Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 11 : Second Year - Voices from Stone


Snape took Harry to the infirmary, spoke briefly to Madam Pomfrey, and then, instead of leaving without a word, actually turned to Harry and told him—without a single sneer or scowl—to make sure to get a Professor or one of the patrolling Aurors to escort him safely back to the Great Hall when he was done.

It was beyond strange. Not to say that Harry wasn't grateful that he'd somehow stumbled upon the right thing to say to get his most hated teacher to help him out, but he didn't think he was that good at giving speeches. Then again, maybe he wasn't giving himself enough credit. After all, the Sorting Hat had promised that being in Slytherin would make him great. Now he just had to figure out what he'd done so he could repeat it.

"Yes, sir, and thank you," Harry said, putting a hand on his chest over his green striped tie to draw attention to it and giving a little bow, the respectful but wary kind Valeria had taught them to use when dueling. Snape seemed to appreciate it, glancing at the tie instead of Harry's face before nodding farewell. As Snape turned to leave he looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth as if to bestow a parting insult, only to pause with a look of consternation on his face. Huffing, looking more frustrated with himself than with Harry, he jerked away and left.

Something about associating Harry with green had struck a chord in Snape, one that made him start looking at Harry like a wallet he'd found on the sidewalk and didn't intend to give back instead of like a rank pile of dog poop he'd stepped in and needed to scrape off his boot. Harry would take it. Better to be something worth stealing than something that belonged in the trash. Snape still wasn't actually seeing Harry when he looked at him, just a tool of some sort, but having value still put Harry in a better position than before. He'd have to figure out how to take advantage of it later (if that was even possible).

Madam Pomfrey led him through the central aisle of the infirmary towards the back of the room. The beds on either side were either curtained off or open to show students in various stages of recovery from either sickness or spell damage—including the group of missing Slytherins who'd pranked the wrong people. A door near the back opened to a private room housing the petrified: four students, one ghost, and one cat.

"Just let me know when you're finished, Mr. Potter, and I'll call for someone to escort you," Madam Pomfrey said and then left him to his visit.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked into the room and let the door close at his back. As soon as his eyes found Hermione he jolted as if he'd been hit in the chest with a Bludger. He thought he'd been prepared for what he'd see. He'd been wrong. Jerking his face away, he closed his eyes, but the image had already been imprinted inside his eyelids. It made him want to cry. And break something.

To start with, Hermione looked horribly uncomfortable. Stiff, bushy, sandstone-colored curls covered most of her face, hiding her eyes and the curve of nose and cheek, exposing only the grey of her lips, open in mid-shout with the corners turned down in fear. Her left shoulder hung over the side of the bed to accommodate the way her arm twisted behind her back with the palm facing away and fingers flexed, as if she'd been trying to push Halle to safety during the attack. With her body petrified in that pose, there was probably no way to lay her on the bed in a way that looked comfortable, not that it should matter since she couldn't feel if she was uncomfortable or not, but it mattered to Harry. Hermione deserved better. Not being able to help, even with something so small as making her comfortable in the bed, made him feel weak and powerless. He hated feeling powerless.

Snape had told them that Hermione and Halle had been petrified near the library by the statue of the knight riding a boar. Harry knew that statue. He remembered watching Professor Lockhart preening in the shiny surface of the knight's shield. Had Hermione seen the reflection of her attacker just before it struck? Or had she walked past the statue without even seeing it, ignorant of any danger until the moment of violence?

He needed to stop dawdling. Throat tight, he wanted nothing more than to find himself waking up after a too-real nightmare. The sound of a group of girls jerked Harry from his thoughts—their voices reaching his ears as whispers too faint to hear clearly. He forced himself to breathe through the pain and counted to five on the exhale. He needed to get started on his apology before someone interrupted. He needed to… but he wasn't ready to face Hermione yet. Not yet. After all, what were a few more minutes of procrastination after all of these months?

Feeling weak and ashamed—but not enough to force himself to act—Harry moved towards Colin Creevy and Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Sorry guys," he said uncomfortably.

Nothing else came to mind, so he went to Halle's bed next, conveniently putting his back to where Hermione lay so still and cold and lifeless. With the colors of Halle's body washed out by petrification, her similarity to Myrtle was more pronounced than ever. She must've been petrified mid-fall since her now-grey pigtails had flown forward to bracket her pale neck like an exaggerated shirt collar and her shoulders and arms curled forward. Like Hermione, the pose looked strange and unnatural for a body lying on its back as it ignored the usual laws of gravity.

Petrification had drained Halle's green striped tie of color, turning it grey and black. Glancing over at Creevy and Finch-Fletchley, Harry found that he couldn't tell that their ties had ever had color either. In here, house affiliation was just as meaningless as blood status. Everyone was equal. All were victims.

"I'm sorry, Halle," Harry said, straightening the sheet over her chest even though he knew she couldn't feel it, couldn't feel anything. "I wish I knew what had done this so I could stop it. You deserved better than this. I know it might've seemed like most of Slytherin didn't like you, but it wasn't true. I mean, Slytherin is full of jerks, especially for someone who isn't naturally dominant like you are, but I've discovered that when you ignore their words and the rumors and focus on actions, a lot of Slytherins are pretty nice. You should pay more attention. I was always nice to you," he said pointedly.

"We got along pretty well when I was tutoring you in defense before you started believing the rumors and avoiding me. Plus, Flint actually lets you curl up on his back. You know he wouldn't do that for just anybody. He was willing to fight me when he thought I might've hurt you, even though that would've meant I also had the power to control the creature who's sneaking around petrifying everyone and could've tried to hurt him back." Harry was still annoyed by that, though he didn't hold it too against Flint since the other boy had believed Harry's denials and said sorry right after, going so far as to support him during his little break down.

Thinking over all he'd just said, Harry winced and ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly. "Okay, that didn't come out right. Sorry." It was easier to say sorry the more he practiced… and when the stakes were so low. "I didn't come visit just to say I told you so or something like that. Let me start over."

Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms behind his back. "I'm sorry you got attacked and I hope you get fixed soon. A lot of us are worried about you and we're looking forward to you getting better and coming back when the Mandrake Potion is finished. If you need help catching up with homework when you wake up just let me know if I can help and I will, though there are obviously people a lot better at schoolwork than me." People like Hermione in the next bed over, he thought with a pang. "I'm sure you know by now that I had nothing to do with this and—and I hope we can try to be friends again when you're better."

He didn't know what else to add and the whispers at the edge of his hearing were getting louder, though the sound in the room was weird and made it seem like it was coming from the empty room at his back instead of from outside the closed door in the main infirmary. Rubbing his hands together to generate some warmth, Harry awkwardly patted Halle's stiff arm. "Goodbye for now."

Straightening his shoulders, Harry turned and forced his feet to move. He kept his eyes down, staring at how time had unevenly worn the grey stone beneath his feet until he fetched up against Hermione's bedside. A white sheet draped over her legs without a single wrinkle, like shrouded furniture in an abandoned house.

Bracing himself, Harry lifted his eyes to see Hermione. She looked cold. That was his first thought. Hermione wasn't supposed to look cold, she was warm hugs and passionate explanations, sun-kissed cheeks, highlights in her hair, and eyes like the first sip of hot cocoa after flying through gently falling snow, was every shade of bark and earth at high noon in summer. Thick, distinct corkscrew curls fell back from the cool marble of her brow like spires on a crown, bringing his eyes to the delicate eyelashes lying so still upon her pale cheeks and the curve of her barely parted lips.

He couldn't fool himself into thinking her merely asleep because she wasn't breathing. Even when absorbed in a new book she was never this still—eyes flicking back and forth down the page, catching her breath at something exciting, wrinkling her brow in thought, or silently mouthing a particularly clever turn of phrase or difficult concept. It made him feel unbearably sad. His chest hurt and it felt like the air was becoming too thick to breathe.

If that wasn't enough, his mind was playing tricks on him. Today had been… a lot. He could've sworn that when he'd first walked in and glimpsed her face, it had been mostly covered by bushy curls with her mouth opened in a shout. Now she looked like a serene sculpture of a sleeping queen on a royal tomb. He reminded himself again that she wasn't dead, just petrified.

And she would. get. better. She would!

"Hi Hermione," Harry's voice cracked on her name. He cleared his throat and refused to release the stinging tear slowly sliding towards the center of his eyelid and blurring his vision. "It's me, Harry. I'm here to say I'm sorry, so… I'm sorry."

Nothing changed. Hermione didn't suddenly wake up with a smile. He didn't suddenly feel better.

In the distance the whispers multiplied. One rose above the others and then the rest of the crowd chorused, "Shhhh..." in a sibilant hiss until all of the whispers faded away beyond the edge of hearing, leaving behind an expectant silence. Feeling watched, Harry hunched and looked over his shoulder and around the room, but the door was still shut and he was alone. It was theoretically possible that a bunch of people were hiding under invisibility cloaks, but there didn't seem like enough space in the room for that many people, much less a reason to do so. His mind must be playing tricks on him again. The whispering crowd had to be out in the main room with the other patients. Maybe Pomfrey had finally kicked them out for being too loud. That would explain the sudden silence. Not that they mattered, Harry thought, turning back to Hermione sadly.

Reaching into his pocket, Harry carefully pulled out the small flag he'd made to celebrate how amazing she was. He traced the HG of her initials with his fingertip and blinked rapidly, pushing away the persistent sting. He really hadn't expected the day to end like this. Breath hitching, he tapped the shaft to turn the animation on and propped the flag up next to her bed so she'd have something cheerful to look at if she woke up. When she woke up. Not if. She wasn't dead, merely sleeping, he reminded himself again, no matter what it looked like. This wasn't permanent.

He rubbed his wrist across his running nose and sniffed. This sucked. It wasn't fair.

Words suddenly burst from his lips like salmon swimming upstream, desperately trying to jump over a waterfall and having to constantly fight against the pounding water and pull of gravity trying to drag them back down into the deep, back to where they'd come from instead of where they needed to go. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I screwed up. I'm sorry for what I said and did and that it took me so long to come and talk to you. I'm sorry you got petrified, sorry you got hurt. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to figure this out and that the adults weren't good enough either. I'm sorry no one protected you."

Gulping down air, feeling wretched, Harry lost the strength to stay standing, falling to his knees by her side with bruising force. He was feeling too much, but the emotions wouldn't stop. He'd tried so hard today. He'd kept his promise to apologize to her face. Shouldn't he feel better? But he didn't. It was too late. Everything that made Hermione's soul shine was gone, locked away in a stone prison. He'd pushed and pushed himself, humbling himself before everyone—his friends, the Weasleys, his housemates, and even Snape—and still it hadn't been good enough. If only he hadn't been so scared and gone to talk to her right after the game, maybe then he could've protected her from this. If he'd been a better person, a better friend, and apologized months ago, would she have even gone to the library after the game? Or would she have come straight to lunch to celebrate with him and avoided the attack?

Maybe the Dursleys had been right about him. Kneeling next to Hermione's body, Harry felt so small and helpless, so weak and stupid. What good was his magic if it couldn't help the people he cared about? He swallowed hard and pressed her stiff hand between his palms as if he could somehow warm it back to softness, could fix her by willing it strongly enough.

It didn't work, but even cold and stiff it was still Hermione's hand and just holding it made him feel a little better. If she knew what he was thinking right now she'd be very cross. Even after all he'd done, she still cared about him. Merlin only knew why, but she did. She'd chosen to catch him instead of the Snitch when he'd fallen off his broom (he could admit that now) and she'd come to see him before his last game, fixed his glasses, and told him to be careful.

"Maybe I am dumb and slow, but I'm also very stubborn. I've learned my lesson. I won't give up on you, Hermione. I haven't been a good friend, but I want to be better. I will be better. They're going to finish the Mandrake Potion in a couple of months and you're going to wake up. I wish you could tell me what had attacked you so I could make sure it's gone by then." Sighing, Harry pressed his hot forehead to her cold hand. "I hope you'll give me a second chance. I won't take you for granted again, I promise. Please come back to me, Hermione. I'm sorry for everything. Please be my friend again. Please forgive me."

The tears he'd been fighting finally escaped, rolling down his cheeks as if unzipping his thoughts so all of the regret and pain and sadness spilled out. Harry rocked on his knees and sobbed, loud in the quiet of the room, so loud it almost drowned out the sound of a faint, comforting, "Shhh…" from directly overhead.

Biting back the next sob in his throat, Harry froze and listened for more words.

None came.

Just when he decided that he must be imagining things again, he felt the petrified fingers pressed against his forehead... twitch.

Rearing back, Harry's head shot up. Hermione's eyes were open. HER EYES WERE OPEN.

Harry jumped to his feet and leaned over her. "Hermione! It's me, Harry. I'm here. You're safe!"

A curl slowly slid down in front of her ear and another crawled across her throat. Except for the brown of her eyes and faint pink in her lips, the rest of her body remained stiff and colored in pastels. Harry gulped a breath. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Hermione. Please!" Tears dripped off his cheeks and onto Hermione's throat, sliding down and disappearing into the stiff spirals of her hair. "Please," he repeated, breath hitching as his thoughts spun frantically.

Hermione's eyes trembled and slowly focused on his face. "Yesss," she said with great effort, so soft that no breath puffed against his face despite how close she leaned.

Lips trembling, Harry clutched her still stiff hand. His mind was racing. He didn't know what was happening or even how, but he was so grateful. So grateful. She was waking up. It was a miracle.

"Thank you," he gasped wetly to both her and to the universe. She was back. She was going to be okay. Pressing his lips together and swallowing, Harry tried to get a hold of himself. He needed to be strong and stop crying. "You—you're in the infirmary. You're safe." He gulped another breath and wiped at his wet face. "You're safe here." A thought struck him. "Do you—do you know what attacked you?"

"Ba...sss…." Her eyes looked scared.

Harry reached out to cup her cheek and curled over her face, wanting her to know that she wasn't alone. "Hey, I'm listening. I'm here. What's a bass?" She mouthed something, but no sounds escaped. "I don't—I don't know what that means." He gently rubbed her cheek, trying to work in some warmth as he moved his ear closer to her mouth to better hear. His heart stuttered as the skin beneath his fingertips chilled and stiffened. "Hey, no, stay with me. Stay awake. Help me, Hermione. Don't go, don't go!"

Fog rolled across the surface of her eyes, bleaching brown to grey as her eyelids slipped to half mast, sending Harry's heart into a nosedive. Hermione exhaled, a faint puff of air against his jaw. "No...tesss….lo...ck…."

"You left notes? Locked up somewhere? I don't understand," Harry begged. "Please! Don't go!"

Hermione stopped responding. Harry pressed his damp cheek against her lips but they were hard and cold. No sound nor air moved through them. He frantically searched her face but what little warm color she'd regained had drained from her mouth and cheeks. She seemed more like stone than ever before, the hue of her hair and skin becoming an almost uniform gray.

"No, no, no!" Harry tapped her stiff cheeks and shook her marbled shoulders to no avail. The sharp edges of her curls bit gouges from his skin but he barely noticed. "Hermione! Wake up! Hermione!" he screamed, trying to get her to talk again as blood from his knuckles left wet streaks on her neck and chin.

"Mister Potter!" snapped Madam Pomfrey as she rushed into the room. "Get a hold of yourself! You are disturbing the other patients!"

Desperate, Harry straightened up and turned to Madam Pomfrey with desperate eyes. "Please, help! She—she woke up! She spoke to me."

Eyes widening, Pomfrey moved closer to Hermione and cast several spells. After only a moment she gave a soft sigh and lowered her wand, turning back to Harry. "I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but Miss Granger is still petrified. It is impossible for her to wake up on her own." Sending Harry a sympathetic look, she told him gently, "I'm afraid you've become overwrought by events and only imagined her speaking. Or perhaps you dozed off and dreamed it."

Sucking in air through his teeth, Harry straightened his back and tried to get his voice to sound confident instead of shrill. "I didn't imagine it or fall asleep. Look at Hermione's hair and the position of her arm. They're different now. Her face is uncovered and her eyes are partially open. They weren't before. Her arm is still back but the fingers are no longer tensed. She shifted and spoke to me. That's proof. She did!"

"And what did she tell you?" the nurse asked very gently, focusing on Harry instead of Hermione, as if he was the one with the problem, as if he'd cracked.

Harry fisted a hand in his robe and struggled with his temper, sucking in air through his nose and releasing a breath before speaking. "I was saying sorry and asking her to forgive me. She said yes. Then I asked her if she'd seen what had attacked her. She got out the words bass, notes, and lock before—" Harry had to stop and swallow "—before becoming petrified again."

"I see. Mr. Potter, I think you would benefit from a calming draught and perhaps a good night's sleep in a bed instead of a cot. You'll stay here tonight, I think."

"I don't need to stay here," Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "Just—just look at her! Can't you see she's different?"

Sighing, Madam Pomfrey's brow creased as she examined Hermione again. "To be honest, I—I don't quite remember how she was positioned when she came in, but to just wake up from petrification naturally without any potion or other intervention is sadly impossible. Not unless—well—that's extremely unlikely, especially in a muggleborn."

"What? What's unlikely?" Harry asked eagerly, stepping closer.

She looked away uneasily. "No, forget I said anything. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you need to try to calm down and turn your mind to something else. All is not lost. Remember that petrification is only temporary because of the Mandrake Restorative Potion." Smiling gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly guided him out of the room.

Harry felt so frustrated he wanted to scream, but that would just convince Pomfrey that he really had gone crazy and make her even less likely to tell him anything.

Out in the main room they unexpectedly ran into Ron Weasley, who was standing just inside the doorway with his arms wrapped around himself, shifting uneasily as he looked around.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Weasley?" Madam Pomfrey asked, patting Harry's shoulder and giving him a little shove towards an empty bed.

On seeing Harry, Weasley glared, his hands dropping to his sides in loose fists and his jaw clenching, bringing a red flush to his freckled cheeks. "I'm here to see Hermione."

"Why," Harry demanded protectively. Weasley had never been particularly nice to Hermione. Several times he'd been an outright jerk.

Weasley turned on Harry belligerently. "She's in my house, not yours, Potter. I have more right to see her than you do. If I want to check on her then I can and if I want to apologize to her I'm sure I'll do a better job than a Slytherin like you!"

Blinking rapidly, Harry scoffed. "Seriously? If this is a competition then—"

"Boys," snapped Madam Pomfrey, "this is a place of healing. Kindly lower your voices."

Crossing his arms, Harry looked away from Weasley. The redhead mirrored him, lip sticking out petulantly.

"Mr. Potter, please make yourself comfortable in the bed. Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey gestured towards the back room, "you may visit Miss Granger for ten minutes and then I'm sending you back to the Great Hall. If you notice anything unusual, call for me at once."

Weasley's brow furrowed as he gave the nurse a confused look. "More unusual than being petrified?" He scratched the back of his head.

Lips pinching, she shooed him forward. "Indeed. Now off you go."

Harry felt slightly better, knowing that Pomfrey hadn't completely ignored what he'd said, even if she didn't quite believe him either. At least she was allowing for the possibility. If only she'd tell him what extremely unlikely thing might explain how Hermione had managed to wake up for a minute.

Plopping down on the bed, Harry set his mind to the mystery of Hermione's words. It was safer than to think of how he'd thought for a moment that she was going to be okay only to have that hope stolen from him, leaving him feeling even worse. He hadn't imagined her waking up, he hadn't! So what had she meant by bass, notes, and lock?

Bass could be just the start of the word, but if it wasn't… well. A bass was a type of non-magical fish. Were there magical fish that could petrify you? Though even if there were, how was a fish getting through the castle to attack people? Was it a fish that breathed in air? A flying fish? Could he catch it using some worms and a fishing pole? Though if it could fly and breath in air, was it even a fish anymore? The more he thought about it the more stupid it sounded.

The only other type of bass he'd heard about was a musical instrument. Could there be cursed music that petrified people when you heard it? It wouldn't surprise Harry, but the Chamber of Secrets was supposed to hold a creature, not a cursed object, and if it was a cursed musical instrument who was playing it? Bringing him back to square one.

Harry couldn't think of anything else called a bass, especially not anything magical. He'd have to ask his friends.

The word notes was pretty self-explanatory—Hermione must've written down what she'd found out about the creature in a book before being attacked.

Lock, however, was another tricky one. Were the notes locked up somewhere as he'd first assumed? Had she given them to Professor Lockhart? Or were they inside a locket somewhere? Though a locket wouldn't hold many notes and Hermione didn't wear jewelry like that, though her roommates might. To be honest, Harry wouldn't be surprised if Lockhart wore a locket with a picture of himself inside, though how Hermione would've gotten access to it or why she'd leave a clue there was another mystery.

Madam Pomfrey brought him a calming draught and watched him expectantly until he drank it down. Harry's whirling thoughts fluttered to a pause in his mind, stilling on an image of a bass fish with a bubble around its head playing a bass guitar. He cleared his throat to keep from smiling dopily. Wow, those calming draughts were ni-i-ice. He banished the stupid image and returned the bottle to the nurse.

"I feel much better now, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you." Harry bowed his head and tried to look contrite. "I think I'll rest better with my friends. May I go back to the Great hall?" He stood up and took a step towards the door, as if her agreement were a foregone conclusion. Draco and Pansy loved using that tactic.

Pomfrey hummed. "Well, I suppose so, though you will need an escort. I'll call someone as soon as Mr.—"

The door in the back opened and Weasley rushed out, puffing and looking uncomfortable. He pressed a hand to his chest and looked around the room, pausing for a moment to watch a game of wizard chess being played by two of the jinxed Slytherins.

"Mr. Weasley," Pomfrey said, "are you alright?"

"Huh?" Weasely looked up and flushed bright red. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. It's just a little… unnerving in there. Quiet. Weird."

Nodding at him sympathetically, Pomfrey went out into the corridor and returned with a dark-skinned woman Harry didn't recognize, probably one of the Aurors. She impatiently escorted Harry and Weasley to the Great Hall without a word, gesturing inside. "Off you go, boys." She closed the door at their back firmly once they were inside. The two boys exchanged an uncomfortable look and parted ways without another word, going to their sleeping cots on opposite sides of the room.

Harry had intended to enlist his friends' help right away, but the expression on Draco's face was a clear sign he wasn't in the mood to help anyone and Blaise was sitting off to the side surrounded by a group of giggling girls.

Valeria was still wedged into her corner with the blanket hanging over her head and shadowing her face, making it impossible to tell if she was awake or sleeping. The students in the three closest cots were clearly petrified and not just sleeping. Harry wisely decided to leave her alone.

As soon as Harry sat down on his cot to try and decide what he should do, he felt swamped by exhaustion. Today had been a very long day. His eyelids drooped. He wanted to solve the riddle and help Hermione, but if it was something easy Madam Pomfrey would have figured it out from what he'd told her. Wouldn't she? Though she hadn't believed Harry. He was getting used to not being believed but nevertheless, he couldn't give up. Not on Hermione. Not now. Slipping off his shoes, Harry lay back and rested his eyes, just for a moment. Then he'd get up and figure this all out. Just...in...a…mo...ment….


AN: All of your comments, kudos, favorites, and bookmarks mean so much to me. Every day I check my email to see if anyone cares and you do. It means the world to me! Thank you very much for enjoying this story with me! Also, for those reading in using translation software, you are amazing. Brujita, muchas gracias!

I'm sorry my updating has slowed down. The words have really been fighting me the last two chapters. I'm going to push through it, but until that happens the updates might not be as rapid or as long. I know how things are going for the rest of year two's plot, I just need to get my brain and fingers to cooperate to get it down in a document.

[Complaining to come. Feel free to skip]

January has also been rough for me. I get sick every winter but this one has been worse, even with quarantine! My son had a covid scare that wasn't bad, thankfully, and I got a cold, got better, got a worse cold, started getting better, got food poisoning from seafood, almost recovered, then my perpetually irregular period hit me in the gut with a hammer and made me wish for death as nausea, cramps, headaches, and exhaustion assailed me. I might finally break down and go to a doctor about it as soon as I finish this cycle. I think I've got PCOS, which makes everything just swell, so... yeah…. Plus depression and anxiety and lack of motivation or energy (aren't we all battling that lately?). I also haven't been sleeping well for months. I hate going to the doctors so I avoid it. But my body feels like it is really breaking down on me the last couple of years and my family deserves better, so I probably need to suck it up and see if there's anything to be done. Bleargh.

And (being more a small annoyance) to add insult to injury, my favorite soda pop here in the USA, Coke Zero, was sold out at the store so I tried Pepsi Zero instead and it was gross. I like both Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi so I thought it would be fine. It wasn't. Grr. I've also been unable to find another favorite of mine—peach flavored Fresca. And the new liquid hand soap I bought for the bathrooms is totally watered down compared to how it used to be, which is also frustrating and weird.

[Done for now]

Thank you to my betas — Iforgottocall and dizzysappedweak! They are so helpful and I really appreciate their help in shaping this story to be better and cheering me on. I am very lucky they are helping me out.