She gasped. "What would poor Mum do? I can just imagine the howler: GINNY WEASLEY, WHAT IS THAT I HEAR ABOUT YOU AND MALFOY PLOTTING TO KILL POOR, DEAR, SWEET, BRAVE HARRY! YOU STOP THAT AT ONCE!!"
Harry blanched. "Malfoy. Surely you'd have better taste in Slytherins."
The redhead smiled at him, licking her lips. She tossed her flaming hair off of one shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with my taste."
"You really fancy him, eh?"
She leaned in conspiratorially on her broomstick and whispered into Harry's ear. "Who doesn't?"
He shivered, only in part from what Ginny just said. "WHAT!"
Ginny pulled away, looking suspiciously innocent. "What?"
"Did you just say—"
"Nope. Nuh-huh."
"But I thought—"
"No I didn't."
Harry opened his mouth to argue some more, but caught sight of her blatant grin. "Are you taking the Mickey?"
She winked at him in response, and darted away on her broom. The witch paused and glanced over her shoulder, taunting Harry with a 'come hither' look.
Manipulation.
He rolled his eyes, spurring on his Firebolt after her. Ginny's broom was older, slower, far less agile, and she didn't have much of a head start. Therefore, it was no surprise that he caught up with her before she made a single lap.
She didn't stop, though. Harry and Ginny were flying as fast as her broom could carry her, wind whipping through their hair, insane laughter bubbling out. She flung back her arms, leaning off her broom.
It struck Harry just then how absolutely unlike Ron his sister was, and how lucky he was for that.
He didn't know what made him do it. Looking back on the whole affair, Harry should have known it was too good to be true.
"Hey, Gin. Are you really over me?"
And that was it. The wonderful carefree flying was over. Ginny slowed her broom and spun around so fast that she slid forward and almost toppled off the end. She blinked at him.
Harry blinked back, trying for the life of him to discern her oddly blank expression.
Then, she laughed. It wasn't like her others, though. Maybe it was because of how pretty the witch looked, with her hair all wind tossed and knotted, that he felt mocked. Maybe it was because this was the first time he actually wanted her to blush a bit around him.
Either way, Harry desperately wished he could have taken back that question. Stop ruddy laughing.
"That's — just — funny," she choked out in-between giggles. "Merlin, Harry, gimme a break."
"S'not really all that amusing, you know," he muttered, feeling indignant.
"Well, it's just, funny. I bet you used to have a grand hoot about me blushing my head off when you walked in the room." He noticed a barely detectable trace of bitterness to her voice. "You and Ron must have cawed over and over again about how silly it was that I kept a quill you forgot in the common room for two years."
Actually, I didn't know that.
"No. Gin, I just —"
"No really, isn't it just hilarious? My own friends laughed themselves hoarse behind my back. Why wouldn't you want another go?"
"Er- sorry. Really." Harry felt terrible; his heart dropped down to his stomach. "I was an insensitive jerk."
"Mmm," she mused. "Hermione teach you that one?"
What is it with that word? Maybe it's a family thing . . .
"Can . . .can we just forget I ever said anything? Please? I — I'm sorry I brought it up."
Ginny smiled again. "Sure. Whatever you say, Green eyes."
He looked away, nervous again. "Well, is your-er- arm feeling better?"
"Oh. Yes it is."
"Did — did you really keep a quill of mine for two years?"
Ginny laughed again, though it didn't bother Harry this time. She sounded amused again. "Yes. I kept it in my bed-stand, hidden away. Some days, I'd take it out on difficult exams for luck."
"Oh."
She cocked her head to one side, giving him an appraising glance. "You're different today," she noted, leaning forward on her broom.
"Different?"
"Yeah. Like, you know, a normal boy." Harry scowled.
"Not that you're not . . .normal," she backpedaled at the look on his face. "Well, actually," the witch reasoned. "You aren't normal. Not by a long shot."
Harry blanched at her. "You shouldn't be upset about it, Harry. It's just . . .you. I mean, I'm not putting this very well, am I? What I mean is, you're just . . . well, different."
Harry snorted. His temper, always so close to the surface was ready to burst. He stabbed his pointer finger at his forehead. "So this is what it's all about, huh? I should have known." Ginny's eyes went wide. She shook her head furiously.
"No, Harry, no. That's not what I —"
"Oh, of course," Harry drawled sarcastically. "How could I forget? The great Harry Potter is abnormal. Better watch out or the death eaters after me will have you for an appetizer."
Instead of backing down, though, Ginny's eyes flashed. "What are you on about?" she hissed. Harry snapped. He was frustrated by her, by Ron, by Dumbledore, Voldemort . . . good intentions, people trying to understand. He was sick of it all. He was sick of always having to talk about bloody, stupid Voldemort, and how he- the great hero- would save the day.
"So tell me, are you in it for the attention or the glory?"
"What is your problem?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he was wrong yelling at Ginny like that. But that part of him was trumped by the very angsty, fed-up, angry rest of him. "A lot, actually. You, for one. Just . . .just go back to whatever flavor of the month your with, and leave me alone. I don't need you to tell me it's okay, and that you understand. You know what? I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want any of this. I don't want you, or Ron, or any of your family for that matter, and I don't want Hermione. You all can just leave me out of your prying eyes and questions . . . "
But that time, Ginny had very calmly landed her broom and was walking away.
"Hey!" He ran after her.
She whirled around, her hands clenching into fists. "I thought you didn't want me, Potter," she spat. "Merlin, I cannot believe I wasted so much time with you! I just, I can't believe it! You know what? I was right! You're not normal. You see — normal people aren't so absolutely . . ." she floundered for the right word, giving up with an emphatic "Eugh!"
"You, Harry, are a sad, pathetic, jerk. And I'm sorry as hell all that stuff happened to you. Really. But don't, not for one minute, think you're the only one who's got to deal with history!
"How do you think Neville feels? How do you think he feels every single day, knowing that his parents are alive but don't even know who he is! You think you've got it so rough, do you? How do you think he copes? Do you even know Susan Bones' mum was killed in the order? What about . . . what about me? How do you think I cope?" She gave him one last, withering glance. "You know, I'm glad Sirius is dead, Harry. At least he doesn't have to see this."
The witch threw her broomstick on the ground, calmly straightened her robes, and walked away.
A.N.: Awww, don't worry.Ginny went a little far there, didn't she?Don't worry, I swear no cheesy epiphanies abouttheir undying LUV for each other will happen after that row. That's just not canon. Also, apologize if the dream-sequence was awkward. Tried to make it flow, but . . . yeah. Sorry to stop with such a fight; but I figured 4,558 words was long enough for a chappy. Please review; I love reviews! Oh, and could someone please tell me if Zacharias Smith is in Gryffindor! I tried to find out for at least 20 minutes today before giving up.
Much love,
WQ
Misshogwarts1125: Oh dear. Say it isn't so! (And you'd think I'd have better luck in the guy department, at least)
Katjajett Er- terribly sorry, but I think you're going to end up disappointed. While I do write my fics with Voldemort-induced uncertainty, realism, and all that angsty-stuff, I don't really include death snacker attacks or really intricate Voldy-plots. I would just make a mockery of some really serious stuff, and feel terrible for subjecting innocent readers to pure rubbish. Sorry to disappoint.
Wolf's Scream: Good point. Hmmm, my reasoning was that since teenage boys probably talk about exes they've been dumped by like that normally, Harry would have heard that kind of vocab before, ergo, not much of a surprise. You're right, though. Thanks so much for the review.
Sunlitmist Sorry it didn't flow for you. (I always have trouble with awkward sentence structure). Actually, I have heard a conversation much similar to Dean and Corner's though, in my own school, which is where I drafted it from. Who knows, maybe that one was "staged" as well.
Very special thanks to all my reviewers: I love you guys SO much!