How High the Moon
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Chapter Eleven: Hellespont and Hen's Teeth
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Charlie woke the next day to the pitiful crow of his mother's newest rooster. From his window on the fourth floor, he could barely see the skinny, pubescent animal through the morning fog.
"I hope this clears up for the wedding." He muttered as he climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. "Mum's gonna have kittens if all her plans get rained out. Fleur will probably just toss her hair and try to glare the weather gods into submission."
Personally, he thought that the weather gods would be on the loosing end of that particular fight.
Bill snored on in the bunk above him as he tried to wade through the sea of garden chairs that had been stashed (despite Charlie's many objections) in their childhood bedroom. It was a taxing trek though hostile territory, but the inviting clatter of pots and pans was drifting up the stairwell. His stomach growled happily in anticipation.
The kitchen had to be his favorite room in the house, save the library. It was warm and well scrubbed and tidy; In a word, perfect. All those years of helping his mum with dinner had made cooking come as easy as breathing, and he was almost as at home here as he was flying with the dragons at Wallachia.
"Mornin Charlie!" Ginny beamed at him as he stumbled sleepily through the door.
How could anyone be that happy at this hour?
"Good morning, Sweetheart." Said Mrs. Weasley from somewhere inside the pantry. "Would you be a dear and go out to the coop for me?"
"Sure thing." He yawned and ducked outside to collect eggs.
When he returned with his pilfered booty, one of the hens clucked reproachfully at him from her perch on the window sill. Jemima was the ancient matriarch of his mother's flock, and she'd had it out for him since the day he took over the chore of collecting eggs nearly twenty years ago. The moth-eaten bird could hold a grudge longer than any dragon he'd ever met, and that was saying something.
In the dragon keeping community, it was a well established fact that their charges had very, very long memories. (Some keepers learned that the hard way, himself included.)
Most people just assumed that dragons were just dangerous and stupid, but it was a myth. Many dragons were highly intelligent, even cunning in their pursuit of a desired end. The only problem was that the object of their pursuit was generally food, making it hard to persuade the average chap the beautiful creatures weren't just a bunch of overgrown, blood thirsty snakes with wings.
Back inside, he almost dropped his fragile basket when confronted with a sight that might easily be confused with a blood thirsty dragon.
"Alright," he thought to himself as he set down the eggs, "So Fleur's not exactly blood-thirsty … but she doesn't really look all that friendly either."
She was just as pretty as ever now that Bill was out of the hospital, but when Fleur trudged into the cheery kitchen with rumpled hair and squinting eyes she was rarely in a reasonable mood. (That was assuming Fleur was ever in a reasonable mood…) Unlike the Weasley women, Miss Delacour was not used to early mornings and it was no secret that she was very put out about not being able to wake up next to Bill while they were staying at the burrow.
He wasn't awake enough to tangle with a cranky Frenchwoman, so he was very quiet about frying up some eggs and kippers. If they weren't careful, she'd wake up too quickly and realize what she was being fed.
Ginny wasn't feeling nearly as charitable. The minute the startling blond tripped into the kitchen, pots and pans began to clank together loud enough to outdo the family ghoul's machinations with the plumbing.
Charlie sighed inwardly. He and Bill were probably Gin's favorite brothers, and she –unlike their mother- had not yet forgiven Fleur for trying to take him away.
By the time the food was on the table, it was plain that Gin was going to get her wish. Fleur was starting to blink and had stopped yawning so much. This was not a good sign. He braced himself for the worst.
"What?" Fleur groggily exclaimed. "What is zis?"
She had a kipper pinched between the tips of two fingers by its tail, and an expression on her face that screamed of ingesting a shovelful of dragon dung.
"Kipper." Ginny pointed out with her mouth half full.
"Do you theenk zat I am goeeng to eeat zis … leetle feesh? 'Ow disgusting! Do you truly eeat zeeze tings?"
She delicately scrunched up her nose and tossed the tasty kipper away as though it would bite her; Crookshanks sauntered into the kitchen just in time to attack. Fleur excused herself from the table with little of her usual grace and proceeded to brew some of her expensive French tea (he personally thought the stuff tasted like dirt). By the time Ronnie's girlfriend clambered into the kitchen and scooped up her kneezle, Fleur was guzzling the nasty stuff down like there was no tomorrow in an effort to rid herself of 'zee leetle feesh'.
Ginny finished her breakfast and went back to the dishes, muttering darkly under her breath. He caught growls that sounded suspiciously like 'Phlegm' and 'giant squid'.
He was gladly distracted when Errol came fluttering in with the morning paper, missing the table by a yard and diving into the floor. Errol was old and nearly as moth-eaten as Jemima, but Charlie loved him. He was the closest thing he'd ever had to a pet of his own.
He was, however, not the brightest flame in the fireplace.
Charlie picked up the dilapidated bird and dusted him off, checking for injuries more out of habit than out of concern. Once Errol had been revived, petted, and fed, Charlie turned his attention to the Prophet in order to avoid the palpable female tension in the room.
Half of the front page was take up with the headline 'Death Eaters Strike Again! Azkaban Attacked!'.
In years past, the photo of the dark mark glittering madly in the night sky above the wizarding prison would have sent the whole world squealing in terror. It would still do that for some, he supposed, but the recent months had been so saturated with escapes and treachery and killing that it would have seemed a bit odd to find a cheerful article glaring back at him.
He scanned the story halfheartedly, picking out random phrases like '…Walden Macnair, now at large…' '…three prison guards, their families in shock…' '…Bellatrix Lestrange sighted…' and '…heroic recapture of Lucius Malfoy…' He was glad that the git who'd given his baby sister that evil diary was still where he belonged, but other than that Charlie couldn't seem to summon up much emotion about what he was reading.
Two new security decrees had been passed by the ministry, the Wizengamot was convening about the unforgivable curses again, Scrimgeour had held another press meeting (feeding the media his usual cock and bull). He continued to browse numbly, absently noting the disappearance of two important shareholders from an international potions company and the obituary of a woman from Aylesbury named Betty Bulstrode.
He read on rather unaffected by the death and mayhem and the stories grew more mundane. It was sad, but he had about the same reaction to the account of Mrs. Bulstrode's untimely end as he did to Madame Pillsman's weekly recipe – leg of lamb, incidentally. You could only hear about the murders and abductions for so long before they all seemed to blend together.
The only article that stood out for him was a tiny, three-paragraph affair near the back about Wallachia and its program cutbacks. Though the war had barely begun to touch the shores of Europe, funding that would have usually supported the reserve and the breeding facilities was in short supply, and the International Confederacy of Keepers had decided to temporarily bar incoming and outgoing positions. A friend who worked for the London branch of the ICK had warned him about this when he'd submitted his resignation, told him that he'd be facing the odds of a Hufflepuff in a Hybridian maze if he wanted to get back in.
He, in typical Charlie Weasley fashion, hadn't listened.
Something snapped inside him while he stared at the cold, hard lettering on the page and realized that one stupid, impulsive choice had cost him his most desperate ambitions. Those few insignificant sentences on the second to last page of the newspaper were more relevant than a thousand obituaries could have ever been. He knew it sounded callous, but it was the truth.
He would never walk back through those rusty gates or smile up at the neglected sign that read 'Welcome to Wallachia!'. He would never see his friends again, never see … Oh Merlin! He would never see his dragons again! Never feel the Carpathian wind at his back as he monitored the herd movements, never see the world bathed in moonlight while flying over the nesting grounds, never again know that crazy mixture of fear and triumph when he was the only keeper a dragon would permit near enough to feel the steam of its breath. Now his reason for living was gone as quickly as that steam.
Charlie knew that he would not fall over dead or anything so stupidly overdramatic, but Wallachia held a piece of his soul that he could not retrieve. A small, sensible voice in his head knew that he would find another job and continue on with the business of living. He might even find some way to keep working with dragons. It made perfect, if reluctantly accepted, sense.
But it would never be Wallachia.
If worst came to worst, he could always just continue on at Gringots. The pay wasn't exactly a king's random, but it might be enough to get a little flat of his own somewhere on Diagon Alley. And it did involve dragons, just not the way he would have liked it to.
The thirty four dragons that belonged to the wizarding bank were just that – belongings, property of the company. They weren't mistreated, in fact they were all a bit spoiled, but they weren't given the freedom or respect that should be due to any wild animal. They were expected to be watchdogs, to guard their vaults and be content with their mail-order deer carcasses and their brief, strictly scheduled appointments to be walked and flown by the feeders. No one should have to live that way.
Of course, no one should be subjected to early morning bouts of wedding discussions either, but he couldn't do much about that.
"Are you sure about zee flowers, Geeni?" Fleur pointed out the window, indicating Gin and Mum's prize rosebushes.
Ginny had been so upset when their mother had offered up the fragile blooms as sacrifices for the wedding bouquet that she had actually gotten her way for once. Now the rescued bushes were merely set to act as a backdrop for the expensive trellis Fleur was importing for the ceremony.
"What's wrong with my roses?" There was a low, dangerous undertone of insult in her question.
"Eet ez zee weather, per'aps. So … wet." The word rolled off her lips with a distinct air of distaste. "Alors! Ez eet always so wet 'ere?
"What's wrong with my roses?" Gin was going to start spitting nails soon.
"Eet ez no'zing. Zay are so soggee zough… Zay look, how do you say … un'appy… to see me."
"What a surprise." She replied serenely.
"What deed you say?"
"Is it so strange to think that something on this whole bloody earth might not enjoy your presence? Cause it is possible you know." Gin retorted calmly.
Fleur looked like someone had just informed her that Crookshanks was the king of France.
Unfortunately, the silence did not last long.
"Well zen, eef you do not like me so much, you will not want to be een my wedding, oui?"
"Fine! It's a stupid wedding anyway!" Ginny stomped out of the kitchen.
"Bien! Hermione will look beautiful een your dress!" The angry bride shouted after her.
"Good!" Came a yell from down the hall.
Ronnie's excitable girlfriend looked pretty perturbed about the whole situation.
"Oh no." She eyed Fleur flatly. "Don't even try it. I'm not going to go along with this."
"Why not? Eet ez a beautiful dress. I will make your 'air look wonderful. Zen leetle Ronald, he will not be able to 'elp 'imself."
"Well, he seems to fancy me just the way I am, thank you, and you should apologize." She said sternly.
"What zee 'ell? I will not!"
"Oh, just apologize to her, you twit!" Hermione threw up her hands and followed Gin out of the room.
"Quand les poules auront des dents!" She yelled after the bushy-haired girl.
"Huh?" He blurted out before he stopped to think.
"Eet means 'when cheekens will grow teeth'!" Fleur growled and rounded on him, eyes flashing.
He was immediately overcome by the powerful hazy feeling that he had never in his life seen something so beautiful. It took a minute for him to regain his senses, and he made a mental note to warn Bill about this before the happy couple had their first lover's spat.
"Charlee? 'Allo?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah." He could feel his cheeks heating. "Sorry about that."
She sighed and twiddled gracefully with a bit of her long blond hair. "No, Charlee, I am sorry. I should 'ave been more careful. My emoshons, zey do zat sometimes when I do not watch zem." Her face grew hard and she stared out the kitchen door. "Eet ez not so easy as zey theenk!"
Neither one of them knew what to say after that, so Charlie picked at the tablecloth and Fleur brewed herself another foul cup of tea. He had never thought about how hard it must be for her sometimes. He felt a brief pang of sympathy, but it only lasted until her next outburst.
"Charlie, you like zee wedding plans, yes?"
For once the crazy girl actually seemed insecure about her ideas, so he did the right thing and nodded.
"Oh, bien! I knew zey were just being silly. Zee flowers, zey will be magnificent, yes? And zee dresses …" He'd heard this at least a thousand times, and started to tune her out when he heard something unexpected.
"… And Myra, she 'as promised to sing for a few of zee songs. Eet ez so exciting, no?"
"You've heard her sing?" His ears perked up like a krup homing in on a rat.
"Of course! 'aven't you? She ez your friend, no?"
"Yeah … Er, I'm going to see her band tonight …" He had forgotten about that. Well, at least he'd get out of the house and away from all the mad women…
"You're coming with us Charlie?" Ginny reentered the room, pointedly ignoring Fleur.
"I guess so. I didn't know she invited anybody else." Charlie replied. Maybe she was just trying to be friends again. He had held out a tiny, secret hope that she had asked him as a date, but it was obviously not the case.
"Oh, Tonks told us about it. Harry and me thought we'd go."
Fleur, who was busy ignoring Ginny, pounced on her opportunity to get into the conversation. "Eet is a, how do you say 'hot' club, zee 'ellespont. What are you goeeng to wear, Charlee?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
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Apparently, there was more involved in this clothing business that Charlie had thought.
Fleur had been scandalized that he didn't know what he was going to wear, and Ginny had just smiled at him – one of those knowing female smiles that makes a bloke feel like he's still three years old. They'd both fought to take charge of dressing him and Charlie soon had a good idea of how a piece of meat feels when two dragons both want it. After a thorough ransacking of his closet, it was decided that he didn't own a single presentable garment, and that he had no choice but to go shopping.
And he really didn't – have a choice that is.
Unfortunately, both of them seemed to think that Stella fancied him and that he needed to 'look sexy'. Merlin, it was just plain awkward to hear his little sister apply those words to him. Three uncomfortable hours and twelve shops later, Charlie had mysteriously managed to acquire a maroon button down shirt and an unusually tight pair of black jeans. (Fleur made a comment in French when he came out of the dressing room wearing them, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it had to do with his bum.)
Despite the fact that all three of the girls proclaimed this new outfit 'dead sexy' -even reasonable Hermione! - the clothes made him nervous. He'd never worn anything like this in his life, blissfully content with the patched jeans and second hand robes his mum picked up for him on sale. But there he was, making his way through the neon signs of Covent Garden wearing a designer shirt that cost more than he made in a month, running his fingers through his styled hair –the top inch or so was blond now, thanks to Fleur-, and looking like one of those idiots who posed for Madame Malkin's Ads.
"Why am I doing this again?" He wondered for the thousandth time.
Gin and Harry were waiting impatiently under a small glowing sign with a golden torch and the words CLUB HELLESPONT in elegant lettering. He vouched for them as underagers at the door with a heavyset man who seemed to be the keeper of the keys for the place. Then again, the bloke could have been anyone. Charlie had never been to a club that admitted both wizards and muggles alike, so the security was bound to be a little odd.
Once inside, Harry quickly swept Gin away to the dance floor with a grin that was a touch roguish for Charlie's taste. He liked the kid and all, but this was his little sister. Still, they could probably take care of themselves… He would have to try to trust her judgment.
The club was pitch black and smoky and the only real lights were the spotlights on the platform stage. It was about what he'd been expecting. Back when he was in his second year of keeper training, Donag had joined the Weird Sisters and started inviting him to their London gigs, so Charlie was pretty familiar with wizarding night clubs. This place didn't have half the usual bells and whistles, but then again even the most oblivious muggle would find something strange about posters that could talk back to you or a bar that served steaming, bright green liquor. The only familiar bit of magic that he could pick out was the low glow of the golden torches that lit the lower level of the club.
Then again, he wasn't really there for the ambiance…
He took a seat at the bar under a massive pair of golden ram's horns and ordered a firewhiskey to pass the time. Thankfully he didn't have long to wait. A few minutes later, a band called 'Deck of Cards' was announced to open for the Weird Sisters. Charlie felt his breath catch in his throat as Stella and the group of girls from the basement made their way to the stage.
The music was pretty good, if he did say so himself. He could pick out a mix of other people's songs, some muggle stuff that he didn't recognize, and a few that had to be their own work. It was a little lighter rock than what he was used to with the Weird Sisters, but he could tell that they were definitely talented - when he could keep his mind on the music long enough to judge, that is. Somehow he found that it was often distracted by the sight of Stella. She was really into it, putting energy behind every chord. He could see the sweat glistening on her forehead, trickling behind her ear and into her funny little hairnet. The fact that the girl didn't even take the thing of for a rock concert struck him as richly bizarre. He'd have to tease her about that some day.
It was also a bit strange to see the rest of the girls in the band in this atypical light. Who would have ever guessed that sweet, quiet little Jaci Jetter would be such a gutsy bass player? Or ever believed that someone would let Tonks with in a hundred kilometers of anything musical, for that matter. Honestly, Tonks? Charlie spent half the night expecting her to topple over and go sprawling through the bass drum, but against all the odds she was a damn good drummer; nearly as good as Orsi, and that really said something!
Moira Herman was almost as big a shock as Tonks. He'd never had a clue, never would have guessed that hard, indifferent Fish-eye was hiding the soul of a passionate lead vocalist. The instant her boots hit the stage, he could have sworn she was replaced with a living, breathing, warm-blooded twin. If it hadn't been for the fact that Stella hadn't sung in anything more than a backup capacity and he hadn't been able to make out much of it, he would have said the performance was perfect. True, only Tonks and Moira had any spectacular amount of talent, but he really wasn't paying attention to trivial details by then.
When the girls finished their last number, Donaghan and the rest of the blokes were soon on stage in all their grungy, ripped-robe-glory and were greeted by thunderous applause. But for the first time, Charlie was too preoccupied to cheer for his old mates. His thoughts rested solely with the short witch headed his way. Her eyes were shining and a strand of hair was plastered to her forehead by all the sweat. Merlin, why did she have to be so pretty?
"Charlie! You made it! I wasn't sure if you'd come." She had a grin the size of a Cheshire cat.
"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." He said wholeheartedly. "I was a little surprised to see you opening for them though. They're your 'old friends'?"
"Yeah, I knew some of them back at school, and I stood up in Bresa's wedding. Besides, I told you I don't believe in all of that 'let us worship the celebrities' cack."
"Hate to tell you this Stella, but none of the guys are named Bresa. Gotta say, it'd be fun to tease 'em about it though."
"No, you dolt, Bresa." She pointed to the girl with the auburn hair who had been working the sound board for Deck of Cards. "Stasia's sister. She and Donaghan tied the knot last summer, didn't you know?"
"Oh. No, I didn't."
"I thought you two were friends, I mean you were inseparable at Hogwarts, weren't you?"
"We had a … falling out … a few years back. I've kind of avoided him lately." Charlie said sadly. He was glad when the barkeeper interrupted them.
"What'll it be, miss?"
"Water, please."
"Just water?" Charlie asked. "Come on, tonight's on me."
He knew that sounded too much like a bloke hitting on a girl, but he spoke before he had time to think. And besides, he really did want to make up for how he had reacted the other day. After some thought and some cooling down, he had decided that even though he still didn't like the fact that she'd been in Slytherin, he could at least try to look past that and see his friend. If only he could stop seeing her as more than a friend…
"I don't know, Charlie. I really don't drink much."
"Honestly, order whatever you like."
"Weeeell, maybe just this once. Alright, make it a butterbeer. Tonight's a celebration."
"I'll have another firewiskey while you're at it." Charlie added, then turned back to Stella. "What are you celebrating? Other than a spectacular performance?"
"First of all, I wouldn't exactly call that 'spectacular', and if you must know, I'm celebrating the new campaign for the Order."
"What campaign?"
"Membership," she waved her hand dismissively in the air, "It's a long story, and it's not really that important. Oh, I love this song!"
They listened for a moment.
"Hey Charlie … doyouwannadance?" She mumbled quickly, turning a bit red.
"I'm a terrible dancer." He'd taken ballroom dance lessons to please his Mum for nearly six years, but he couldn't dance to this to save his soul.
"Probably for the best. I'd break your toes if I tried." She laughed.
"'Ere you are, miss. An' thas yours." The bartender returned with their drinks.
"Gracias." Stella smiled sweetly at the man, and Charlie felt a strange urge to hit him as he went off to another customer.
The urge faded over several hours (and several more rounds of booze). At first things were a bit awkward, but the conversation slowly turned to music and a long discussion about the policies of the order. They avoided talking about anything that might upset the other for quite some time, but eventually the accumulated butterbeers and her natural lack of tact lead Stella to open her mouth.
"Charlie?" He thought she sounded a bit drunk, but then again he may have had a bit too much himself.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you come tonight?"
"To see you, Stella. Why else?" She hadn't once told him not to call her that, not once all night! She hadn't called him gatito, either. Had she forgiven him or not?
"Well, for a while you were so angry at me and now everything's just daisies and roses again?" She huffed. "You can't just wave a wand over things like that, Charlie."
"We are magical, girl. That's generally how we solve problems." He whispered playfully in her ear.
"Charlie." Her tone was a warning bell.
"Well how am I supposed to make it better?"
"An apology might help, don't you think?" She said coldly.
"You're right. I am sorry, Stella. I … I … it's a long story."
"I never helped them, you know."
"Who?"
"Those morons who were always on your case."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry about them."
"I'm sorry, I should have known."
"I think we've both established that we're sorry, gatito." She giggled unsteadily.
"Yeah, guess so. Stella?"
"Hmm?"
"You have pretty eyes."
She snorted.
Bugger! Where had that come from? Alright, he knew where it came from, but it wasn't supposed to come out of his mouth!
Oh bugger, bugger, bugger, buggeration!
"You have pretty eyes too Charlie." She smiled at him. "And you know, I'm glad that I'm not the only one who dressed up for tonight."
"You like this? I feel like an idiot." He confided in her.
"That makes two of us."
"You? Why? You look beautiful."
And she did. Stella looked like a little slice of heaven a blue skirt to her knees and a black, ripped up top that hugged her body much closer than her usual baggy jeans and embroidered robes. He would have given quite a lot to be able to touch her.
"Well, you're drunk. That kind of nullifies your opinions right now." She laughed and wobbled on her stool.
"I'm not drunk. And besides, even a drunk man can point out pretty when he sees it."
"You're very sweet, Charlie, but drunk people have this odd propensity to see things that aren't real. Besides, things aren't always what they seem, even when everybody is sober." The last sentence came out with a hint of bitterness and he remembered that she had said the same thing to Lupin.
"I mean it!" The words just slipped out.
"No you don't, you silly ass. You're just piss drunk and trying to hit on me."
"No I'm not!" Not that he wouldn't have liked to. Was he that transparent? Bugger!
"You … you're not?" She looked at me uncertainly.
"No. I wouldn't do that to you!" He was praying that there was still enough sobriety in him somewhere to make this sound believable.
"Oh. I see." Charlie caught glimpses of her cheeks growing red as the strobe light flickered. Was she blushing? Could she …?
"Of … of course you wouldn't. I must have had one too many butterbeers."
He knew he would hate himself in the morning for this, but Merlin, she looked so good
"Unless you wanted me to …" He struggled for the most confident (hopefully dashing) grin he could manage under the circumstances, and tucked the stray hair behind her ear.
She didn't protest, so Charlie did the next logical thing.
He leaned in to kiss her.
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Authoress's Notes: Hellespont is a place in Greek mythology. More on that later. Covent Garden is a district of London. Cack is basically another word for shit. ICK is my own acronym. I was pretty proud of that one, myself.
And yes, Crookshanks really is the king of France. All hail the king!
Next chapter is obviously the wedding, but I'll be nice and maybe let you in on what happens after Charlie goes for it. Do you think I should tell you? Looking ahead to chapter 13, we'll get down to the turning point of the story. Big questions will start to get answered, Charlie might stop being quite so stupid all the time, and there will be bloodshed! That chapter is when the whole story really gets going (the whole story shouldn't be more than twenty five chapters or so.) Ironically, and I swear I didn't plan this, thirteen is my favorite number (and my b-day, Friday the 13th rocks!) so the fact that one of the craziest chapters happens to be ch. 13 is sheer hilarity.
Oh, and no one said that Charlie is going to stop being an idiot just because Stella was understanding this time. She might not be the next time around…
Possum- Yeah, she has a band, although if you asked her she would tell you that it's Moira's band but that's a story for another day … Did you like guitarist Stella? I don't want anyone to get the impression that she's a mary sue, even if she does have an unknown talent. (I'll let you in on an upcoming secret and say that she does only a couple of things really well and is pretty helpless otherwise … much humor abounds from that) Action at the wedding? Emphatically yes, though it may or may not be the sort you are hoping for…
Aqua Fairy- Welcome, new reviewer! Thanks for all your kind reviews, you have to be one of the most enthusiastic sounding reviewers I've met. I hope that this chapter is worth the wait.
Fenix- loved hearing from you, as always. How could I not? Your sense of humor makes me smile. Yes, yay for Charlie not being so stoopid, though we may or may not be out of that proverbial woods just yet… Yes, Tonks is in the band. Hard to believe, but true. It does seem OOC on the face of it, but don't worry, we will see more than our share of Tonks clumsiness as things proceed, and besides, everyone has something surprising about them, most of us just don't show it. No, I can't blame you for trying. You never know, sometimes I'm feeling generous and I give out hints to the questions asked. (Don'tcha just love dictatorial power?)
HarryPotterMagic- I'm glad you got the joke. I was rather pleased with that bit myself. Now if only he could figure out how to explain what he's thinking to her and get himself slapped … we'd all be falling out of our chairs and dying of laughter. Poor guy, all these people reading this story just waiting for him to make the next wrong move… oh well. As for high school, I can relate. I hated saying goodbye to my friends and my choir and my music director, but Chemistry I can do without. (Course I have to take an even harder one in collage… bugger!)