"Ron! Ginny! Harry! Time to go!" Mrs Weasley called to them.
It was a Friday morning two days before the first of September, and Harry and Ron were watching Ginny fling an old Quaffle at Mrs Black's portrait from halfway down the main hall. The curtains were propped open with a forked stick. That anything as ordinary as a Quaffle could get anywhere near it was something of an oversight; before she died Mrs. Black had done everything she could to protect the painting from magical attacks and sharp objects. Apparently she never thought people might simply throw things at her. An Imperturbable charm would have prevented her present distress.
Earlier in the summer before the portrait had taken to hiding from her Ginny was able to do this more frequently. Now it seemed the only thing that could provoke Mrs Black to open up was the sound of Hermione's voice, and when the teens realized that they coaxed Hermione into talking loudly near her on purpose. In another week the old lady would have learned not to fall for that trick.
Kreacher tried to interfere of course, but he was slow and arthritic, and very stiff from spending most of his time brooding in his cupboard. In any case Ginny saw throwing it past him as part of the challenge. Hermione didn't like seeing the old house elf in distress and sometimes tried to entice him away from the theater of battle with some Black family trinket that hadn't been disposed of yet. Today she wasn't paying attention because she, Harry, the Weasleys, and Remus were preparing to take a day trip to The Burrow.
*
Several things of note had happened in the three weeks that Harry stayed at 12 Grimmauld Place:
Amid embraces, tears, and heartfelt pleas to be careful, The Order's advance team departed for Central Asia with Fleur as the fifth member. Thereafter Bill was never far from Ginny's thoughts, although to the casual observer she appeared normal.
Molly Weasley more than made good on her promise to bake him a bigger birthday cake. A day after Hermione arrived there was a spirited birthday party in his honor, in which several members of The Order had chipped in for gifts clearly intended to help him become an Auror. He now had his own Foe Glass, a wand holster that attached comfortably to his forearm, and several more interesting books on fighting the Dark Arts.
Hermione successfully brewed the potion for her Pensieve, but was still experimenting with what runes to use. She also read through Harry's Occlumency book, and found the task of clearing all thoughts from her mind even more difficult than he did. Finally, she was interviewed by Fortuna and Foretescue about her role in the Department of Mysteries incident; they learned nothing much from her they hadn't been told already.
A cursory review of the documents recovered with the dark artifacts from Malfoy Manor did not reveal what might be in the Book of Serpents or where it had come from. They did however make reference to a number of rare old Dark Arts texts that would probably contain related if incomplete information. It was obvious enough The Order was going to have to piece the story together; some of the books were available, some were lost, and some were written in runes that had never been translated. Sorting through them was going to be a daunting research project.
Numerous meetings of The Order (all of them attended by Harry) had made it clear Voldemort must have decided on new tactics before departing: His Death Eaters were now conducting random attacks on the homes of Muggle-born witches and wizards. But rather than sending up the Dark Mark, they would leave evidence suggesting some horrible accident had happened. The purpose, evidently, was to put more pressure on the Ministry's already burdened resources investigating these crime scenes. It fell to The Order to devise ways of protecting the summer residences of Muggle-born Hogwarts students, Minister Fudge being typically uncooperative on that point.
Albus Dumbledore made time after a few of these meetings to conduct Occlumency lessons with Harry. It remained a mystery to the young wizard whether he was making any progress at all, but the Headmaster seemed pleased.
He continued to receive emotional sensations from Voldemort. The Dark Lord mistakenly thought nothing would pass through their connection while he was on the other side of the world, and allowed his anger at the difficulties of his search to flare up. However muted at Harry's end, they were definitely present.
He had three dreams about Voldemort and his Death Easters that were aggravating and mostly useless, because it was as though he was watching them through the wrong end of a telescope. They were sitting in a crude wooden hovel somewhere discussing the still unrecovered artifact, and almost certainly mentioned it by name. Thanks to the muffled sound the only thing Harry could tell for sure was that it was indeed another book.
The most notable event by far from Harry's persepective was the private memorial they held for Sirius in the rear garden. All of the Weasleys minus Bill, Charlie, and Percy were there, as were Albus Dumbledore, Nymphadora's mother Andromeda Tonks, and every member of the Order of the Phoenix still in England. Except, of course, Severus Snape, which was good. Sirius wouldn't have wanted him around, and Harry certainly didn't. The greasy git probably would have rejoiced that Sirius was dead anyway.
Remus implicitly understood this was one occasion when his own habitual reserve wouldn't do and took it upon himself to lead their ceremony, though Dumbledore was willing. He started by telling the assembled group the same thing he'd told Harry, Ron, and Hermione three years earlier: what it had meant to grow up a werewolf, isolated from other children, and then have a friend like Sirius who not only didn't shun him but even became an Animagus to keep him company when the moon was full. And what hell it had been for Sirius in Azkaban when everyone in the wizarding world was convinced he'd betrayed his best friends. And how regaining one of those friends had restored his spirits. And what a balm to his psyche it had been to win Harry's trust after he escaped. And continue to have it while he was a fugitive.
Tears that were but a fraction of the ocean still damned up inside him had glistened in Harry's eyes while he listened to the impromptu eulogy. He still couldn't release it though, however much part of him desperately wanted to. Instead he found the strength somewhere in all that roiling water to say a few words of his own.
"Sirius had more than my trust. He had...." Harry finished the thought with a sigh of resignation and spread his hands wide. He needed a word that didn't exist, a word encompassing all the things Sirius had been to him. Fortunately, the others took him at his meaning well enough.
*
It could fairly be said that the impetus for their trip to The Burrow arose in part because of the memorial, for in the days aftwards Harry became even more moody and withdrawn despite his best efforts not to. Living in the Black family home probably didn't help. It was almost certain to induce more brooding about Sirius. Indeed, he found himself spending part of each day in Buckbeak's room doing just that.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny did what they could to take his mind off things, though they all missed Sirius too. Their efforts, unfortunately, were somewhat offset by those of Mrs. Weasley. She tried to cheer Harry up as well, and couldn't understand why he became stiff and unresponsive when she did. He would have saved both of them some frustration if he'd explained that it bothered him she had so little respect for Sirius when Sirius was alive, but he didn't.
By the end of August the air at Order headquarters was emotionally fraught. It was hoped, by general consensus, that a change of scenery would provide all of them with some relief.
The plan was to spend the day and one night at The Burrow, spend the next day in Diagon Alley buying school supplies and the night at The Leaky Cauldron, then head to Kings Cross Station for the trip to Hogwarts the morning after. They might have spent a few more days away were it not for the full moon, which fell on the 28th; Remus would do better if given a day to recover from his transformation.
In any case it was probably safer, in light of current events, to venture out of their hiding place for only a couple days. The difficulty for their group lay in getting to The Burrow unnoticed. The Knight Bus wouldn't do. They needed a Portkey. Mr Weasley finally came up with a pretext about moving some Muggle objects, and the Department of Magical Transportation gave him authorization.
When they arrived at The Burrow it was dusty and apparently derelict; Molly and Arthur had been dropping in to make sure nothing major was broken, but otherwise left things as they were to give any potential Death Eater spies the impression the Weasley family had abandoned the property. There was no sign anyone else had disturbed it.
Harry's mood did improve a bit as they brought their trunks upstairs. This lopsided old house held a lot of happy memories for him. Even all the clanging and banging the ghoul in the attic put up when it realized the Weasleys were home was oddly comforting. The only thing missing were periodic explosions from what had been Fred and George's room.
Once they were settled in Ron suggested they go out to the orchard for a little Quidditch practice. Hermione didn't think enough of that idea to want to participate herself, and Remus was still wobbly from the full moon two days earlier, but both were content to watch. And it would give Hermione a chance to pick Remus' brain about runes for her Pensieve.
All was well until they got up the hill. Hermione and Remus found an acceptable patch of grass, and Ron and Ginny took to the air. Harry was getting ready to join them when he was belatedly struck by a painful realization that been percolating under the surface, waiting for an opportunity to barge into the light of day. He leaned back hard against a tree and stared at nothing in particular, idly shifting his broomstick from one hand to the other. It took a moment before anyone noticed.
"Harry!" called Ron. "Come on mate! We've only got a day!" He flew back to the ground with Ginny close behind. Hermione and Remus came over to find out what was happening.
Something bleeding well was, and the way he'd been behaving all summer they could have easily guessed what. His eyes traveled from one to the next as though he wished they wouldn't make him explain himself. When they continued waiting for him to speak, he took a deep breath.
"He... it was...." Harry managed in a husky voice.
"He was what Harry?" Hermione prompted him when it seemed he wasn't going to say more.
Harry worked his mouth to no effect, gestured with the broomstick, and met their eyes again as if pleading with them to understand.
Almost at the same time Remus and Hermione caught on: Sirius had given him the Firebolt. It was a wonder not a one of them had thought about that until now.
"He would have wanted you to fly," said Remus gently but firmly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That's why he bought it for you."
"He'll never get to see me do it though, will he?" Harry replied.
"Who would have wanted..." Ginny started to ask until she put two and two together. Her eyes widened and she put her hand in front of her opened mouth.
For once Ron was fast on the uptake. "Sirius gave it to him during our third year," he whispered in her ear, confirming her intuition.
"No Harry, he won't, but he still would have wanted you to use his gift," said Remus. "I've told you before, he always raved about that one match he saw you play. And that letter you wrote him describing how you used your Firebolt to get around the Hungarian Horntail? He read it so many time he practically wore it out."
Harry felt cornered more than mollified. He wanted to come up with a counterargument and couldn't. Ron and Hermione were standing slightly behind Remus, looking helplessly at each other as though thinking, "How can we help him now?"
"Do you just want to stay here and think about it for awhile?" Ginny asked.
It occurred to Harry, seeing the weariness of his old professor, that all his agonizing over a broomstick might be putting Remus through the wringer too. And so soon after a full moon. He felt ashamed.
"I'd... I'll... I'll come fly with you," Harry decided. He stood up straight then but his eyes were still full of tumoil. Everyone else seemed relieved.
As had happened so many times before, Harry discovered being in the air made his troubles melt away. Or in this case, recede somewhat. With only three people they couldn't really play a game, so they tossed the Quaffle back and forth for awhile, then Harry and Ginny tried to throw it past Ron guarding some makeshift goals.
In spite of all that there was to distract him, Harry was struck for the first time by how supple Ginny was handling her broom, and how fluidly she threw a Quaffle, and how the sun glinted off her firey hair, and how cute she was... Gods! Where had that notion come from, he wondered?
He didn't wonder for long, because Ron was challenging him to catch apples before they hit the ground, and of course Harry had to comply. A few exhilarating dives and swoops later Ginny threw one straight down, provoking a wan smile from Harry. He landed beside the apple, picked it up, and went back to Ginny.
"Here, you dropped this one," he deadpanned.
Ginny took it from him, feigned a snort of indignation, and immediately flung it as high in the air as she could. Harry shot after the apple, his path taking him well above the tree line, and caught it with ease. But almost immediately he let it go. Off in the distance moving in the general direction of Otteray St. Catchpole was a group of five dementors.
"Harry, come on and get this one!" called Ron, throwing a small apple as far as he could opposite the way Harry was facing. Harry ignored him. Very faintly the sound of a girl or woman screaming reached his ears.
"Dementors!" He shouted behind him. "They're attacking the village!"
He tore off after the creatures without looking back to see if anyone was following, hoping to get there in time to drive them off before one of them administered a Kiss. Being seen by a Muggle was the least of his concerns.
Luck was with him for once. They were in a field clustered around a blond-haired girl lying on the grass sobbing, but hadn't touched her yet. She appeared to be about his age.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM" Harry bellowed, and Prongs cantered into their midst kicking backwards and butting headwards to clear space. Harry flew circles above them, ordering his Patronus to attack first this one, then that one, until they were quite widely scattered. Although echos of Voldemort murdering his parents still bubbled in the back of his mind, he decided he could safely land long enough to pull the girl onto his broom.
That turned out to be a slight miscalculation, because as soon as Prongs dissipated two of the dementors came gliding back. Harry quickly considered his options. He could get back in the air, hold them at bay, and wait for help, or he could drive the two off and get her out of there. Not knowing how soon his friends would arrive or even if they were on their way, he settled on the second course of action.
The first happy memory that came to him was that all too brief interval when he'd accepted the truth of Sirius' innocence and thought he would be moving in with his Godfather away from the Dursleys forever.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM" Harry bellowed again, then nearly dropped his wand. Instead of the great stag, a silvery dog the size of a bear shot out and went for the throat of the nearest dementor. Except for the color there was no mistaking it as anything other than Padfoot.
Flustered by the change in form to his Patronus, Harry lost critical seconds he needed to help the girl up and onto his broom. The other three dementors were coming back. He was about to give up and fly above them as he'd done before when a mounted knight vaulted over his head and pounded into a dementor behind him, a wolf tore into another near it, and a giant otter mugged another off to his left. He might have laughed at the sight if the situation hadn't been so dire. Instead Harry used the temporary reprieve they provided to urge the girl to her feet, get the Firebolt under both of them, and kick off the ground.
Now airborne, he could see Ginny and Remus on one broom and Ron and Hermione balanced on the other. Remus Disapparated as soon as he saw that Harry was OK. Ginny looked angry about something. Ron looked triumphant. Hermione looked like she'd much rather be standing on her own two feet, a bad alternative at the moment given what she would encounter if she did.
"Let's get to The Burrow," Harry said, flying away with one arm protectively around the girl's waist and the other reaching past her to hold the broom handle. It was not until after they landed that he realized he'd saved Luna Lovegood.
*
Mrs Weasley nearly had a heart attack when Remus Apparated right into the kitchen of The Burrow. She was even more put out when she got the impression, from the story he related in a rush, that he was letting the children deal with the dementors by themselves. It took some more fast explaining on his part to stop her from telling him what she thought of that. By the time the teens returned Remus was alerting The Ministry and then the village via the Floo network that dementors were in their midst, and Molly was digging up some chocolate. Luna ate most of what little they had, being most in need of it, but Harry had a portion as well; dementors still had a powerful effect on him.
"I can't believe I did it! That was the first time I've ever made a fully formed Patronus!" Ron exulted. He shocked himself by openly hugging Hermione. Ginny's mood soured in direct proportion to his enthusiasm, but he didn't notice.
There was nothing dreamy about Luna's voice. She was so beside herself she couldn't speak without it coming out in weepy, gasping breaths. "I tried and tried to cast it... There were so many of them... I couldn't even remember the spell at the end...."
While Remus and Molly did their best to comfort her, Harry tried to sort out the confusion he felt about his Patronus. Was the new form permanent? Did he want it to be? He wanted to see Prongs again. On the other hand, he wanted to see Padfoot again.
Only Hermione seemed to come out of the encounter with emotional equanimity.
Whatever its differing causes, mutual distress must have been what drove Harry to seek privacy in The Burrows' back yard moments after Ginny did. Once there he was jolted from his own thoughts by something unusual. He'd seen her star struck and tongue tied, he'd seen her feisty, sassy, funny, and self-assured, but this was the first time Harry had seen Ginny so hacked off she was stomping around kicking dirt clods and tufts of grass.
"Something eating you?" he asked semi-rhetorically.
She spun around and glared at him with mingled surprise and fury. "I couldn't cast one! I still can't cast one! I'm useless against them!" she burst out.
"A Patronus?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Harry a Patronus! What did you think I meant, a Flossing Charm!?" she yelled.
Their eyes widened in shock simultaneously, hers because she couldn't believe she'd spoken that way to Harry, and Harry because he'd never been on the receiving end of a Weasley fit. Well, apart from last year's incident when he'd accused her of not looking at him and she'd accused him of not looking at her.
After they'd both gotten a grip on themselves, Harry made an effort to reassure her.
"Gin, it's no surprise you're having a hard time casting a corporeal Patronus. It's a really tough spell. Even trained adult wizards have trouble with it."
Or so Remus had told him.
"You could cast one when you were thirteen," she countered. "Hermione told me."
"I... OK, that's true, but I was desperate," Harry said. "Every time a dementor came near me I passed out. I absolutely had to learn how to defend myself from them. And even at that it took weeks and weeks of practice before I got it."
"Well I'm getting desperate. I don't pass out, but I'm almost paralyzed when they're near me. What if five of those things had caught me alone? What if just one caught me alone? A little silver cloud sure wouldn't have helped much, would it?"
"Do you want to practice with me then?" Harry asked before he even realized what he was saying.
A combination of anxiety, frustration, affection, relief, anger, hope, and embarrassment battled for control of Ginny's face.
"Yeah, OK."
They lined up shoulder to shoulder, and Harry explained the spell again.
"I guess you know the incantation. But the really important thing is coming up with a happy memory. Maybe the ones you've been using haven't been happy enough."
Ginny struggled to turn her mind to happy thoughts.
"Expecto Patronum!" she called out, and again produced a formless silver cloud.
"Dammit!"
He waited for her to calm down a little then encouraged her to try again. Unfortunately, the results were no better the second time. She kicked at the ground dejectedly.
"Maybe I'll never be able to do one."
Harry thought fast. "Gin, remember last year at the Ravenclaw - Gryffindor match, when Ron saved all those goals and you caught the snitch to win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup? Remember the big party in the common room afterwards? Didn't all that make you happy?"
"Yes" she snapped, unable to hide her irritation. "I've tried using that memory you know."
"All right, but concentrate on what it felt like. Concentrate on what it felt like when Gryffindor could turn that wretched song the Slytherins were singing against them. Concentrate (at this point Harry felt a little guilty for what he was about to say) on what it felt like to beat an experienced seeker like Cho when you were playing only your second match at that position. Concentrate on the way everyone was congratulating you at the party. Don't say anything, don't cast the spell yet, just concentrate on the memory."
She did, and some of the tension left her shoulders. Unwittingly, Harry had employed a devastatingly effective piece of psychology by invoking Cho's name.
"Now try it" said Harry.
Ginny raised her wand and recited "Expecto Patronum!"
This time something with a long body, four legs, a head, and a tail came out. It was too indistinct to call it a particular animal, yet too well formed to be a cloud. Ginny let out a sigh that was an impossible mix of elation and misery.
"Hey, you're really getting close," Harry said encouragingly. "Maybe for now you really have to get your mind into the happy moment, but it'll get easier the more times you do it."
She sighed again, "I've had enough. Show me yours."
Now it was Harry's turn to feel a mixture of anxiety and hope. What form would his Patronus take?
He invoked the spell, and was both relieved and disappointed when Prongs galloped to the far end of the yard and back.
"That doesn't look like the one you cast half an hour ago" Ginny said, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Err no, it's... that's... my Patronus normally looks like a stag. I don't know why it looked like a dog earlier. That's sort of why I came out here in the first place. I wanted to cast it and see what it would be," said Harry.
She let out a bitter laugh. "Great. I'm upset because I can't cast one, and you're upset because you can cast two."
Ron came bounding onto the back porch before Harry had a chance to reply and called to them.
"Harry! Ginny! What are you doing out here? Come back inside. Luna's father just came in through the fireplace. He wants to thank you for saving her, Harry!"
Harry glanced at Ginny, who was doing her best to put on a mask of impassivity. Ron had wounded her without even knowing it.
"I'll sort Ron out later," he whispered to her and started toward the house.
"You'd better. If I do it he won't be alive by the end," she muttered to no one.
*
Mycaelis Lovegood, owner and executive editor of The Quibbler, did not strike Harry as an imposing wizard. He was of medium height, had a lumpy, pear-shaped physique, curly light brown hair that seemed to be all cowlicks, a nose that twisted slightly to the right, and an upper lip that twitched slightly to the left, yet for all that the effect of his appearance was engaging in a lopsided, ungainly way. Luna must have gotten her looks from her mother. Except the eyes. Father and daughter had the same slightly protuberant mad eyes.
He strode forward eagerly and clasped Harry's right hand in both of his.
"I'm so glad to meet you at last Mr. Potter! And I'm so glad you were there to save my Luna! After losing my dear Idira I couldn't bear to lose Luna too!"
"Thank you" he managed with a weak smile, ill at ease to find himself the hero yet again. "I, err, had loads of help though. My friends kept the dementors away while I got Luna on my broomstick."
Something about Lovegood's manner put Harry instantly in mind of all the off-the-wall things printed in Lovegood's newspaper, and it made him feel uneasy about this meeting. He didn't want to talk about Umbugular Slashkilters and Red-Breasted Gooputs, or pretend that his Godfather was really Stubby Boardman. At the same time Harry understood only too well how Mr. Lovegood felt about wanting to keep what he had left of his family.
More than that, he owed both Lovegoods: Ron and Ginny might not have survived the battle in the Department of Mysteries if it wasn't for Luna, and The Quibbler had gotten the story of Voldemort's return out to the public when no one except his closest friends and assorted students believed him. Of course Mr. Lovegood had made a tidy profit from that but still....
"Oh no no no, all thanks goes to you sir. And do you know, people are still writing in asking for back issues of that edition we did on you? It's into its third printing! Don't get me wrong, our current series on hunting Fubbalos is doing well, but its nothing like yours."
Harry had no idea what to say to that, and was silently grateful when Mrs. Weasley came back into the livingroom to ask Mr. Lovegood something. It was then that he noticed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny behind him looking bewildered at Luna, who was shaking with suppressed laughter. Evidently she'd recovered from the dementors.
"Why... why did you... put it... put it... there?" Luna asked between gasps and giggles.
Harry's face went blank with incomprehension. "Put what where?"
He, Ron, and Hermione starred at each other in various stages of puzzlement, while Ginny seemed to have caught on to something and was hiding a grin. Whatever Luna was on about this time, it was going to be good.
Lovegood got control of herself before answering.
"You've got a Halikharv Glyph of Protection... on... your... your... your BUM!" she managed to get out amid renewed fits of laughter.
Harry twisted around self-consciously to inspect his backside, but the only thing out of the ordinary he saw was the swirling purple Bubble Blasters gum splotch on the right rear pocket of his Muggle jeans. Once again, understanding dawned as if a candle had lit up in his head.
"Erm...."
"But you know," Luna went on a little breathlessly, her voice regaining some of its dreamy quality, "people usually put them over their heart or on their forehead. Do you have yours where you do to help with your broom riding?"
She eyed him speculatively and dissolved into shrieking laughter again.
"It's there by accident," Harry started to explain, then gave up the attempt as futile. Luna wouldn't believe the mundane truth. Instead he leaned in close to Hermione and asked if there was such a thing as a Halikharv Glyph of Protection.
"Oh, I'd say they're as real as everything else you've read in The Quibbler" " she replied with amused exasperation.
"Luna, what were you doing in that field?" Ginny asked conversationally to change the subject.
"Oh yes, that's very interesting. I was looking for Moss Nuddlers. They're really good for thickening up potions." She either didn't see or chose to ignore the smirks and eye rollings that followed this statement.
His discussion with Mrs Weasley apparently finished, Mr. Lovegood returned his attention to them. "Luna dear, it's time we were going. Thank you again Harry," he said cheerfully, shaking Harry's hand one more time. "If you ever need my help just be sure to ask."
"Yes, thanks Harry," Luna said to him dreamily. "You'll have to lead Defense Association classes again you know. There are too many of us who still can't drive off dementors."
As the Lovegoods Flooed their way home Ron, Ginny, and Hermione beamed at him.
"That's four votes in favor of continuing the DA, Harry," said Ron.
Flustered, Harry could only stammer, "Well keep counting then."
The rest of the afternoon and evening went by peacefully enough. Mrs. Weasley praised Harry for saving Luna's life, and mildly scolded him for charging into yet another dangerous situation. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Hermione and Remus picked up their earlier discussion about runes for her pensieve. Arthur came home. They ate dinner in the back yard, (at long last Crookshanks caught one of the garden gnomes, then discovered he had no idea what to do with it), recounted the day's events, played some games of wizard chess, listened to the WWN, talked about what they would do tomorrow in Diagon Alley, and speculated about who or what Dumbledore may have hired as Defense teacher.
All in all, the purpose Remus and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had in bringing everyone to The Burrow was more or less fulfilled. Outwardly, Harry's mood did seem better. But long after he'd gone up to bed he was trying to make sense of his emotions, both for things connected to Sirius like his Firebolt and his Patronus, and for a new factor: how did he really feel about Ginny Weasley?
A/N: The scene in which Harry has an emotional crisis over the "paternity" of his Firebolt was inspired by FermWithy's story "Cry With The Moon," which can be found on Sugar Quill at http://www.sugarquill.net/read.php?storyid=1420&chapno=1
A measure of praise must also go to Sarah for writing "Fitting Out." Reading her story gave me a better sense of Luna Lovegood's character and what to do with it. My Luna wouldn't have come within a mile of the ballpark without her Luna showing me the way. "Fitting Out" can be found on Sugar Quill at http://www.sugarquill.net/read.php?storyid=1426&chapno=1.