I Was Born a Fool and I'll Die a Fool for You

by WastelandRose

"You're bloody ridiculous. You do know that, right?" "Yes. And thank you for using 'ridiculous' instead of 'insane.' It's a narrow distinction that not many people bother to get correct." Fred/OC

28. Origin of Species

Part 28 – Origin of Species

I awoke to a soft touch on my hand and became instantly aware of the searing pain in my neck, radiating down through my shoulders and spine, up into the base of my skull. "Merlin's magical arsecrack," I groaned, shifting gingerly and finding absolutely no relief from the intense ache.

Falling asleep upright is just never a good idea, and especially not with one's neck bent at an unnatural angle against a creaky old wingback.

"Were you here all night?" Uncle Remus questioned quietly. I opened my eyes in time to watch him crouch down in front of me, removing the empty pizza box from my lap and handing it off to a very anxious Tonks.

With a bleary yawn, I winced again and rubbed my neck, reporting, "Tried to surprise Dad."

And found him in a fit of drunken depression. I glanced over and discovered that he was still out cold, tangled in his sheets and a riot of long black hair.

"Why don't you get a shower, love," Remus suggested, "I'll make some breakfast, alright?"

I'd learned to recognize a brush off, and my godfather was clearly administering one.

"Fine," I sighed, "But drunkenness doesn't really upset me, you know. I am, after all, a recovering alcoholic."

Remus clearly didn't agree with or approve of my declaration, but he had no further comment as I left the room.

xxXxx

Later, Tonks saw my bag in the kitchen and thought she was helping by bringing it up to me. Because she's Tonks, my cousin tripped and spilled its contents down the stairs.

Because I'm me and my luck is of the consistently inconvenient kind, the condoms I'd recently bought ended up right by Tonks's feet.

"Stella?"

Still mid-shower and unaware of this unfortunate series of events, I swiped some suds away from my eyes and called, "Be out in a sec."

Instead of leaving, Tonks stepped inside and sat down on the closed toilet.

I stuck my head out of the curtain, skeptically inquiring, "Can I help you with something?"

She held up the box.

Rolling my eyes, I went back to my shower and declared, "None of your business."

"I just figured I'd offer a talk, if you wanted one," said Tonks, "Sex is a big step."

The deflection sprang forth from my lips as if it had a life of its own: "Speaking of which, are you nailing my godfather yet?"

She actually fell over right on the spot, tumbling straight into the shower curtain and ripping it down with her.

Sighing, I finished rinsing and stepped out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel and retreating toward my room.

Tonks came along in a few moments, her hair pale gray and her gaze sheepish.

"Oh, relax," I laughed, "I've known for months. Everybody has. You two are nowhere near as discrete as you seem to think you are."

After a brief moment of gaping shock, Tonks blurted, "It just happened."

"You don't have to explain," I told her, quickly toweling off my short hair before adding, "I'm not mad. It is about time Uncle Moony quit acting like a damn monk. You know, I never remember him dating even once during all the time I've lived with him."

Tonks gave a hesitant, relieved smile. And then she shook herself, insisting, "You're just trying to distract me."

"Distract you from what?" I replied slyly.

She sighed, "Stella."

Rolling my eyes, I deadpanned, "Yes, Fred and I will start having sex soon. Yes, we will be using protection. Yes, I'm sure. Satisfied?"

Tonks shrugged, "I suppose... just... I'm here, you know? If you need me."

"I know," I said, tugging her into a quick hug, "I appreciate the concern." With a wink and a smirk, I questioned, "Do I even have to tell you not to breathe a word of this to my parental figures?"

She snorted loudly, "I'm not an idiot, Stel."

I laughed, "Just checking."

xxXxx

After fending off Remus's well-meaning but unnecessary attempts at a heart-to-heart, I went to check on Dad and found him curled up beneath his bed. He stared out at me with miserable, pain-filled puppy eyes and whined shrilly, covering his snout with his big paws.

"So are hangovers better or worse as a dog?" I questioned, stretching out on the floor.

He huffed, obviously not appreciating the joke. Before I could reassure him any further, he burrowed his head under a pile of dirty laundry.

"Daddy," I sighed, "It's ok. Really." For a few minutes, we sat in silence as I tried to think of something to useful say.

Before I could, Remus returned to deliver a plate of breakfast. As he bent down to hand it to me, he scolded, "Padfoot, get out of there." With a sigh, my old godfather explained, "He always used to do this when he was upset at himself. Of course, I was under the impression that he'd finally grown out of it."

Dad growled warningly.

I giggled, because it was pretty cute. I held a scrap of bacon under the bed and didn't have to wait long for him to sniff tentatively and approach the treat. Then it was only a matter of seizing him by the scruff and hauling him out.

Throwing my arms around his wriggling body, I squeezed him tight and soothed, "I'm not mad at you, Daddy. I just want you to be alright."

He gave a few pitiful whines but still snuggled into my embrace.

xxXxx

Dad only changed back when I was getting ready to leave an hour or so later. I was gathering a few things from my room and turned and found him standing guiltily in the doorway. Still so gaunt and broken.

I smiled and asked, "You good?"

He nodded, shuffled back and forth a few steps, opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally muttering, "I'm... really sorry, love. I never meant... I didn't want you to see me like that."

Because he was obviously in need of one, I walked over and gave him a big hug. "I know," I replied.

His broad frame trembled as he wrapped his arms around me, as he sighed and admitted, "I wish I could be a better man."

"You don't have to be anyone but yourself," I insisted, "I don't expect perfection, Daddy. Saddness is allowed. So is drunkenness, as long as it doesn't become a health problem." At the hint of his reluctant smile, I added, "I love you, ok?"

"Love you, too, baby girl," he muttered as his embrace tightened, "More than anything."

xxXxx

We parted shortly later, and I headed back to school. I was still worried about Dad but knew that he would be alright. He had to be.

Fred was sore after quidditch practice again, so I treated him to another massage in his dorm. He wouldn't let me get up after, closing me into his arms and playing with my hair while I gave him a somewhat edited account of my weekend (blaming myself rather than Bill for the trip to the mundane emergency department, even though it gave Fred license to continue referring to me as "accident prone" (there was really no chance of stopping that anyways)).

"You're going to be a healer," he hummed against my nape, "A real one."

"Mhmm," I replied, "The application shouldn't take me long, and then I just have to get a recommendation and make sure that all my test scores are sent in."

Fred said, "Wicked." He wormed his hands up under my shirt, making me whine and squirm as his frigid fingers pressed against my stomach. The jerk just laughed and traced a few lazy runes around my navel.

With a bit of effort, I finally managed to turn over in his arms, snuggling in and murmuring, "What did you and George do this weekend?"

"Actually, we scouted a few shop locations," he reported cheerfully, "There's one we really like in Diagon. A big storefront that's for sale instead of just a rental. It needs a lot of fixing up, but other than that it's pretty much perfect."

"Exciting," I gushed, "I can't wait to see."

"We can go this week, if you want," he offered, leaning in intently, "It's been far too long since I've taken my gorgeous girlfriend out on a date."

I grinned, unable to take my eyes off his descending lips as I agreed, "And I can certainly always use more Fred-time..."

"STELLA... Uh... um... e-excuse me?"

Fred groaned, veering off course to let his forehead fall against my shoulder.

With a chuckle, I gave him a light shove and sat up. I smiled at the first-year shuffling nervously in the doorway. "What's up, Dash?" I greeted kindly.

Seeming relieved that I wasn't angry or annoyed with his interruption, the coltish blonde puffed out his little chest and very importantly announced, "There's some people waiting to see you outside the portrait. They asked if I'd come up and let you know."

"Alright," I replied, "I'll be there in just a moment. Thanks."

Little Dash Wickham blushed a bit, trying to hide a grin as he murmured, "You're welcome." And then he was gone.

His arms tightening around my waist, Fred grumbled, "Is it bad that I really hate sharing you?"

"Of course not," I laughed, carefully tracing the strong line of his jaw before pressing my mouth to his. Too soon, I pulled away breathless and added, "Unfortunately, you still have to. Get some rest, love. I'll see you at dinner."

He pouted but freed me with only a small degree of discernible reluctance.

I kissed him once more and then set off for the portrait hole. As soon as it opened, I heard Cho's half-hysterical sobs.

"It's alright," I also heard, the voice awkward and masculine, "I... um... I'm sure she'll be down soon... there, there."

Joshua appeared to be doing his absolute best to comfort Cho, patting her back and providing reassurances but all the while gazing about frantically for someone to save him from the task.

I graciously did so, transferring the girl's snotty, choked coughs from his shoulder to mine before either teen even registered my presence. "C'mon," I instructed softly.

xxXxx

Cho's hysteria was relatively short-lived. As soon as I got her back to my suite, got her to take deep breaths and drink some tea, she was pretty much fine.

"I thought I saw him," she croaked, exhausted and slumped in my bed, "Cedric. Out of the corner of my eye. And the next thing I knew, I was chasing some ridiculously tall fourth-year through the corridors... it was... disappointing... but more than anything else, I just feel so stupid."

"Don't bother with that, hun," I comforted, "It's natural when you're missing someone to think you see them everywhere. Rest for a bit, ok? I'll wake you for dinner."

She nodded, curling up and closing her eyes. The poor thing was out in seconds, and I resolved to have words with her about getting more sleep.

I returned to my common room and was less than surprised to see that Joshua was still there, fidgeting guiltily on my couch and slyly glancing toward the staircase every few seconds.

"I guess this means that you've still had no luck with Pucey?" I inquired as I sat beside the sandy-haired Hufflepuff.

Joshua pouted and declared, "Adrian won't even stay in the same room if he sees me there. And he hasn't answered any of my owls."

"Well," I replied, "If he wants to be stubborn, then it's his loss."

Sighing, Joshua halfheartedly grumbled, "I know."

I was already prepared to counter the lad's depression. "Would you do me a favor?" I said, grabbing a piece of parchment off a nearby pile, "Eva Tenor's really sick, so I need someone to take her place on rounds tonight. I'll let you have first choice of scheduling next week."

Joshua looked a bit disheartened but was too nice not to agree, "Alright. Ok. Ya, sure."

Dummy didn't even ask who his partner for rounds was going to be, not even when I couldn't help smirking as I inked his name next to Pucey's on the timetable.

Mischief managed.

xxXxx

Confident that Pucey-Lerner situation would be resolved, one way or another, I bade Joshua goodbye and then busied myself performing a fresh blood test on Cho. She was a little anemic (low iron), which I didn't like, but I hoped that some solid meals would perk her right up. I worked on my healer application for a few hours before I heard a frantic knock and went to investigate.

George nearly ran me over rushing in and down the stairs. "Hide me!" he yelped, leaping over the spiral railing.

The couch gave a loud squeal of protest as the sweat-drenched redhead landed hard and then rolled off to the floor. He must've been trying to camouflage himself as a rug or something because that's where he remained, sprawled facedown and tangled in his quidditch robes.

I raised resumed my seat and an eyebrow at him, blandly inquiring, "Were you being pursued, my dear Georgie?"

He mumbled something into the carpet. I couldn't quite understand it all but did catch the words Angelina and wind sprints and power-mad tyrant.

I giggled at his misfortune, causing the lad to pick his head up and glare.

"She ambushed me coming out of breakfast," he growled, "Next thing I know, I'm spending my entire Sunday running drills. She's completely obsessed!"

"She wants to win," I declared, resuming my seat and my quill, "I can respect that."

Finally abandoning his rug impression, George flopped down beside me. He peered over my shoulder and perused the application in my lap. He frowned, commenting, "Are you actually thinking of getting a real grown-up career? My twin and I will not stand for this!"

I laughed, reporting, "Fred already knows. And he's very supportive."

George pouted. "Poor fellow is obviously distraught," the teen countered, "I'll console him later."

Marigold, who was heavily pregnant and could barely move, chose that moment to emerge from a nook in the nearby bookcase. She was a friendly little creature and used a considerable amount of energy that she really couldn't spare just waddling over to squeak a bright hello to George.

He scooped the fluffy puffskein up with one hand, peering at her curiously before inquiring, "What's wrong with it?"

I snatched my pet back and cuddled her warmly, scolding, "She is set to give birth any day now. To a litter that's almost twice the normal number, no less. If her pups grow any larger while they're still inside, they're going to burst poor Marigold at the seams."

"Oh," replied George, "I can fix that." Before I could stop him, he'd drawn his wand, pointed it at Marigold, and waved off a spell.

Marigold shivered as the magic washed over her but seemed otherwise unaffected.

"What did you just do?" I gaped.

Shrugging, the redhead declared, "Relax. It was just something to slow down the pups' growth. Mum had to have it done on me and Fred, and I think Charlie, too. We were large babies."

I was not exactly pleased by having spells performed on my pet without my permission and glared heatedly.

I had no idea that George's innocent attempt at being helpful was just the beginning of a very long week of puffskein-related turmoil.

xxXxx

The remainder of Sunday passed without much fanfare. Dinner. Studying. Bed. I was nervous about Marigold, so I kept waking every hour or so with the need to check on her. She seemed fine, but I couldn't help being paranoid. And then I would usually have to get a drink or walk around before sliding back under my covers for the next bout of restlessness.

Eventually, I just abandoned the pursuit of sleep, dragging a blanket out into the common room and curling up with a thick medical textbook. I did find mention of a stasis spell being used to slow fetal development at the very end of pregnancies, but it wasn't the same one that George had used. And the type hadn't been used commonly since the late-eighties. This did nothing to alleviate my concerns.

The door above me burst open, followed shortly by the sounds of heated face-sucking as Joshua and Pucey moved into view. They said nothing (and didn't seem to notice me at all), groping frantically as they stumbled down the staircase and towards Pucey's bedroom, shedding clothing with every uncoordinated step.

I was pleased that my plan to get them together had worked and would've been quite happy to remain silent and overlooked until they were locked safely away in the privacy of Pucey's lair; however, Marigold chose that moment to dart out from beneath a nearby armchair and directly into the site of Pucey's next footstep.

"AH! FUCK!"

The two teens tumbled to the floor in a comical flurry of half-dressed limbs.

"MARIGOLD!" I shrieked, darting out to save my poor squished pet.

She gurgled helplessly in my arms, oozing sticky purple blood onto my hands...

Wait.

Purple? Even in the magical community, that definitely wasn't natural.

"That damn thing is a menace!" Pucey blustered, blushing quite profusely but nonetheless gallantly assisting Joshua up from the ground, "This is the third time this week it's kamikazed me! I'm sick of it!"

"You killed her," I sobbed, suddenly noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks.

Pucey rolled his eyes. "The useless beast is fine," he insisted, "Look."

I looked down in time to see the sticky purple substance ooze backwards into Marigold's matted fluff. The puffskein gave a small whimper of discomfort as her wounds sealed themselves, but in just a few moments, Marigold appeared once again uninjured, cuddling happily into my embrace.

"What the fuck?" I shouted, "You can't just- what did you do to her?"

Joshua stepped clear of the obvious impending massacre.

"I gave her a little of the potion I'm developing," Pucey reported, all infuriating nonchalance and slick black hair, "It's a generic but super-concentrated repair serum that can be administered before an actual injury and then goes to work instantly when one does occur. I'm hoping to market it to quidditch teams, so that players can take it before a game and then be able to heal without leaving the pitch or even stopping the play."

I punched him hard in the face, sending the Slytherin spinning one full turn and then toppling into the sofa. "You are not allowed to experiment on my pet!" I screamed, "You don't have any idea what effects that stuff is going to have! Especially when she's bloody pregnant!"

"She's not pregnant," Pucey woozily claimed, rubbing his jaw as he attempted to stand, "She's just fat."

I punched him again. I probably should've done a better job controlling myself, but at the time I was far too angry to have such rational thoughts.

"OW!" my fellow Head cried, shielding himself frantically, "What's the big deal? You experiment on her, too! I thought that's what she was for!"

Incensed, I bellowed, "I am learning healing spells, not testing potions for fun and profit! Argh! I can't believe you!"

"Stop overreacting!" he fired back, "I haven't done anything to hurt her! In fact, this time it saved her wretched life-"

"This time?" I interrupted, "What do you mean this time? What other times were there?"

Growing slightly wide-eyed as he realized his slip-up, Pucey sent a pleading glance toward Joshua, who simply smirked and shook his head. Non-involvement was definitely the wisest decision on his part.

"Er," Pucey hesitantly began, "A... a small weight-loss potion."

I could feel a few of my facial muscles begin twitching with rage.

He scrambled back across the couch as best he could, defending, "It's not like it even worked! I mean, just look at her!"

The force of my answering, completely unintentional hex blew the Slytherin straight out of his shoes, sending him soaring across the room and into the wall with an impressive KABLAM. He crumbled into an unmoving heap, unconscious at my hands yet again.

I heard Joshua chuckle and whirled around to glare at him. I growled, "You have awful taste in men."

With a dopey grin, he sauntered over to check on the object of his ridiculous obsession and agreed, "Ya, I know."

xxXxx

Nestled safely in my satchel, Marigold seemed fine all through my Monday morning classes. She slept through Herbology and then purred loudly during Charms. Flitwick didn't mention the sound by held me after to ask if I was alright.

Apparently I had lacked my usual attentiveness and enthusiastic hand-raising. He was worried, he said, because the last time that had happened had kicked off my Year of the Crazy. (My words; his were, of course, kinder and much more tactful.)

But with his question, the dam broke. I blubbered and shoved the puffskein in the professor's startled face, insisting that I had killed her and that I was going to be a terrible healer and a failure at life.

"Now, now, Miss Black," the tiny man squeaked, awkwardly patting my back while I jackknifed in half to wail into his shoulder, "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. Let's just have a look at her, shall we?"

I sniffled and released him with an embarrassed hiccup, relinquishing Marigold into his capable hands.

She snuffled and gave him a friendly swipe with her long tongue. Flitwick actually giggled, very quickly determining that he could find nothing wrong with the creature.

"Are you sure?" I asked hopefully, "I mean, I was practicing a lot of stuff on her, and there's no telling what could've reacted with what."

"There might be effects I can't detect," Flitwick reported gravely, "But I've released all the charms, and there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage from the potions. If you're still concerned, then I'd recommend taking her to see Professor Grubby-Plank. She is far more adept than I am at understanding creature physiology."

I nodded, answering, "Yes, sir. Thanks." With a watery smile, I added, "Sorry for freaking out on you."

He waved me off brightly. "No trouble at all, my dear," he insisted, "I know how attached we can become to our pets. As a boy, I had a parakeet named Figaro. It broke my heart when he finally died, but I still treasure the time we had together." He sniffled and then declared, "You'd better get going, Miss Black. A girl your age should not be skipping meals."

I hugged him again, chirping, "Thanks. Really."

Flustered but upbeat, Flickwick replied, "No trouble at all. And, for the record, I think you'll make a fine healer. Do let me know if you ever need help with this independent study."

With one last warm grin, I pranced off for lunch.

xxXxx

Professor Grubby-Plank assured me that Marigold would live a long, healthy life. However, the old professor could not speak as to the health of her pups. "There's just no telling with creatures so young," she stated softly, laying a hand over mine when my bottom lip began to tremble, "They are far more susceptible to lasting complications, especially while still in utero. But whatever's done is done, so we'll just have to wait and see."

It wasn't quite the answer I wanted, and I spent the rest of the day sulky and miserable, glaring at Pucey and at George, both of whom insisted that the other was completely at fault.

After dinner, I received word that Dumbledore wanted to see me in his office. I really wasn't in the mood for him, but I went anyways. I wish I hadn't.

The meeting went bad as soon as I stepped through the door and saw that Umbridge was there, looking squat and smug in my usual seat.

"Miss Black," the headmaster greeted before I had a chance to rip the hag's face off, "Thank you for coming."

McGonogall was there, standing straight-backed beside the desk and staring daggers at Umbridge. Flitwick was in the other seat; he looked so little and lost in utter despair.

"What's this about?" I asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore sighed, his reluctance obvious. "There have been some... allegations," he said, "Of inappropriate conduct between you and Professor Flitwick."

"You're kidding," I laughed, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Umbridge hem hem coughed obnoxiously, simpering, "The Ministry takes all such allegations very seriously even if you do not, Miss Black. I will be conducting an investigation into this matter."

Feeling my anger boiling over, I shouted, "You want to know what happened? I was upset because some idiot's been poisoning my pet! Professor Flitwick noticed and talked to me about it! Nothing even remotely inappropriate went on!"

Umbridge jotted down a few notes and (noticeably enjoying herself a great deal) inquired, "At what point did physical contact occur between you and Professor Flitwick?"

Because she was finding such glee in my anger and discomfort, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to remain calm and not to give her the satisfaction. I marched over to the headmaster's pensieve, artfully, wandlessly plucked the memory of that morning from my mind, and set it floating in the bowl. "See for yourself," I ordered, "And in the future, don't waste my time or sully a good man's reputation with such utter bullshit." I nodded supportively at Flitwick (who looked rather impressed) and then hastily stomped away.

xxXxx

The charges, of course, didn't stick. They weren't even mentioned to me again. And Flitwick remained in his position, so I have to believe that he wasn't given anymore trouble.

That's not to say that Umbridge didn't keep trying, but at least she left the sweet little professor alone for the time being.

Despite my lingering anger and frustration, I went with Fred on Thursday to Diagon Alley, where he proudly showed me a large boarded-up storefront.

"It's perfect," I declared, allowing myself to be ushered inside the musty interior. Several dozen or so old, empty, mostly broken shelves littered the expansive first story, char marks on the back wall giving evidence of a small fire. A half inch of dust and soot had settled over absolutely everything. I'm certain I heard the skittering of rodents and insects coming from quite a few different directions, cobwebs fluttering in the draft.

But you only had to look a little past all that to really appreciate what the store could be. Once unboarded, the huge windows and soaring skylight would let light pour into the space, and the narrowish catwalks spiraling up on all sides would be packed to bursting with bright, colorful, chaotic fun.

Fred chuckled and seized my hand, dragging me toward the back as he insisted, "You haven't even seen the best part."

He was talking about the lab. And though few people ever set foot inside, it really was the best part. Well, actually a very close second.

"Wow," I gaped, admiring the impressive array of tables and equipment and storerooms, any Potions Master's wet dream, "This is amazing!"

"Ya," my boyfriend agreed. He hugged me from behind and pressed a kiss into my neck, mumbling, "The place used to be a research facility. The owner inherited it from his father, who was arrested for Dark Arts practice and animal cruelty shortly after Voldie went down the first time. The kid is only a few years older than we are, and he seems like a really nice bloke. Doesn't want anything to do with any of this stuff, so he says we can have it all with the building."

"Not exactly a spotless provenance," I replied, "But I'm sure we can put the gear to much better use."

I felt him smile, and then we were rushing through the lab stations, Fred dragging me along and announcing, "There's one more thing."

At the very back of the long room was a bright red door, the paint old and chipping but no less vibrant. We walked through it and up a cramped, dark staircase.

Above the lab was a very spacious little apartment, three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a kitchen and a living room, even a balcony overlooking the small alley behind the building, muggle London in the distance.

"Fred," I breathed, my heart in my throat as I thought of what he might be about to ask.

"I'd like you to live here," he said, taking both my hands and staring down hopefully, "With me. And George. But mostly me." He frowned at himself, muttering, "That sounded so much better in my head."

Not waiting for yet more nervous mumblings, I threw my arms around his neck, laughing as he spun me happily. "Of course I'll move in with you," I snickered, "And George. But mostly you."

Blushing but grinning like a mad man, he leaned forward and promptly pressed his lips to mine.

We'd had some fireworks moments before, but... wow. Really, that could've been The Moment...

However, before said moment could progress much further, my book bag let loose an unholy screech.

I took several painful seconds to realize that the bag itself wasn't responsible for the cacophony; the contents were actually to blame, Marigold bleating and flailing across my homework.

"She's gone into labor!" I declared frantically.

Leaning over my shoulder, Fred hesitantly inquired, "Ok... well, what do we do?"

I struggled to force down my panic, stating, "Um, she needs a warm, dark, comfortable place, lots of water, and for us to just make sure she's not going into distress. Other than that, all the books say that she should do it mostly on her own."

Fred said, "There's a pile of rags in the broom closet in the hallway. And we've got a few clean dishes in the cupboard."

Nodding, I agreed, "That should work." I got my pet situated and then left the door open a crack, listening anxiously as she moaned in pain.

Clearly sensing that our date had been hijacked by biology, Fred sighed, pecked me on the cheek and murmured, "I'll go fetch some takeout."

xxXxx

The next morning, Friday, September 27th, I arrived back at Hogwarts sleep deprived but beaming, toting a large box containing a dozen newborn puffskeins. They looked like fluffy cotton balls and squeaked almost constantly, climbing all over their poor exhausted mother. They seemed healthy. Normal. It would be weeks before I suspected that they weren't.

But, in the meantime, I was pleased and proud and already eagerly trying to think of names for the new additions to my growing menagerie.

"Virgil?" I suggested, steering my sleepy boyfriend away from a suit of armor.

He nodded absently and yawned, "Sounds good. How are you even telling them apart?"

With a laugh, I reported, "A lot of people ask me the same thing about you and George."

"And what do you say?" he questioned, skeptical but intrigued.

I snickered, "Trade secret." Scooping up the youngest of the bunch, I proclaimed, "This little one looks like a Matilda."

Matilda purred happily and wrapped her absurdly long tongue all the way around my middle finger.

Soon Wilbur, Sancho, Dorothy, Ichabod, Clarice, Gatsby, Nancy, Lenina, Hester, Virgil, Atticus, Matilda, Marigold, Fred, and I arrived back at my suite. Joshua and Pucey were there, looking cute and cozy having breakfast by the fire. It was almost a shame to interrupt them with threats of endless, elaborate torture should Pucey so much as touch another of my pets ever again.

"Are you keeping them all?" Joshua inquired, ignoring a peevish pout from Pucey. The sandy-haired Hufflepuff held Gatsby in his palm, giggling and ruffling the creature's bright white fur.

"I was going to," I explained, "But the books say that you shouldn't have the different genders together unless you want to be up to your ankles in puffskeins. And while I wouldn't mind that too much, siblings should never breed." Sighing heavily, I said, "They'll molt in a few weeks when they're sexually mature, so I have until then to find them some good homes."

Joshua grinned, cuddling Gatsby against his chest and chirping, "Dibs!"

"Great," Pucey grumbled.

Fred chose that moment to fall asleep on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me like one might a favorite teddy bear. Poor kid was really tuckered out after a night of valiantly keeping me calm and distracted.

"I'd better get him to bed," I murmured, manhandling the redhead until he was on his feet and stumbling blearily as I shoved him toward my bedroom, "Tell Trelawney that I had a vision of her death and that the only way to avoid it was for Fred and me to skip class."

Looking intrigued, Pucey asked, "Does that actually work?"

I shrugged. "Ya, but I try not to overuse it. She's gullible, not stupid." After tucking Fred in, I planned to head back to Marigold and her offspring, but my lovely boyfriend had other ideas. "Fred!" I yelped as he grabbed me around the waist and yanked me down into bed, "Jeez, warn a girl, would you?"

"Mmm," he hummed, snuggling up against my back and burrowing his face into my hair, "Stay."

I defy even those of the strongest willpower to say no to such a heartfelt plea coming from such a sweet, lovable redhead. "Cuddle slut," I fondly accused, settling in for an early morning nap.

xxXxx

I had already decided to take Marigold and the puff pups home with me to see Dad that weekend. I thought that he'd like them and maybe that I'd talk him or someone else into adopting. Plus I didn't want to leave them alone with Pucey or make the twins have to babysit. Angelina was still kicking their arses with all the practices.

So the box of cute fluffy creatures accompanied me to dinner. Before the end of the meal, I already had a list as long as my arm of people who desperately wanted one of the puff pups to call their own. I was already pretty sure that Bryony Dunstan was getting Atticus, Phoebe Anderson was getting Clarice, and Quentin Raeburn was getting Wilbur. Other than them, there'd been such a commotion that I'd had to tell everyone that I wouldn't be making up my mind for a few weeks.

Harry caught me as I left the Great Hall, falling into step and gallantly taking the box out of my hands. He peered inside, chuckling, "They really are cute."

"Damn straight," I answered proudly. Tousling Harry's messy black mop as we walked, I inquired, "What's new with you, little bother? Staying out of trouble?"

He gave a guilty shrug, glancing up and down the corridor before stating, "Well, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about... can we go somewhere more private?"

Growing a bit worried, I replied, "I'm heading to use the floo in McGonogall's office. We can chat in there."

We didn't say much else until we were safely behind closed doors.

"Hermione had this idea," the teen began, shuffling and apparently fascinated with his toes, "That since Umbridge is such a terrible Defense teacher, someone else should offer to show people some stuff."

Flopping down into McGonogall's seat, I conceded, "Not the worst idea I've ever heard. Merlin knows that useless hag isn't out to help anybody pass their exams, let alone protect themselves."

Harry nodded and slid his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Finally looking up as his confidence gathered. "We're having a meeting to see who's interested," he explained, "Next Saturday during the Hogsmeade visit. At the Hog's Head. I know you usually go visit Snuffles, but-"

"I'll be there," I promised, smirking at his surprised expression, "Snuffles will understand if I have to duck out for a few hours. Besides, this is important. Nobody knows more about the subject of escaping certain death than you do. It's a wonder you haven't been offered your own advice column yet."

My joke was rewarded with a pronounced eye roll and a reluctant smile. "Well," the bespectacled lad declared, "I'm glad you're coming, even if no one else shows."

"Boosting your self-esteem is going to the top of my to-do list," I informed the boy. I gave him a quick one-armed hug and then ordered, "Now get out of here. It's the weekend! Have some crazy wild fun!"

Harry melted into my embrace, chuckling, "I'll see if Hermione has any scheduled."

xxXxx

Beside some initial sheepishness, Dad seemed to have fully recovered from the embarrassment of our last visit.

I really wasn't mad at him. Or disappointed or anything like that. First of all, I had no right to be; my own bout with alcoholism had been a frustrating blur of anger at all those attempting to cure me of it with nothing but words and worry. Secondly, I wasn't even sure if he was struggling with alcoholism; the loss of his wife, daughter, and best friends were huge blows even individually, and coupled with his unjust imprisonment, they were enough to drive anyone to drink. He was an adult who had certainly earned the right to figure out for himself that drinking away pain and loss doesn't work for long.

"Stella," I heard as I was woken abruptly at 7 AM on Saturday.

Peering out through one peevishly cracked eyelid, I impatiently grumbled, "Mmm. What?"

Dad grinned and proudly presented me with a brand new Firebolt.

I burrowed my head underneath the pillow and halfheartedly muttered, "Thanks."

Even without being able to see, I could sense his pout. He jostled my shoulder and announced, "I got you a present."

Again, I said, "Thanks." It had been an exhausting week and a very late night, and I didn't want anything except for the opportunity to sleep until a decent hour. Plus, a broom? Really? Obviously no one had warned Dad that I was not the most gifted flyer. Other than transportation and occasional games to humor the twins, I generally preferred to stay off those infernal things.

Suddenly, I had an enormous black dog sitting on my lungs and slobbering all over my face. The only way to make him stop (short of hurling him out a window) was to agree to come outside and test my new broom.

With a huge yawn and a groggy glare, I straddled the contraption and kicked off, wobbling a few feet above the ground. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and I eyed the dewy grass warily, knowing that I'd probably be colliding with it quite soon.

"No, no, no," Dad scolded, "That's not right at all! Who taught you to do it like that?"

"Dunno," I said, floating back down with a shrug, "School, probably. Mum never let me have a broom. She said they were too dangerous."

Fond yet bittersweet exasperation passed across my father's weathered face. "She always hated quidditch," he murmured, "I had to beg every time to get her to come watch me play. And even then she spent most of the games with her eyes shut." Chuckling, he added, "Between you and me, I think she had a thing about heights."

I snickered, teasing, "I once had to talk her down from a stepladder. What was your first clue?"

Dad grinned and ruffled my spiky, colorful hair. "Cheeky brat," he scolded, gently correcting my grip, "We'll just have to start with the basics."

xxXxx

The broom and the flying lessons were hardly Dad's only surprise for me that weekend. After Uncle Remus went to bed that night, Dad whispered to follow him and then carefully led the way out the front door.

When I saw what was waiting at the curb, I squealed so loud that I nearly blew our cover. "Sorry," I whispered, unable to stop another delighted giggle as I skipped toward the sleek black muscle car (a new Mustang, I later learned), "Where'd you get her?"

"This beauty is just a rental," Dad murmured, clearly as delighted as I was with the machine. He took a brief moment to caress the hood before tossing me the keys and declaring, "Had to call in a favor with Dung. But I figured it was about time you learn to drive as well as fly. A sixteen-year-old should, and your mother always said I wasn't allowed to get you a car or a bike until you have a license."

"Because you never had a real one, right?" I snickered, sliding into the driver's seat with a giddy thrill, "You and Uncle James had fake ones that you made out of coasters. They always bewitched the cops that pulled you over to let you off with a warning and then sing opera all the way back to their own cars."

Buckling up, Dad chuckled, "I see dear old Moony has been regaling you with tales of our wild youth."

I was grinning too hard to answer, so instead I revved the engine, threw the car into gear, and zoomed off into the night.

xxXxx

Uncle Remus never quite figured out all the details, but he was sure that we'd gone out without permission and started keeping a much closer watch. Dad was affected more than I was, but we both felt the inconvenience of increased supervision.

Still, that weekend was phenomenal. And I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Back at school Sunday afternoon, I met up with the twins, and we all swapped reports of our time apart. They really didn't have much; Umbridge was unbearable, quidditch practice a chore. Fred and I tried to go on a date that night, but we both ended up called away to other things: I had to break up and then sort out a cat fight between two hysterical fourth-year girls, and Fred had to attend an impromptu team meeting and practice, as well as an unjust detention handed down by that fat tub of slime.

And unfortunately, our week continued in such a fashion. On Monday, I handed out the October rounds schedule and then had to spend the rest of the day dealing with prefects badgering me for changes. Although it was finally set by dinner, Fred was called away to deal with a problem with the contracts for the shop. He returned to the castle early Tuesday and once again spent the morning sleeping off exhaustion in my bed. I couldn't stay with him though, instead covering two detentions and sorting out yet another cat fight between the same two hysterical fourth-year girls. They were back to being friends by bedtime, but then I was the one who barely managed to crawl beneath the covers before passing out cold.

Wednesday seemed promising. Fred and I woke up early and enjoyed a lazy makeout session that easily could've evolved into something more. However, Ichabod and Hester had somehow escaped their crate and wedged themselves behind my desk. By the time my boyfriend and I followed their panicked shrieks and rescued the pair, Pucey was pounding on my door and shouting that Dumbledore needed to meet with us right away. The old man simply wanted a progress report on the last month, which I gave quickly and curtly. But alas, the time it took was more than enough for Fred and George to land themselves in trouble, and they spent their evening polishing trophies under the watchful eye of Mr. Filch.

Fred and I didn't see each other at all outside classes on Thursday. A million little things kept us apart during the day, and a stern warning from McGonogall kept my boyfriend and me in separate beds that night.

By Friday, we were both cranky and sad from missing each other. And I decided that I absolutely would spend time with Fred during lunch. I had Verry pack a picnic, and I was going to kidnap my boyfriend, and together we would spend a few hours hidden away from the stress and responsibility and distraction of our lives.

Friday was also the day I caught him with another girl's tongue in his mouth.

Here's what happened:

During our morning Divination class, I passed a note to George asking him to wrangle my boyfriend to the front doors in time for the surprise. He graciously agreed to help.

What neither of us knew was that a girl named Eva Tenor had been reading over George's shoulder during Divination, but only the part about George being near the front doors around noon. Eva Tenor had a huge crush on George. Actually I don't think she was picky about which twin, but the seventh-year Ravenclaw was at least smart enough to know that Fred was strictly off limits.

So there I was with my picnic basket, hidden stealthily behind one of the big doors, waiting for Fred to appear so that I could whisk him away for some much-needed fun and relaxation. I heard the twins before I saw them, their raucous voices echoing in the mostly deserted entryway. I peeked out just in time to watch George bolt around the corner, cackling and taunting as Fred gave furious chase. The reason for Fred's anger became very quickly apparent: George had stolen the ugly knit cap made for him by none other than yours truly.

Sniggering silently into my hand, I mused that maybe I should be more specific about acceptable methods the next time I asked for George's assistance.

While I looked on, George jammed the hat down on his own head, scaled a nearby statue, and then began reciting bawdy poetry. Fred jumped and threatened and swore but couldn't manage to catch his brother.

Enter Eva Tenor.

Fred's hat was as distinctive as it was ugly, and upon seeing it on George's head, Eva assumed that George was in fact the rightful owner, previously established in her mind as Fred. And that meant that she assumed the hatless twin was George.

(Sadly, these are the hazards of dating someone with a double on the loose.)

Eva'd had her crush for going on seven years, and she had finally decided to make her interest known. (None of us even suspected; Eva wasn't shy, but she was quite quiet and nerdy. She'd been George's Potions partner a few times but had barely said anything to him.) She had also decided that the best way to accomplish this feat was to walk up and snog George silly.

I'm sure George would've enjoyed it greatly had Eva actually treated him to such a unique declaration. However, she ended up slobbering all over Fred, who flailed in shock and then began trying to push her away. Eva was insistent though, refusing to let go, and that's when my stunned brain managed to comprehend the grotesque scene before me. I became so angry that the picnic basket exploded in my hand.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!" I screeched, charging forward with bits of smoldering wicker and sandwich splattered all over my uniform.

I'm told that I looked absolutely terrifying, so it's not really shocking that Eva jumped away like she'd been burned and then sprinted off as fast as her long legs would carry her.

Really, it was a complete misunderstanding. Very embarrassing for everyone involved.

But I didn't really know that yet and was completely livid. "What the bloody hell?" I shouted.

"I..." Fred stammered, "I don't know. She just... I didn't... why-"

"I don't care why!" I bellowed, shaking with rage, "I am going to find that psycho and snap her in half! She has no right to be out molesting random people!"

George couldn't resist an amused snort at my use of the word "molesting."

Without giving it permission to do so, my hand was suddenly flying out to connect hard with George's face. I roared, "Do you think that being forced to do things against your will is funny?" I'm not exactly sure when the tears started pouring out of my eyes, but that was about the moment I noticed them. I didn't really understand at first but quickly made the connection: seeing Fred assaulted made me think of Claire's assault on me.

Past traumas make their appearances at the oddest, most inconvenient moments.

Fred was already reaching out to comfort me, closing me tight in his arms and whispering, "It's alright, Stel. She just startled me. I'm fine."

"You're fine?" George growled, holding his bright pink cheek, "I'm in pain over here!"

They bickered heatedly for awhile, but I didn't hear much as I sobbed into Fred's chest.

Soon, my boyfriend had sent his brother elsewhere and was steering me into the nearest deserted classroom. After a bit of quick spell work, we had a comfy couch to curl up on as I gathered my composure.

And I did so quickly, mortified over my outburst and of course over having slapped George. I wanted to go find him and apologize, but Fred asked me to stay.

"I know something bad happened to you, Stella," he murmured, still holding me close and safe and warm, "I just want to understand so that I can help you feel better."

I had promised to tell him. I had intended to tell him, but the moment was never right. And that one did seem appropriate. "The girl who helped me escape the nut house," I began quietly, "Claire. I... I told you she died. It was an accident, but it was my fault."

Fred didn't say anything. Just waited patiently for me to continue.

And I did, disjointed but determined. "She had... sort of crush on me. And I'd already told her that I wasn't interested, but she was... sick. And she broke me out because she thought we should run away together. I told her no again, but she didn't... she wouldn't listen. I was all drugged and weak, and I couldn't... I couldn't fight her off. She was... touching me. Rubbing against me... when it was finally over, I pushed her away. She fell and hit her head."

Again, Fred was quiet, but when it became obvious that that was where my story ended, he squeezed me softly and murmured, "That doesn't sound like your fault, love."

"Well, it was," I insisted.

Instead of arguing, Fred merely nuzzled my neck and sighed, "I'm just sorry that you had to go through it at all."

I nodded and whispered, "Me, too." After a few more moments of charged silence, I added, "But I'm glad that I told you. I probably should've sooner, what with all the times I freaked out on you for seemingly no reason. But thanks for not... it was better that you didn't push. I'm not sure that I could've handled telling this story six months ago, let alone just knowing that you knew."

Fred squirmed a bit beneath me, and one look at his face revealed that it wore an expression of sheepish, uncomfortable guilt. I didn't have to wait long for him to blurt out the reason behind it: "I knew. I've known since January."

I pushed him away, my eyes going blurry with tears yet again. "How-" I stuttered, "Who told you?" Quickly running through the short list of people who had knowledge of my attack, I guessed, "Percy?"

"We read about it in his journal," Fred admitted softly.

I pushed him away, again, shouting, "We? George knows, too?" Anger and humiliation and betrayal all hit me like a freight train. Really like a physical blow that stole the air from my lungs and made my head spin, my ears ring, my heart pound. "You said you would wait until I was ready to tell you," I hissed, finding speaking difficult, "That you trusted me. The whole point of trusting me is actually trusting me. If you didn't, then you shouldn't have said you did."

He looked stricken, reaching out once more and insisting, "I'm sorry, Stel, but I was just... I was scared. The last time I couldn't figure out what was going in your head, you almost... you were gone."

He had a point. But that point didn't change much. "You lied," I argued stubbornly.

"And you left me!" Fred snapped. Even he seemed surprised by the outburst but quickly gathered himself once more, continuing, "Do you have any idea what it was like? Finding out that you'd overdosed? Seeing you catatonic? And then not knowing where the hell you'd gone? If you were even alive? Can you really blame me for doing whatever it takes not to lose you again?"

I swallowed hard, battling down tears as I thought of Fred being alone and heartbroken all that time. It was a low blow, but he was right. And clearly we both had a lot to be sorry for.

Somewhat defeated and deflated, I murmured, "Sometimes you just don't think, Fred."

Gathering me into his arms and resting his forehead against mine, the redhead sighed, "Sometimes you make it hard for me to think."

I chuckled. We kissed. I still didn't feel great about the situation, but... well, it's difficult to explain: even when I'm angry with him, nobody makes me feel quite like Fred does. And there just isn't much that you won't forgive your best friend for.

"No more secrets," I insisted, "Now would be the time to confess any glaring misdeeds."

After a brief but contemplative pause, Fred blushed and shyly admitted, "I... may have... punched your dad."

Well, even though I most likely shouldn't have, I ended up laughing, curling into Fred's chest. "Probably had it coming," I snickered.

Fred nodded and agreed, "Definitely."

(I received no further explanation until years later, and neither will you.)

He squirmed again. I waited.

"There's one more thing," my boyfriend continued, "I may have a small collection of your undergarments in my trunk."

Snorting, I answered, "Well, that explains why I've been going through knickers so quickly ever since we started fooling around."

Fred's relief was palpable, stress melting out of his body. Blue eyes sad and sincere, he murmured, "You know I love you like crazy, right? And I always will."

"I know," I tearfully replied. There was really no cause to cry, but I couldn't stop the urge welling up in my chest. "I love you, too."

xxXxx

Those of you who have been paying attention this chapter might remember that Eva Tenor got a previous mention.

For those of you who happened to gloss over said mention, I shall recap Eva's fleeting importance:

The Ravenclaw prefect had been too ill to do her rounds the weekend before that one, allowing me to replace her with Joshua Lerner as Pucey's partner, allowing the two lads to reconcile and proceed to snog quite vigorously all over my common room for months to come.

It was a tiny bit inconvenient but nowhere near as infuriating as her accidental molestation of my boyfriend: aside from kissing Fred and making me have that awkward conversation with him, she'd apparently managed to infect the redhead with whatever sickness she'd had.

Of course Fred is a strong, healthy young man with the immune system of a Greek god; he sneezed once or twice throughout the weekend, couldn't manage to pack away a third helping of pudding at dinner but was otherwise perfectly fine.

I, unfortunately, am a germ magnet; I barely made it to Grimmauld Place before I started to feel dizzy and queasy and feverish. I lasted through dinner with Dad, Remus, Tonks, and Bill, but when I tried to stand at the end, I fainted right on top of Kreacher.

(This certainly did nothing to improve relations with the ornery house-elf, who from that moment forward always had a snide muttering about my fat arse.)

"Shhh," I heard as I faded back into consciousness, "Rest, love."

Struggling to get my heavy eyelids parted, I croaked, "Daddy?" His face swam into focus above my bed, his smile worried but as steady as his hand expertly manned the cold compress. Suddenly I was two-years-old again. "Daddy," I sniffled, "I don't feel good."

He ran his fingers through my sweat-damp hair and soothed, "I know, baby girl. But Moony says you've just got a bit of a bug. I'm going to take care of you, and you're going to be fine, alright? Try to go back to sleep."

I nodded blankly, feeling safe despite my sickness. My eyes closed. And that was that.

xxXxx

It really was just a bit of a bug, more exhausting and inconvenient than anything. The worst thing to come out of the short brush with contagion was that I accidentally slept right through Harry's meeting at the Hog's Head. Luckily word had already reached him that I wasn't well, so the poor lad wasn't left waiting on me. And I received a complete report from the twins when Dad finally let me head back to school early Monday morning.

(Ok, so maybe I had to sneak out of Grimmauld to escape my father's excessive doting, but I also can't claim that I didn't enjoy being fussed over so lovingly.)

Anyways, despite Harry's worries, the turnout was impressive. The Defense club would be going ahead as planned.

However, there were a few hiccups, the most well-known and obvious of which was Umbridge's response to the suspicious meeting: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. This particular decree stated that "no student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor."

I had students rushing up to me all day begging for help in having their favorite extracurriculars reinstated. And as much as I didn't want to speak to Umbridge at all, I knew that it was still my job to stick up for all the kids she was screwing over with her tyranny and paranoia. And really, why should the many legitimate clubs suffer because of the one secret one?

After dinner, I knocked sharply on her office door, waiting for a breezy, "Enter, please," before striding inside. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am," I greeted pleasantly, nearly biting through my cheek in order to keep from hexing her blind, "But I'd like to submit a list of organizations for your approval. They're all well-established, and most already have faculty sponsors. I'd be more than happy to supervise those that don't, if it would put your mind at ease about... well, I'm not quite sure what exactly you're hoping to accomplish with this ban, but I'm confident in my ability to prevent insurrection on your behalf."

She snatched the list with a huff, examining it casually as the hideous cat portraits yowled and purred and stared at me with their creepy yellow eyes. "Quidditch, I suppose, is harmless enough," said Umbridge, shooting a disdainful glance across the top of the parchment, "Madam Hooch will keep the teams in line." She went through a few more, checking off most off the more typical, harmless clubs, like Gobstones and chess. Clubs that were never really in danger of falling victim to bureaucratic flexing. Clubs that never should've been banned in the first place because they were the complete opposite of secret subversive student organizations.

A small addition at the bottom gave the toad pause. "What is Orlando and the Ouroboros?" she asked with a confused and skeptical frown.

I chuckled, "A few of the first-years have started getting together a few nights a week."

Her expression changed to one of intense intestinal distress as the toad inquired, "How many is 'a few,' Miss Black?"

Not knowing whether it would help or hurt my cause, I admitted, "All of them."

She actually pulled back a bit in surprise, pausing for a long beat before disbelievingly demanding, "All of them?"

"Yes, ma'am," I stated, quite proud of the munchkins, "Two of the boys were trying to start a rock band, hence the name. But their practices evolved into just open, informal jam sessions that quickly caught on among their year-mates. Most students don't play any instruments, but they like to go and listen. You know, relax, sometimes study or read a bit. Socialize. There's even been some talk of actually giving music lessons. It's all very harmless, but I think it's done wonders for inter-house unity. We might even be witnessing the beginning of the end of all the silly rivalries and bad blood. Isn't that marvelous?"

I hadn't so much talked her into the merits of the club as talked her into a corner, one which she would not be able to leave without looking spiteful and irrational, even to her own admittedly skewed sensibilities.

"I suppose," the toad grumbled, "You will assume responsibility for their behavior then? It would be a shame if something... unfortunate occurred during these meetings." The sinister twinkle in her beady little eyes suggested that she thought otherwise. "We mustn't confuse fleeting tolerance for lasting harmony."

Bitch.

"Of course," I replied with a smile so forced that it was becoming a tad painful, "I really do enjoy sitting in with them. They're lovely children. And so bright."

She... sort of pouted. I guess. It looked more like the weight of her jowls was finally getting the better of the corners of her mouth. "Very well," said the pink monstrosity, "That will be all, Miss Black."

I left to spread the good news. Angelina Johnson hugged me. That was pretty weird. And Orlando Palladino and Larkin Shaw (yes, the two original members of Orlando and the Ouroboros, hence the snake-themed moniker) declared me to be their muse and savior.

All in a day's work.

xxXxx

Anyways, that was Monday. By Tuesday, pretty much every organization had been rebanded. Gryffindor even had a quidditch practice that night. I remember because Fred arrived in my room afterward sporting a black eye and nursing a broken thumb. I healed both, and then my boyfriend and I curled up in front of the fire together. Not talking much but enjoying the time alone. Falling asleep in each other's arms. It was nice.

Wednesday was another story entirely.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sorry about the anticlimax. I didn't realize how long this chapter was getting until I realized that I just had to end it. Meh. I already have more in mind so hopefully more soon.

Points for people willing to guess/look up the names of the puff pups as well as Ouroboros. And reviews, as always, are awesome drenched in greatness.