Snape had run off, and Harry's shoulder hurt. So much, in fact, that he forgot all about his neck and being relieved to breathe. The after image of Snape running away from him, mixed with the screaming pain to have his arm returned to the seat of its socket. He summoned his glasses. Fake lenses had the effect of dulling the sight of active magic around him, allowing his vision to sort what was presumably normal from that which existed in an invisible realm. The space that held the wheels, disappeared from view. The deepest magic faded into the background. This gave him a moment to check on his shoulder.

He tried to think of a healing charm and painkiller, but found he needed a moment to bite down on the worst of the pain before he could even think properly. He squeezed his watering eyes closed and remembered he had help. The talisman glowed in his mind. He reached for it, summoned a powerful feeling of his daughter, and spoke to anyone listening. "Help."

It was the only cohesive thought he could hold, now that he had to deal with his shoulder. He didn't expect to be heard in the normal sense. He asked with his magic and hoped that anyone else with magic, in this highly subjective place, would feel him.

I'm here, Harry. What do you need? Thella moved in his mind.

Hell yes! It wasn't occlumency exactly, but he flashed a visual of his situation to her.

Hmm… I can't come there. Look around. You've obviously found a portal to his experiences. To his mind. Find the woman in the picture.

What? He could hardly move.

You don't have to go anywhere. She's naturally a part of that world, which your presence is affecting. You can affect it with your thoughts.

No shit. That's why my arm is practically hanging off of my body! He didn't say it, but she heard it anyway.

Her response felt curt and tense. Look for a picture of her. He'll have them, it's part of his psychological landscape. If you have to, take out the one you have or conjure her any way you can. She's the go-between, between you and him.

His wand was gone and try as he might, he couldn't seem to gather his focus. He realized that whether this place was a painted illusion or not, his brain believed what it saw, like in a dream, and he kept zoning out to deal with the pain. He fought to not pass out, but couldn't get the picture out of his wallet.

Fuck it, the rules of this place was different. He looked at one of the damaged lab tables and briefly allowed that there could've been a picture right there. Just something left in an old frame, from an old part of Snape's mind. A good memory of a sharp witch with a crazy streak in her. That was all he could manage before letting his eyes rest. When they reopened, the picture was there, and Eileen threw her petticoated leg and boots over the boarder and stepped out of it. She was miniature, but immediately performed magic that fleshed out her body to realistic proportions. Her transformation was startling enough to distract Harry from his shoulder.

"Holy shit!" Now he didn't know where his magic ended and Snape's began.

"We're all family. Less in flesh, more in magic." She told him, "He cares about you, so you can reach deeply into him. He remembers me, so I can too. Together, we'll get you out of here."

"My shoulder… "

She tsked, making a face. "Nasty luck, but you handled yourself well enough. Listen Harry, I'm using your idea of me to talk to you. I'm spirit, I'm not physical. I have to let you do this for yourself. Look at your wheels. Your wheels of life. You can see them now, right?"

He could. His glasses were gone and he had seen Snape's ginormous atomic structures rising out of nothing, and turning like a mill wheel from an immeasurable height. Now that she reminded him, he looked for his own. Holding his shoulder and staring above, he only saw rafters. At first. He wasn't used to seeing it, so doubt that something that amazing could've always been with him, needed a second to evaporate. The room's solidity wavered as all the tables, flasks, and bottles rippled from a disturbance in the fabric of painted, illusory space and time. Then he saw them. His two wheels. They appeared to rise impossibly high over his existence, not just his body. Like before, they bent like circular girders, but moved in synchronized grace that lit with symbols and even lights, which made them seem ancient and futuristic at the same time. It was like a technology with origins he couldn't begin to fathom.

"I see it," he said. "Them. There are two. I see two."

"Yes, you have two. Now look at me."

"Why do I have two, and Snape has seven?"

"Later, we have to fix that shoulder. Look at me."

He tore away from his fascination with the wheels. She stood there holding the wand he'd seen before. The one made from a thick, stiff rope of her hair and slicked to look like it had been dipped in hardened black varnish.

"Find this symbol on the second wheel." She drew into the air. The tip of her wand left traces of blue light.

He squinted, anticipating confusion. But what she drew looked like a vase on one side, and a hexagon on the other.

"Hurry, this will have to be quick."

He looked back up at his wheels. They were so high. "I can't see that far up. How am I supposed to tell which one is second?"

"You're allowed to use your magic and imagination for everything that isn't preordained on the wheel. For the rest, you have to go to the wheel. Bring it down to you, or go up to it. You're not obeying the laws of Physics in this world."

Thella, can you see this? Can you see through my eyes to help me find the symbol?

I can see the confusion in your mind. Let me take over your eyes for just a minute.

Her energy shoves him forward. He's channeling her.

This language is emotion. It's the language of dreams in written form.

Eileen looks on with delight. "A channel. Good, I can talk to her."

As soon as she said this, a jolt of energy shot from her chest, into Harry. As Thella's presence had pushed him forward, Eileen's power threw him the other way. He screamed at the movement this caused his shoulder.

"Hold on, Harry. We're going to help you find it. Miss Thella, take him to the top. You'll steer him, I'll guide you, but it has to be his hands that do the work. I've already done as much as I'm allowed."

Harry heard her, and felt Thella's consent, like a conversation taking place inside of him. It was. The two witches seemed to interact with each other through the energy they sent into his body. Where they met, a third potential opened like a portal. There was no other way to explain the sensation. And before he could process it himself, he was yanked by the two women. They traveled on the momentum of their magic, taking him with them. He couldn't say what was physical and what was spirit anymore. He simply went up, thousands of feet into an abyss of a sky, colorless, without a source of light, and yet light was coming from somewhere. As he neared the top of the wheels, which twisted and spun in their eternal revolutions around one another, they shifted more clearly into view.

He felt the women on either side of him, like beings supporting him through some test or initiation. The surfaces of the wheels came close, and he saw that it was even more machine-like than he thought. And huge. Up close, it was like scaling a building. There were actual windows. Some were lit, and it made him cringe at who or what he might find inside. It looked like offices in there, mazes of other rooms and functions. Some windows were dark. The wheels spun so fast, he only thought he saw vague shapes of someone looking back at him. It gave him a chilling, alien feeling.

He saw panels, a warm brown interface like the finish on modern textiles, that could've been a console. It dashed by as the wheel kept spinning. He saw seamless metal, of unknown origins, and sections of natural wood grain, preserved with imagery that only his subconscious mind could read. There were sections that held engravings of prehistoric drawings. That's what it felt like, and long stretches of circuitry that resembled a motherboard, or a city at night.

As soon as he wondered where all of the details were coming from, and how could it look so powerful and put-together, manufactured and yet perpetual in spirit, Eileen's whisper came across like a hiss.

"It generates your life. It's pure power and there's no other way to see it, 'cept you give a form. You're controlling how it looks."

It's like your dreams, Harry. You're turning invisible information into something you can relate to, just to interact with it. It has to come to you in symbols, because the meanings in your life change with each new experience.

"Find what you're looking for. Hurry."

Remember the symbol. Dial it to you, Harry. The wheels should go right to it.

Even though she wasn't using her voice, she felt breathless and he tried not to be distracted by the parts of her that he could feel. He noticed that his arm hurt less, but he was still aware of it, as well as the itch of a fuzzy sweatshirt that brushed over his chest. Or rather, over the swell of her breasts. The shirt was particularly hot as her temperature and stress level rose in response to being able to feel his distress and injuries.

Stay with me, Harry. I know you've never channeled before. Think of the symbol.

As soon as she'd said it, he remembered that there was a time when Voldemort had forced his way into him and taunted Dumbledore. It happened at the Ministry, amid a violent showdown between the two wizards.

Don't think of that. That doesn't count. You were attacked, that's possession, not what I'm doing. Picture the symbol exactly the way you saw it.

He did, doing his best to keep his attention ahead at the top of the moving wheel closest to him.

Exactly like a generator, they made a pulsating sound. Very low and grating. The more he focused, the clearer he heard their rumbling. It was a sound that went from bending air, like a propeller, to rumbling like a jet. Reverberations got louder and shook him, as if the sound and motion could actually suck him to it. He fought to recreate the image in its exactness.

"This is your wheel. Claim it," insisted Eileen. "You're coming home to a house you've left unattended for eons. Everything needs to be reminded that you're the rightful owner. It'll recognize you."

He pushed his concentration, squeezing out all other thoughts, until he copied the image in his imagination. He went so far as to embellish its appearance, making it blaze against a black background of space. He heard the wheels grind, like mountains grazing against one another. They were locked in a gyration that resisted stopping. He got the impression of interplanetary rotation requiring an equal galactic force to slow it down. But they did slow. Like a puzzle lock sliding into place, the wheels lined up, pivoting to create a sequence. The symbol of the half-vase, half hexagon sat at the center top of both wheels. He did it.

"Now open it," Eileen instructed. "Use your magic and command, 'Corrigo!'"

"I don't have my wand." As soon as he'd said it, he knew it was a cop out and he regretted it.

"Be confident. You can't come into this space unsure of yourself, you're messing with your life. If you ever have to hack the wheels, do so without an ounce of doubt. Everything is affected by your thoughts immediately here. That's why we don't ordinarily have access to this level of ourselves until we know how powerful we are. You don't need a wand. You're the magic, the wand is just for focusing your intent into a point and aiming it. Draw imaginary lines in your mind, from both sides of your temples and extend them to the symbol. Give the command."

He tried not to follow the rabbit hole of what she was saying, and to stick with her basic instructions. His mental efforts kept him distracted enough from pain, that his shoulder was nothing more than a dull throb. But he knew the minute he left this space, it would become unbearable again. He imagined the lines, carefully seeing them as wires of cartoonish light, drawn with his finger, starting and ending exactly as she described. Why was so much of this relying on childish imagination? Aside from Remus's class, students were rarely taught to rely on imagination. It almost felt absurd, except for the fact that it was working.

Thella heard him. Everything is imagination, Harry. Especially worry. Even reasoning is just the constraints we place on our imaginations. Magic takes the form that our thoughts allow it. If we're too rational to let it do its job, that doesn't mean it doesn't work for us. If we can use our imaginations to upset ourselves so badly, why shouldn't we use it to become whole again and open any door that's closed to us?

No sooner had she said it, than the image leapt forward in a projection. It split into holographic colors and multiple layers. These advanced forward and came at Harry. They grew in size, sweeping past his body like decks of shuffled cards. They created a wind in their wake, which he felt blowing his hair back. He lost sight of Eileen, but he heard her.

"You've sprung the lock. Hold on. Every symbol is coiled on a lot of energy. Don't fight it."

Fight it? He didn't see how he could. It was like standing in a wind tunnel, and he had the sensation of being lifted. Suddenly, there were more signs and numbers flying past him in thousands of translucent layers. He didn't know how he knew, but they were in other languages, lost to human memory. As he saw them, he felt them, like they were part of something he once knew well. His field of vision became awash in a panoramic view of genetic instructions. Some took sub-atomic shapes and quantum polarization, while others wrote themselves out like cursive.

It took him a minute before he recognized a living spiral that stretched itself open like a spring in front of him. He had no training to identify it, but his magical logic all but announced it as a representation of his chemical DNA. It went from looking like something sucked out of the ocean floor, a lumpy albino worm, to unwinding into a graceful dance of elongated code that drifted in transparency, in its own life-giving field of energy.

It unwound itself and spread out in front of him, like a sheet of film. Primary colors flickered into view, catching his eye.

"Touch the reds. This will give you immediate access to your injury. Make the symbol again and it will be presented to you."

He did, more fascinated now than apprehensive. What new thing was he learning, exactly?

He flinched as the red colors, appearing as glass buttons, slid aside and another facet of his genetic encoding popped out. This was his mind translating information that he could not consciously calculate or fathom, he knew. It had to be. There was no factory sitting in space manufacturing these reams of codes and skyscraper wheels. A razor thin, crystal clear panel slid into place and grew to fill his vision. The symbol lay inside of it, as if preserved between two panels of glass.

"Take your wand, and tap a four-points around it. Diamond shaped."

Rather than remind her he didn't have a wand, he said nothing. It was a test. Does he use imaginary lines, or what? No. It was a trick. He was letting physical rationale get in the way. This almost felt like an initiation. But he got the sense that he'd been through it all before. It was all just sleeping inside of him, forgotten. If he needed a wand, why shouldn't he always have one at the ready? No one said it had to be physical. He looked at his palm and remembered the most powerful wand he'd ever owned.

The Elder wand appeared. Bone colored and sprouting sequences of fanciful clusters, it speared into view across his hand. He gripped it. Satisfaction rippled through him and it was like discovering a hidden treasure.

"Good Harry," Eileen whispered. "Don't you ever forget that this belongs to you. Make your taps."

He did. Within the diamond configuration, the symbol snapped and fragmented. It liquefied for a moment, then pieced itself together, in the form of a ring.

"Move the tip of your wand over the ring, clockwise. Go slowly, you're about to tell your body to move the bone back into its socket."

Was he, now? He started, hesitating at the thought of his body complying with this. But as he drew the tip of the Elder Wand down around the ring, the muscles in his left arm alerted him to activity. Tingling at first, as if that were a counter measure against any potential surges of pain. But then all the meat shifted, constricting and he felt the head of his humerus, press into the seat of his scapula without very much pain at all. He grinned, sliding the tip of his wand back up. The bone slid back down again. He lowered the tip, his bone met the head of its socket again. It was more amazing to him that he could look and feel all of this as objectively as performing surgery on someone else."

"Don't get cocky," Eileen warned him. "The anesthesia will wear off and you'll be in too much pain to see it through. Get it done, boy."

He lowered the tip of his wand until he felt the bone seat itself securely back into its socket. That was amazing.

"Now quickly, lock it up and put it away. Return it by telling the wheels, "abscondam mysteria mea." Hide my secrets.

He hesitated. Did he want to say that? This place had so much potential. If he could fix his shoulder, couldn't he fix the curse? If he could heal himself, couldn't he heal Draco and Iece? Didn't this mean that they had wheels too?

"No." Both witches said at the same time.

"Don't get power hungry," Thella said. "People don't get to access this part of themselves for a reason. The wheel knows what you've designed to challenge you.

"But now's my chance. Just tell me the right symbol to use."

"No, Harry. We're here to help you with the task of speaking to my son. You found a spot of trouble and we got you out. You have to honor the coven. Don't cheat your fate."

Fate? What? What about free will? If I can save my daughter in two steps instead of twenty, I'm doing it."

Eileen raised her hands. "I don't blame you for wanting to try, but that's not a good idea. We two are here to balance you, 'cause you don't know what kind of power you've got. If we could just go back on anything, there'd be no point to what we go through. We'd make everything meaningless, and meaning is how we learn."

"Bullshit! It didn't happen to you. It didn't happen to your kid. I can get rid of it once and for all, from this side of things. Can't I?"

"No. What goes on the wheel, stays on the wheel."

"But my shoulder…"

"That injury will always be written here. You can change how it affects you, but nothing can be erased from the record of your life."

"So don't erase the curse, just tell me which symbol to pull up."

"Listen boy, if you can't figure it out by now, I won't help you screw yourself up by blabbing it to you. If you change that curse now, you'll miss out on something important to you. You may loathe it, but if you're not done learning from it, you'll create something even more unpredictable. Just wait. Get to my son and find your way back to this later." There was a hint of pleading in her growing impatience.

Thella's presence came through. Do as she says. You're a master, Harry. You didn't let the curse happen to you because you're a victim. You let it happen to prove to yourself that victimization is all in your mind. You're a million times bigger than anything that scares you.

"If my body can go back to normal, I'm not suffering with this any longer. If I can heal myself, I can heal my daughter."

You're missing the point.

"You're missing the point. I came here to fix this problem for her."

It won't be that easy. Her agreement with life is not exactly like yours. She'll fight you at an unconscious level.

"I'll take that chance. She's a baby, it's my job to decide for her until she's old enough to do it."

Eileen repeated, signs of distress straining her voice. "I couldn't change the curse on you for a reason. You stand a better shot of it, at this level, but it's something you agreed to help out with. You and Lucius have an arrangement. It runs in all things. My boy played a dangerous game as well, to prove his point. I died proving mine. Yes, that blond, string-haired prick was an ass to hurt you. He could've done things differently. His prejudices got in the way of using his magic to solve problems. And before it's over with, you will make him sorry.

"But you don't even realize what you can do now, because of this curse. You've already affected the wheel just by being determined to live your life as a man, regardless of how he humiliated you. Your body, it doesn't change like Draco's, does it? That's your magic, your will taking the driver's seat. We affect the wheels when we overcome our weaknesses by living life. The records get amended over and over. That's fine. That's as it's meant to be. But on this side, all the wires of your life are exposed and you're just ignoring all the experiences you've put into place.

"You're armed with all you need to go forward. If you touch that curse, you rearrange your entire agreement with life and there will be new uncertainties to deal with. Right now, you already know what you're dealing with. You're on your way to greater mastery. Don't change the class before you're done with the lesson. Don't give up now."

Easy for her to say. Dead people must forget what it's like to hurt.

Yes, they do, Thella answered. Because when we leave our bodies, we become even more alive, not dead. And we don't hurt. That's why sometimes, people don't realize they've died. If we're ready, we see the illusion for what it is, a script that we write and act out, because we think we have to. Because we haven't given any other ideas a chance.

Everything in your life, event or object, or person, is your power taking the form of how you feel about something. If you want to master that curse, make peace with it. Find out what it represents to you, and love it. See it as a filthy, neglected child that you're brave enough to give a home to, when no one else would. Dirt is a state of neglect, not a trait, not a judgment. It's not evil, but you'll think it is and you'll panic and run from it, if you don't know any better. Clean your ideas about your body. Look at it like a child, something that can do no wrong. Put the child in a bath and love it. Watch it smile up at you, to finally be safe, to finally be loved. Watch it learn to talk. Watch it eat and play with a full belly. No more being hated and feared. Trusting the hand that feeds it, instead of being shoved away by that hand.

You and Lucius hate one another, because you fear one another. You both fear what the others' beliefs would do to you, if allowed to run loose. The minute you see him as the child, and you use the pallet of your imagination to put him in the bath, scrub away at the dirt and confusion until an innocent face appears, you will change your course with him forever. Just stop being afraid and vengeful enough to let love in, and you will leave the old stuff behind. The same with your body. Turn the shame into forgiveness, and the curse will loosen it's hold on you. It was created with malice, with the intent to terrify and cripple you as a man. If you don't feed it malice and fear, it will wither. Your power sustains it. What can it do, if you actually enjoyed sharing it with Draco, as he shares himself with you?

How did she know this? Couldn't he hide his secrets from her?

Don't worry, I only see what I see because I have your permission. And I see love. If you allowed any body to be as valid and right, as the one you miss so much, especially a female body, then that power could flow into it, and you'd find yourself as whole as you ever was.

Thella and her damn love religion. These two witches couldn't be less alike. How had they teamed up in some eternal coven? He wasn't convinced that either of them were right, but his shoulder was fixed and he knew his way back here, if it came to that. He watched all the corresponding codes put themselves away. Transparent panels folded in on themselves, dozens of rows collapsed like cards, and all receded like a jack-in-the-box, in reverse, until he stood staring at the original half vase, half hexagon again.

He made a mental note to replay his memories for the exact phrasing, in hopes of keeping this new knowledge in his life. With a quickness, that left him dizzy, all the extraneous compartments and codes snapped back into their dimensional folds and hiding places. Literally, worlds of blueprint instructions on how his body and life were put together, collapsed back on themselves, throwing him out of their field of existence.

Repeating after Eileen, he sealed it all back into place, then felt as if he were falling as the wheels lifted to their otherworldly height and left him worlds below.

The wheels started their spin again. It sounded like a planet splitting and Harry backed away, coming up against Eileen's arm.

She put one arm around him. "Don't look like that. I have to keep you on track. I can't stop you from remembering your way back here if it turns out that my boy can't help you. But this is the absolute last resort, you understand?"

No, he didn't. But he nodded, to keep from arguing. And he did appreciate her help. He didn't understand it, but appreciated it.

"Off you go. You've spooked Severus something awful. No doubt, that's what's going to save his life later on."

He looked at her. "The boathouse? Did I cause something to happen to his timeline?"

"We're not in the physical world, remember? This is a timeless place. If he wants a miracle, he'll have to pull it from here. You've just given him better options, is all. If he's ever backed into that corner, he'll have years to plan his way out."

Little by little, the vaporous atmosphere of the wheels vanished and the sight of the potion lab popped into view around them. The place was still a wreck from Snape's attack.

"Are you saying, because I let him see what he would do at the time of his death, seventeen year old Snape now has information that his older self can use to prepare with?"

"Yes. That doesn't mean he'll access it in time. But it's there if he retains his hope."

"So I did affect the future. He's alive, or I wouldn't be here, and it's all because… no, wait." He thought about it. "That can't be right. Unless there's more than one version of him at seventeen."

"Stop trying to make sense of it. What do fickle men and women know about all the potentials of life? That's why you shouldn't touch the wheels. There are an infinite ways things can go. We guided you to only that which pertains to your life's work. Both you and my son have lived and died in other places, and that's none of our business. You reached me in this one, and asked for my help. I'm helping you. We've broken some human rules, it's to be expected. But don't go thinking time is one continuous loop, 'cause it's not. The minute you showed those memories to him, a new version of all of this came into being, complete with it's own scientific history. Where you end up, which one you find yourself in, is up to how determined you are. Maybe you've already done enough to help him."

She'd been pulling his arm, getting him to step across overturned stools and shelves, until she pulled him back into hall. He was still thinking on her words, when the faintest of flashing caught their attention.

Students, in a state of confusion, looked in one direction down the hall. Their faces lit up with a pink brightness that grew more and more red. A red light flickered from that direction and it appeared to stun them into immobility. No one seemed to notice the state of the lab as he and Eileen stumbled out of it.

"Uh-oh," Eileen murmured. "Another alarm going off. You've really rattled him, and he does not rattle easily."

"What?" Harry looked around in confusion. He had to avoid running into the students, all of whom were semi-catatonic as the light, washing the corridor in infrared, hypnotized them.

"What are they seeing?" He asked.

"Strange magic that shouldn't be there. An S.O.S."

"Why does it look so…" He was going to say "red", but the real word he wanted to use, was "familiar." Something about how that darkroom color, overwhelming on the stone, carpets, and tapestries, tunneled it's way down the hall, engulfed his senses in an ambiance of foreboding curiosity. No wonder the students didn't go to investigate. This new thing, whatever it was, felt as unsettling as it did fascinating. With each burst of red brilliance, the hue got stronger and stronger, drenching all of them in a blood red illumination.

She shoved him towards it. "Off you go. That has your name written all over it."

"What?" He stumbled, looking back.

"Just follow the light. You've left some unfinished business down that all. Don't be afraid. You have some time before Severus finds you. I'd still be as efficient as possible, if I were you. You keep setting him off."

"You're not coming?"

She shook her head, a little sadly, and faded out of his reach. "There are some things, a mother shouldn't see."


A/N:
***POTENTIAL SPOILERS***

***POTENTIAL SPOILERS***

***POTENTIAL SPOILERS***

What's up, readers? I know a lot of you are anxious to get to Snape and Harry. The rest of the story hinges on a lot of what Harry learns while he's in the portrait and working with Thella and Eileen, so I've been figuring out the best way to set up certain pivotal events for later. The story is mapped out, but when you're composing on a spontaneous schedule, in front of people, story logistics get even more challenging, than if they were ironed out in seclusion, before anything is published.

How'd y'all like seventeen year-old Snape showing up like that? You're not in Kansas anymore. Part of the craziness of the portrait experience, is to walk you across a bridge into a more taboo area. An area where Harry loves Snape, not just Draco, and where the taboo of incest isn't what we think we know about it. It's not nearly as disgusting as it might be perceived in real life. Thank God for fiction, and this has NOTHING to do with real life, or I wouldn't be writing it. It does have to do with shame, and I found out that my thing is healing shame, which is why I tackle "difficult" subjects. (Thank you V.C. Andrews for forever stretching my acceptance level with Flowers in the Attic. It's easy to judge others, until your heart gets involved).

Also, the landscape of your mind is meant to change with Harry's journey and prepare you for some strange stuff. So thank you for being patient with me. Turns out, this story is being written alongside some of the most important changes in my life, and for that reason has become a project of tempered endurance. I see the end of the tunnel, though, and it's filled with a love so wonderful and powerful, that that's why I chose to keep writing this fic to the end. I wish you all could see what I see. I'm off to write my way to it. Love to everyone.


*WARNING* Skip, it's just a some stuff I have to say. It has nothing to do with the story plot (mostly), but is an explanation for readers wondering why I've hit such a slower pace. Better out than in. I've been through a lot and I have to talk about some of it, to let it go. So please skip if you don't want any heavy subject matter.

First, I'm doing great now. The only value of this note, is if there's someone else who's having a rough time and might find therapy in knowing that it's not them; something major happened to the world and it's not just covid. If you're still alive, kudos to you. If not, still kudos to you! You fought a good fight.

I don't know what the hell 2020 and 2021 was, but I lost enough people and went through enough physical and emotional pain, that it constitutes living in an entirely new reality for me. My writing really slowed down. My physical world changed and I had to learn to get along on new terms. I want to talk about what happened to me physically, because I want my readers to understand why this story is taking so long.

I actually want to scream (Please, no more funerals for 10 years!.), but the last time I did that, my body reacted very badly and a bunch of medical tests ensued. Let's just say, it's a miracle that I'm still writing. I never caught covid, but I went from 170 lbs to 118 as I struggled to find foods that wouldn't cause pain two hours after eating. I'm getting better. The ultrasound showed gallstones and it's being taken care of. I haven't been able to absorb nutrients and it shows, but I have mainly good days where I work and go out doing things, as long as I avoid real hearty food, I avoid pain. I still screw up occasionally, but the pain is nothing like it was. I spent a year in pain. It's not under control yet, but my situation has improved.

My diet has consisted of 2/3 cup of rice or beans every two hours, since March of 2021. (This all started around October/November of 2020). Sometimes I get away with thinly sliced meats and fruits, but this is what's been keeping me alive. I'm now able to see how my body pretty much tensed and locked with worry over things I won't go into. Worry is the biggest detractor to health there is. If you can keep yourself distracted with a fun movie or a good story, do so. Your survival depends on it. People and things outside of you are not the enemy, it's worrying and reacting to them that locks your guts with tension. Find a better way to react. Prolonged states of worry lead to digestion issues, then vitamin deficiencies, and before you know it, you're out of whack. But standing back and seeing all the worry for what it is, which is yourself imagining the worst instead of focusing on the outcomes you prefer, shrinks all of those bad feelings down to manageable sizes.

Two months ago, my aunt passed away and she was the only person in my life who really let me talk to her about my books. She was like a mother, only greater. She was often the peacemaker between me and my real mother. She was so wonderful to me and now I can never visit her home again. I'm sorry, but I have to let it out. I know there are others who've gone through similar shit, and maybe we can feel some relief as we let the pain out and move on. I spent the last three weekends packing up her things and touching each object was a way of letting her go. Y'all, I saw her body before the coroner came and got her. What the hell! I know, I'm not a child anymore, far from it, but that image is still fucking with me. There was a time when I would've been protected from seeing her like that, but all those loving grownups are gone now, and I'm the grownup who has to protect others. My heart goes out to her sister, who found her first.

At the time I glossed over it. She literally looked like she could've been smiling, which is good, but lifeless is still lifeless. No matter how many happy memories I have of her, I kept going back to that image to make it real to me. Well, it's real. I feel like I've managed to avoid human grief all my life, but really had to face it this time. In spite of what I said, I don't really go to funerals. I could always accept death and cheer myself up with a book, friend, or something. Not this time. But I do feel that my family is blessed, in that she didn't appear to suffer at all. I'm thankful for that more than anything.

In lighter news, I am embarking on new projects and planning for much happiness. The next part of my life will be arranged entirely around my writing. As for this story, it's become even more special to me. This story represents my determination to write, no matter what I'm going through. If I can finish this, and I will, I can write through anything. The story, at its core, is still very much worth telling. I need to complete Harry's and Snape's journey, for my own closure.

And don't worry, there are no games going on between Harry, Snape and Draco. Part of the difficulty of this story is keeping that balance between rationality, credibility, and love between them. They do what they do, not because of romantic feelings, but because of genuine love. Think about it. Haven't you ever loved someone so much, you let them break the rules? You couldn't say no to them? You would've given them anything, to see them happy? That's where Harry's heart lives, it isn't about rivalry. The real world makes it about rivalry, but it isn't, and it's not a threesome. Nothing against threesomes, this just isn't it. Each of Harry's private relationships has it's own integrity. There will be no in-fighting, just people trying to do what's best, with what they're given.

If you're still tuning in, thank you, and I will finish this story.