PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: Caleb Nova

Story: That Terrifying Momentum

Part: 7: Remember October, November? Part 1

Rating: Teens

Setting: AU

Status: WIP

Reviews: 8

Words: 10,255

Updated: July 30, 2008, 11:49am

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7: Remember October, November? Part 1

Breakfast had never been Neville Longbottom’s favourite part of the day for a couple of reasons.

He had a history of receiving embarrassing packages – Howlers, for one – even on weekends. His Gran also always ended up sending him whatever he had forgotten to pack before leaving on the Hogwarts Express (like underclothes). Thus it was no surprise that he viewed the coming of the post owls with some trepidation. The last thing he wanted was another delivery that he would be mortified to open in front of his classmates.

The second reason was that he had never been a morning person. If he had it his way, the world wouldn’t start moving until noon. Still, the breakfast offerings at Hogwarts were uniformly delicious, and that offered a good incentive to make it down in time to partake.

He was running somewhat late this particular morning and jogged into the Great Hall with his clothing still askew. His friends were all involved in conversation at the Gryffindor table, but Scott looked up from his plate long enough to spot Neville and wave him over. Neville gratefully took the seat next to Scott and immediately began piling his plate.

“Pace yourself,” Scott advised him. “Dip your other food into your eggs – it’s more efficient.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were discussing something about Hagrid, a conversation that neither Neville nor Scott felt qualified to join. Between mouthfuls, the two of them fell into the topic of the Quidditch tryouts that were to be held that morning.

“Are you going to watch the tryouts?” Neville asked the taller boy.

Scott nodded, swallowing a wad of scone. “It’ll be good for a laugh if nothing else. Have you seen the signup sheet? It’s gonna be amateur hour out there with Harry’s Harem.”

“I bet there will be a few good players,” Neville said reasonably.

“Harry better hope so, or he’s shit out of luck.”

“I’m out of luck with what?” Harry had heard them and leaned across the table questioningly.

“Finding good players,” Neville mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.

“With all the signups and crap,” Scott clarified.

“There’s been loads this year,” Harry said. He looked both confused about this fact and nervous. “I dunno why Quidditch is the rage all of a sudden.”

This caused Hermione to launch into an aggravated spiel about how Harry was the cause of the popularity and not the sport itself. Though Harry looked mortified and Ron dispirited, Neville privately agreed with her assessment. Harry had been drawing admiring stares and whispers in every hallway and classroom. In the past Neville had often wished that he could be a celebrity and garner that kind of attention, but lately he didn’t envy his dorm mate quite so much. Harry’s fame seemed to cause him more pain than it was worth, which wasn’t to suggest that Neville would have minded a few fawning girls.

“She’s right,” Scott was saying to Harry. “You’re the big man on campus this year – you could be scoring more ass than a toilet seat.”

Neville drowned a laugh in his glass of juice while Harry blushed slightly. Put in Harry’s place, Neville knew that he would have gone beet red, but he was comfortably on the sidelines.

“Well, what about you?” Harry shot back, trying to remove the focus from himself. “Ever since you tripped Snape, you’ve been the hero. Remember those Hufflepuff girls outside of Potions?”

Ron snorted into his kipper, and Neville wondered exactly what had happened with those Hufflepuff girls outside of Potions.

“Ah, my adoring public,” Scott reminisced. “And yet, fame is fleeting. I should have asked for their common room password. Too bad Hermione had to come and interrupt.”

“You should be glad I did!” Hermione lambasted him. “Their conduct was verging on lewd, and in a hallway no less!” She turned her glare on Ron. “And my fellow prefect was no help whatsoever.”

“C’mon, it wasn’t ‘lewd’,” Ron scoffed. “I can’t give a girl detention for asking about his wand size…”

Their argument appeared perfectly capable of sustaining itself without outside interference, so Harry ignored them and asked Scott, “So you’re coming to the tryouts then?”

“I’ll be your moral support,” Scott said importantly. “Nev said he’s coming too.”

“I’ll be there, Harry,” Neville affirmed.

Once he had finished his food, Neville left the table before the others so that he could stop by the common room and check on his plants like he did every morning after breakfast. Surprisingly, Scott went with him, saying that there was something he had to do.

Most of the students were still at breakfast, and the hallways remained largely empty. Scott, who was normally very talkative, said nothing as they made their way towards the tower. He stared at the floor with a slight frown.

“What are you thinking about?” Neville ventured.

Scott looked up, snapping out of his reverie. “Huh? Nothing. Have you seen Luna lately?”

Neville was a little startled at the sudden inquiry but answered, “Not for a couple days. She’s in Ravenclaw, you know, so we don’t get to see her much.”

“Yeah, that’s too bad,” Scott said. “But at least she gets to talk to you, right?”

“I try to catch her after classes sometimes,” Neville explained, “I think she feels left out with all of us in a different house, and her housemates don’t treat her very well…”

Scott nodded. “Sounds like she needs you to be her friend. Next time you see her, try and get her to hang out with us on the weekends when she can. That would be cool.”

“I will,” Neville pledged. Luna probably was lonely. Neville knew that he would be if he was in her position.

Their dormitory was empty, all of the other boys in their year being elsewhere. Neville watered and tended his plants while Scott watched him from the foot of his bed. He looked at Scott curiously. “What was it you had to do?”

“I already did it.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Neville hadn’t seen Scott do anything but sit around, but he decided not to press the issue. “I’m ready to go.”

They went downstairs from the boys’ dormitory and through the common room, which was becoming more crowded as students filtered in from breakfast. For the academically inclined, there were textbooks to read and nearly forgotten essays to revise (or finish) before classes started again on Monday. A general mutter of conversation filled the space, originating from the chairs and couches and filtering down from the dorms above. The morning sunlight streamed in through the tower windows and danced across the floor in shifting rays.

Scott and Neville were moving towards the exit when Scott ran smack into Trevor, or, rather, Trevor ran smack into Scott. The boisterous first year bounced off of Scott’s legs and onto his rear. He looked up to identify the source of his unexpected halt, and his face broke into a wide smile.

“Scott!” Trevor said excitedly, apparently not at all bothered by the fact that he had just been knocked to the floor. “Are you going to the Quidditch tryouts?”

“Yeah, we are. This is Trevor,” Scott said to Neville. “We were boat buddies on the lake trip.”

Neville immediately thought of his toad but supposed that Trevor was a pretty common name. “Hello,” he greeted the first year.

“Hey,” Trevor said, barely sparing Neville a glance. He jumped back to his feet. “C’mon then! They’re going to start soon. We’d better hurry!” he said breathlessly.

“Alright, we’re going,” Scott said with exaggerated patience. “Did you tell Kylie about them?”

“Yeah,” Trevor replied dismissively. “She didn’t care.” Trevor looked as if he couldn’t even conceive of the idea that someone wouldn’t be interested in Quidditch tryouts.

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough. She shouldn’t be here by herself while everyone is at the tryout. That sucks. Go tell her that we’re all going, and tell her that I’d like it if she came.”

“I can’t; she’s in her room,” Trevor said impatiently.

“Yeah? Alright, hold on.” Scott walked to the steps leading to the girls’ dorm, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “HEY, KYLIE!” which caused the majority of people in the common room to nearly die of cardiac arrest.

Neville winced apologetically at the outraged looks some of the students were sending his way. Scott was ignoring them, so Neville felt himself a major target due to his proximity to the perpetrator, and guilty by association.

Kylie came running to the stairway, trembling from head to toe. She stopped at the edge and stared down into the common room as if she were expecting to see a serial killer standing amidst the bodies of her classmates, calling her down so he could finish the job.

Instead she found only Scott, who greeted her with a small wave. “Hey Kylie. We’re going to the Quidditch tryouts. How about you come with us?”

She gawked at him, still frozen to the spot.

“Come on; it’ll be fun. And we gotta support the house team, right, Trevor?”

“That’s right!” Trevor fervently agreed.

“Okay,” Kylie whispered. She wasn’t really whispering, Neville supposed, but she had a soft, breathy voice and never spoke above a murmur. She scurried down to them and hovered close to Scott.

As per usual, Neville nearly tripped on his way out of the portrait hole. Scott caught the back of his robes with a swift hand before he could tumble the rest of the way. “Makes you wonder how many people have killed themselves stepping through this thing,” was his only comment.

“No one on my watch,” the Fat Lady retorted haughtily.

It was a wet and cold day as they stepped outside on their way to the Quidditch pitch. The sun was obscured by an overcast sky, and the air was correspondingly chilly. School scarves were in abundant display on student uniforms, the severe black of the robes contrasting with the bright house colours adorning necks and shoulders. Still, the wind wasn’t bitter, and conditions were clear, so it was a decent day for flying.

The stadium loomed large against the verdant backdrop of the Hogwarts grounds and Neville was again struck by its sheer size. Judging from the dull roar emanating from within, there were a good number of people in attendance. Trevor ran ahead of them, unable to contain himself. The rest of the group walked through the ground level entrance and out onto the pitch.

Neville had attended several Quidditch tryouts in the past, and he had never seen it so crowded before. Harry’s shouting drifted back to them from across the stadium as he attempted to marshal what appeared to be a small army. At least three students were dazedly sitting on the sidelines, sporting the bedraggled appearance of recent crash victims. Neville recognised a lot of the faces awaiting their turn on the pitch – and they were not Quidditch players. Harry had a long morning ahead of him.

“See? What did I tell ya?” Scott said, pointing towards a large gathering of giggling girls, all of whom were sending sly glances Harry’s way. “Harry’s Harem. They’re not here to play Quidditch – they just want to beat his Bludgers, and/or polish his broomstick.”

Neville hadn’t a clue how he was going to respond to that, but he was saved from having to by Trevor, who was wildly waving at them from the stands closest to the tryout. “OVER HERE!” he shouted at them. “I’VE GOT SOME GREAT SEATS!”

This proved to be a somewhat empty claim since the majority of people present were actually out on the field, and the stands were practically empty. The four of them settled themselves on the very first row and watched as Harry supervised the catastrophic flight of a group of first years.

“Should’ve brought a camera,” Scott muttered as one of the luckless neophytes ran directly into a goal post. He drew in a sharp breath and made a sound that should have been sympathy but was at least nine-tenths glee when the boy fell off his broom and landed with all the grace of a plummeting anvil. “He’ll be feeling that in the morning.”

“I think he’s feeling it now,” Neville said, watching the first year futilely attempt to get back on his feet.

The next test flight was no more successful. Harry grew visibly frustrated at a giggling group of girls who had no business trying out for an elementary broom-riding class, much less a Quidditch team. At the breakfast table, Scott had claimed to be Harry’s moral support, but instead of projecting any encouraging emotions towards the beleaguered Quidditch Captain, the energetic American was deriving an inordinate amount of entertainment from Harry’s suffering. And Neville had to admit, it was pretty funny. He wouldn’t have said that within arm’s reach of Harry though.

The stands were slowly beginning to fill as both latecomers and the rejected trickled into them. The Beaters began their test runs, circling the stadium air in hot pursuit of the Bludgers.

“I think I’m beginning to understand this game,” Scott said to Neville as one of the applicants barely avoided taking a Bludger to the face. Kylie had practically burrowed herself underneath Scott’s arm, using it as a shield from any potential wayward projectiles. “It’s like NASCAR — you only watch because somebody might get killed.”

The tryout for the Beaters finished without any major injuries, to Scott’s apparent disappointment. It was time for the Keepers to show their stuff. Ron was looking pale as he passed by them to line up for his turn. Neville gave him a thumbs up while Scott shouted, “Block the holes, and that stops the goals!”

Neville still hadn’t figured where he stood with Scott. He considered Scott a friend, but more of in an acquaintance type of way than any really deep capacity. Apart from his being an exchange student, Neville knew nothing about the blond boy. Still, Scott had always treated Neville with a friendly camaraderie, so Neville was glad to return it. It was the right thing to do, and he took his friends where he could find them.

And speaking (or thinking) of friends, the familiar wispy blond hair of Luna Lovegood came into view on his right, bobbing through the crowd towards them.

“Luna!” Neville called to her, catching the girl’s attention. He waved her over to them and shifted to make some room, the other three following suit.

“Hey, Luna,” Scott said when she sat next to them. His eyes were firmly fixed on the Keepers, and especially Ron, who was looking greener by the minute as he came nearer the front of the line. Trevor didn’t even seem to notice that Luna had joined them, and Kylie, of course, said nothing.

“Hello,” she replied in that dreamy manner of hers. “It’s a nice day for Quidditch.”

Neville looked up at the overcast skies but didn’t contradict her. “Did you have a late breakfast?”

“No, I was looking for one of my books,” Luna said, and held up a wet and raggedy copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5. It was obvious that someone had thrown it into a toilet. “I found it.”

Neville felt the uncharacteristic stab of anger that he always did when things like that happened to Luna. What had the Sorting Hat been thinking, putting her in Ravenclaw? They treated her so badly.

“You know who did it?” Scott asked Luna, meeting her eyes for the first time.

Luna looked closely at him, as if she had seen him before somewhere and was trying to place him. “No, I don’t. You have grey eyes like me.”

“Yours are more silvery than mine,” Scott said, turning his attention back to the tryouts. “If you ever find out who it was, let me know.”

“Alright,” Luna said amicably, as if it were an everyday request. “Would you like to know too, Neville?”

“Yes, I would,” Neville answered firmly. Luna returned her gaze to the pitch and missed the approving nod Scott gave Neville.

Ron’s turn had come to guard the posts, and Neville mentally crossed his fingers. The last candidate had done quite well, and Ron would have to really come through to win his position. Neville spotted Hermione sitting down at the other end of the first row of stands, and she was physically crossing her fingers. Neville knew that Ron had it in him to succeed if he could only get over his recurrent nerves.

Ron must have realised the same thing, because he saved a perfect five out of five goals and reaffirmed his place on the Gryffindor team. Neville clapped and cheered for his friend as Hermione came running down from the stands to congratulate Ron.

“He’s quite good, isn’t he,” Luna remarked.

“That’s my boy,” Scott sniffed, wiping away a fake tear.

“I’d like to try out for Beater someday,” Trevor said, gazing rapturously down at the now completed Gryffindor team. “You think I could?”

“Kid, I bet by the time you’re fourteen you’ll be a champion at Beating,” Scott said with a straight face. “I know I was.”

“Really? Wicked!”

The ‘show’ was over and the stadium was beginning to empty. Harry was still addressing his newly reformed Quidditch team, and Hermione was hovering nearby. At least one gaggle of smitten girls was also sticking it out, batting their eyes at an oblivious Harry. Neville rose to his feet and stretched.

“Getting close to lunch,” Scott commented.

“What time do you think it is?” Neville asked. The school clock tower was out of sight from inside the Quidditch pitch.

“Eleven thirty-two AM,” Scott said meticulously. Neville glanced down at Scott’s forearms, but he wasn’t wearing a watch. “So we can sit around the common room for a few minutes or just go straight to the Hall. I’m open.”

“I missed breakfast because of my book,” Luna said. “I’d like to go to lunch.”

“Lunch it is.”

On their way back to the Great Hall, Neville lagged behind with Luna, wanting to talk to her. It wasn’t difficult since Scott was keeping a quick pace in order to stay with Trevor, who never seemed to move any slower than a jog. Kylie was now firmly clamped to Scott’s right arm, and it was amusing to see her tiny legs working so fast.

“I — uh… I noticed you haven’t been around much lately,” Neville said to Luna. She regarded him with the piercing gaze he knew so well, and it always seemed to make him stutter more than usual. “I know it’s busy with classes and all, but maybe you could spend some time with us on the weekends? Like we did today?”

Had she been waiting for an invitation, or did she just not care? Luna smiled at him, and not for the first time he was struck with how beautiful she was. Most people couldn’t see past the cork necklace. “I’d like that,” she said. “There’s more to do when you have friends.”

“You got that right!” Scott called back over his shoulder.

“You should come back to the common room with us after lunch,” Neville told her. “We can always find something to do, even if it’s just talk. Scott has some great stories he tells sometimes.”

“I’ll tell you about the trip to Cancun where I wrestled six sharks into submission with my bare hands!” Scott shouted, demonstrating some sort of shark-subduing manoeuvre for their benefit. “That’s a good one!”

If Scott had been about to say more, he was distracted as Trevor tripped over his own shoelaces and went sprawling into the dirt. Neville and Luna watched as Scott ran forward and picked up the scrawny first year with one hand. Trevor seemed not any worse for wear.

“Scott’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” Luna asked Neville thoughtfully as they stood back and observed.

Neville blinked. This coming from Luna Lovegood? “Er — in what way?” he hedged.

“I don’t know. But I rather think he’ll tell us soon.”

Neville frowned. “You mean more about himself?”

“I don’t think it’s entirely about him—” Luna said. She was using the bland tone of voice that she always did for her insights. “—just that he’s a part of it.”

“I don’t understand,” Neville confessed.

Luna smiled again. “Neither do I, but that’s okay. Life would be rather boring if you understood it all, don’t you think?”

And as they started walking again, Neville looked at her and thought for a moment that he really did understand what she meant.

**********

Charms was not the most boring class at Hogwarts (a distinction held by History of Magic), but it could be difficult to pay attention. Despite the blustery weather outside, the windows still called to young minds with the promise of freedom. Professor Flitwick was explaining in detail the wand motions required for the Charm that was the focus of the day’s lesson, and Harry was struggling to memorise them. It didn’t help that Scott was sitting next to him, feeding Harry a steady stream of commentary.

“You think that stool disassembles so he can take it with him?” Scott whispered, indicating the elevated platform which the tiny Flitwick used to address his class. “It’d almost have to, right? Otherwise he’d drown in the shower.”

Despite his best efforts, Harry released a snort of laughter into his sleeve, and Hermione sent them what had to be her sixteenth disapproving glare in the last ten minutes. In retribution, Harry elbowed Scott in the side, willing him to shut up. Scott cooperated for the time being, though Harry was sure it was a temporary reprieve until he thought of something else to say.

Still, Harry’s inability to concentrate gave him ample time to think on the subject of what he was going to do about Scott Kharan.

Their talk in the middle of the night after the first day of class had left Harry adrift, searching for some kind of handle on the situation. He didn’t think he believed everything he had been told – but he also didn’t actively disbelieve it, which put him in a strange place. Knowledge and comprehension were two separate things. That there was something different about Scott, that much Harry could acknowledge. The size and depth of that difference remained to be contemplated. So what were the things that he really knew about Scott?

The blond boy was an American… Actually, that should be mentally scratched off the list. Harry didn’t know where Scott had originated. Added to that discarded pile of assumptions should be Scott’s status as a sibling, since this mysterious sister he sometimes referenced had never been seen. Harry couldn’t think of any reason why Scott would lie about having a sister, but it was still unproven.

That left Harry with very little that was concrete. The boy had on various occasions demonstrated strength and accumulated intellect beyond his years. Any of those occurrences taken separately could be discounted as a fluke – together they were hard to ignore. Scott was more dangerously capable than he had any right to be given his age and background. The knowledge Scott had confided in Harry accounted for all of this… But that knowledge itself was unaccountable. The simplest explanations didn’t fit, and the given explanation was inconceivable.

Even if Harry decided to rely on blind faith and hold Scott as some sort of omnipotent demigod, there were a great many things that didn’t make sense. Though Scott seemed to possess skills in close combat and in other areas that had been hinted at, he was clearly behind the curve when it came to magic. Hardly a night went by that Harry hadn’t seen Scott leafing through a variety of books, assimilating information that by this point almost every other student took for granted.

Scott was scarcely a candidate for godhood, anyway. Between his incessant cursing, bizarre sense of humour, and occasional mood swings, Scott didn’t give the impression of representing any higher level of being. The faux exchange student just wasn’t very imposing, mentally or emotionally, a fact that made it that much harder to believe in his claims.

These were little things, but they started to add up. What they added up to, exactly, remained a mystery.

Flitwick was still talking. Only Hermione could stomach that much lecture material. Everyone else came to life when it was time for the hands-on stuff.

So as long as he was ruminating on his recent experiences, what was going on with Ron and Hermione? Their well worn dance around each other was becoming increasingly significant. Every time they interacted, they seemed within an inch of fighting or snogging, and so far they had managed not to exercise the gentler option. Harry couldn’t help but wish they would just get on with it – who did they think they were fooling besides themselves? A snogging Ron and Hermione would be easier to handle than all the sniping they indulged in, fuelled by tension so sharp that even Harry could feel it. He could only hope that they would succumb to the inevitable instead of self-destructing. He didn’t want to imagine the kind of damage that would be caused to their three-way friendship if Ron or Hermione started seeing someone else.

Luckily for Harry, Charms was the last class for the day. After a mercifully short review, they were set free from their desks and released into the hallways.

“The two of you were very disruptive,” Hermione said severely as they walked towards the Great Hall for dinner. “Why you think you can behave like that and then expect me to give you my notes, I don’t know.”

“Ron would have been disruptive too, but you had him cordoned off,” Scott pointed out, “so, in a sense, you should be mad at him too.”

“I knew was missing out,” Ron lamented.

“Sorry mate,” Harry apologised, “I didn’t think to save any of the fun for you.”

“You three!” Hermione huffed in exasperation, but they could tell she was fighting a smile.

“It’s not like it was—” Scott stopped mid-sentence. “Uh oh, Malfoy alert, eleven o’ clock high.”

Sure enough, Draco Malfoy and his toadies were coming down a staircase straight towards the four of them. Harry tensed himself for confrontation. At least now if it came to a fistfight, they wouldn’t be outnumbered. Hermione simply wasn’t a brawler, and Scott would eliminate the advantage Malfoy had with Crabbe and Goyle.

“Potter,” Malfoy sneered in pseudo-greeting as they passed each other. Harry kept walking in hopes that they could leave it at that, but apparently Malfoy couldn’t help himself. “I see you’ve collected another Mudblood. Wasn’t one enough?”

Hermione ignored the Slytherin with a disdainful dignity, but Ron’s fists immediately clenched, and he turned to face Malfoy. Harry silently sighed as he did the same. So much for avoiding a fight.

Ron turned on Malfoy and told him to do something to himself that Harry figured was physically impossible.

“Temper, Weasel,” Malfoy cautioned. “Granger doesn’t hold with that kind of language.”

“So I’m a Mudblood?” Scott said, apparently determined to get in a few verbal jabs before Ron lost his cool and fired the first punch. “That’s still preferable to what you are.”

“It speaks!” Malfoy said snidely, daring Scott to continue as Crabbe and Goyle loomed threateningly. “If you could string three comprehensible words together, you might even be able to tell me what you think I am.”

Scott looked as if he couldn’t believe that the boy had provided him with that kind of opening. He enunciated slowly and distinctly, “You – are – the – load – your – mother – should – have – swallowed.”

Naturally, things went downhill from there.

Well, detentions aren’t that bad, Harry thought as he prepared to give Goyle a right hook to the jaw. Malfoy was pale with rage as he closed on a grinning Scott, and Ron was eagerly sizing up Crabbe. Hermione’s hand hovered near her wand as she tried to decide whether she wanted to help her friends or try to stop the fight.

“Is there a problem here?”

All of the soon to be combatants froze as the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall rang out in the hallway. Hermione sighed in relief, her shoulders slumping. McGonagall stopped next to them and fixed them with a frosty eye while the boys slowly shuffled away from each other.

“I sincerely hope this isn’t what it looks like,” the professor said curtly, “because I will remind you that there is absolutely no fighting in the halls.”

“It isn’t a problem, Professor,” Malfoy said sullenly.

“I see.” From McGonagall’s tone it was obvious that she saw a great deal more than that. “I suggest that all of you go to supper without further interruption.”

“Yes, Professor,” they collectively mumbled. Malfoy shot Scott one last murderous glare before stalking off with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Harry was glad that they hadn’t gotten into trouble but still felt a slight disappointment that they had been interrupted. Watching Malfoy get pounded into the ground by Scott would have been a wonderful thing to see.

“Damn it.” Scott shook his head, clearly sharing Harry’s regrets. “I was gonna put my foot so far up Malfoy’s ass, he’d have been tasting the shit between my toes.”

“Must you?” Hermione shuddered. Harry wondered if she was ever going to get over Scott’s unique invective.

Ron said nothing, but the look on his face spoke for him. Few things could enrage him like insults directed at Hermione. Did Ron even realise that? Could he?

That was a novel idea. What if Harry just, well… asked him? It was the sort of situation that they usually ignored until it went away, but Hermione was the root cause, and she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was time to grow up a little and just flat out ask Ron what was up with him and Hermione. The worst that could happen was Ron would deck him. Harry considered himself a fairly hardy sort of person – he reckoned he could roll with at least one punch.

Supper went by without any unusual events. Ron ate everything he could get his hands on, Hermione watched with both disgust and affection, and Scott repeatedly attempted to hang a spoon off of his nose until he managed to make it work (“These stupid spoons aren’t the right shape,” he had complained). At another section of the table, Harry caught sight of Ginny and Dean sitting next to each other, and it sent a torrent of feelings through him that he wasn’t brave enough to examine. So instead he reached over and knocked the spoon off of Scott’s nose after he had finally achieved his goal, sending him into a fit (“MY SPOON! YOU FUCK!”).

The common room was pleasantly warm when they all traipsed through the portrait to settle in for the evening. Harry had been fully intent on sinking into a large chair and not moving until he absolutely had to until Ron somehow suckered him into facing yet another inevitable chess defeat. Scott settled in to watch as Harry’s half of the board was systematically demolished.

“You want a go?” Harry asked him, resignedly knocking his king over in response to Ron’s checkmate. “I’ve had enough.”

Scott shook his head. “Pass. I need to go over some Charms stuff.”

As Scott headed up to the dorms to retrieve a book or two, Harry looked around the room. Hermione was gone, most likely out patrolling for any students who had decided to remain illicitly in the halls. Nobody else was paying any attention to the two of them and their game of Wizard’s Chess, so it seemed that his opportunity had arrived.

But how to begin?

“Ron, I wanted to talk to you tonight,” Harry said. That was a safe place to start.

“Yeah? What about?” Ron said curiously, resetting the pieces on the board despite Harry’s previous declaration of despair.

Sometimes there was nothing to do but dive in headfirst. “Hermione, actually.”

Ron froze. “Hermione?”

Okay, so they were on the correct subject, but what was the right tangent? “Oh, you know her too?”

“Ha ha,” Ron said without inflection. “You’re a riot, Harry.”

“What’s been going on with you two?” Harry asked pointedly.

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me that. You know what I mean.”

Ron was silent and didn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“Look,” Harry said impatiently, “you can’t avoid me forever. Maybe I can even help.”

“Help?” Ron scoffed. “I wasn’t aware your love life was so experienced.”

“So this is about love,” Harry said triumphantly.

“No! I don’t know. Just leave it alone, Harry.”

“If you fancy her, just tell her already,” Harry told him. “You’re both driving me spare with this bickering, and we all know why you do it.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Ron asked, stubbornly crossing his arms.

“About everyone in our year at this point. You think you were fooling anybody after what happened with Krum?”

“That grouchy git,” Ron muttered darkly.

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Anybody else so much as looks at Hermione and you’re fighting mad. It’s not the most difficult thing to figure out.”

“Well what the bloody hell do you want me to do?” Ron glared at him.

“Tell her. Hell, just go snog her – I bet she’d let you.” Harry was only half-joking.

“You’re just full of great advice, aren’t you?” Ron slumped in his seat, looking defeated. “I can’t tell her. What if she says no? She’s my best mate, Harry. I can’t lose that.”

“Ron, she’s not going to say no,” Harry sighed. “She’s mad about you. Seriously.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes. The same way you told me you were mad about her. It’s obvious, mate. She can’t hide it any better than you can.” Ron didn’t say anything after that, but Harry hoped that his words were being considered, so he concluded by saying, “At least think about it. I don’t think she’ll wait for you forever, Ron. Don’t muck it up by doing nothing at all.” Harry purposefully chose not to entertain any thoughts of how his own advice applied to himself.

Ron mumbled something about going to bed and went up to the dormitories, looking contemplative. Harry remained where he was, sitting in the glow of the fireplace and musing about girls, Quidditch, Dark Lords, and Kharadjai. He wished that his life didn’t have to be so complicated. He had too many problems and not enough solutions.

Before reality could come crashing down on him, his mind spiralled into darkness and sleep claimed his consciousness.

How long he slept, he didn’t know. He awoke to a darkened common room, the fire now a pile of smouldering coals giving off a weak orange light. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched out his neck, still stiff from his sleeping arrangement. The warm sheets of his bed were calling to him. The chairs in the common room might be excellent for sitting, but they left a lot to be desired when it came to sleep, and he resolved not to slip off in one again.

It wasn’t until he stood that he heard the voice coming from the far corner of the room. Someone was holding a hushed conversation.

“Any problems?”

Harry peered at the shadowy figure, a familiar head of dark blond hair coming into focus.

“Wish I could have been there.”

It was Scott, on his phone again. Who was he talking to this time?

Scott laughed quietly at something. “Well, you do need your beauty sleep, I know that much for su—” Harry had moved into his peripheral field of vision, and Scott stopped. He and Harry both stared at each other for a moment before Scott gave Harry a small smile. “Hey, Harry.”

“Who are you talking to?” Harry asked him.

“I gotta go,” Scott said into the phone. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Unless you want to talk to her, Harry?”

“Who?”

“Don’t think he’s going to take me up on that. See you soon.” Scott closed the phone and pocketed it.

“Who was that?” Harry questioned him again.

“My sister,” Scott answered nonchalantly. “She was taking care of some things for me. Nothing to panic about.”

Harry was starting to wonder if ‘my sister’ was Scott’s euphemism for anybody that he knew and Harry didn’t. “What sort of things?”

“Kharadjai things,” Scott said lowly.

“As in… changing things?” Harry said tentatively, thinking back to some of the details Scott had imparted during their conversation about Dumbledore.

“Yeah.”

“What did she do?”

Scott bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you that. Well... I won’t tell you that, anyway.”

“Why?” Harry demanded, feeling a familiar anger growing. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because that is in itself a change. It’s a form of pre-emptive prudence.” Before Harry could explode, Scott held up a hand. “But I will say this – with or without my interference, everything is always shifting, Harry. But what’s more interesting are the things that stay the same.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that none of us can understand what’s happening right now until it’s over,” Scott sighed. “Maybe I’ll tell you later. I don’t know.”

“You expect me to accept that?” Harry said angrily.

“You don’t have a choice,” Scott said bluntly. “Now you can keep being mad at me for doing my job if you want, but I’m going to bed.”

“I want a promise. Promise you’ll tell me this stuff soon,” Harry demanded.

Scott’s eyes hardened. “Is that an order?”

“No. It’s me asking you to be a friend.”

The Kharadjai’s face crumpled into an expression of dismay. “Ow. You really hit where it hurts.”

“So you’ll promise?” Harry persisted.

“I sort of have to now. You don’t fight fair.” Scott glumly shook his head. “I’d be kind of proud of you if it wasn’t against me. I promise to tell you what Lila did later.”

“I won’t forget about it, either.”

“No, you won’t.”

And that was that. Harry followed Scott up the staircase to the dorms where everyone else was sound asleep. Sinking beneath his covers, Harry fell back to dreams of graveyards in the moonlight and a language made of lies.

**********

It had been a couple of weeks since Ron had been cornered by Harry in the common room, and his words still reverberated through Ron’s head.

At first he had outright rejected his friend’s advice; after all, what did Harry know about it? Ron’s friend wasn’t exactly an inspiring example when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. A single disastrous date with Cho Chang did not provide a great deal of experience. So with regard to Hermione, Ron figured Harry could just keep his mouth shut.

But it was difficult to overcome the slight stirrings of hope that Harry had engendered. What if Hermione really did fancy him back?

It didn’t help that he had a history of buggering things up when it came to Hermione. His track record was a mess of mistakes, the side effects of doing more of his thinking with his heart than with his head. And now Harry wanted him to listen to his heart to the exclusion of all else? It had all the makings of another bad idea in a long line of bad ideas. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go out with a whimper, but the detonation of his close friendship with Hermione was too much of a bang to bear.

And that was, after all, the real issue at hand. Pursuing Hermione in any other sense would be hard enough, but she was his best mate, and that was a cruel thing to sacrifice for some romantic inclinations that might never work. Maybe Harry didn’t realise exactly what would happen if Ron and Hermione had a falling out. It would be the most severe blow their friendship had ever sustained, a hundred times worse than their fight over Scabbers and Crookshanks in third year.

Not that the benefits weren’t desirable, so to speak. If Ron had a Galleon for every time he had pictured Hermione naked, he’d be rolling in gold. Somewhere along the way, her figure had swelled into some seriously interesting curves – when had that happened? Maybe it wasn’t so much that they had sprung up over night as that he had simply started noticing. Whenever she was three feet or less in distance from him, it seemed like every molecule in his body was incontrovertibly drawn to her like a moth to the flame. Each second spent in her presence was an exercise in self-control.

Even without the other feelings which he had not yet put a name to, the sheer hormonal aspect was a powerful impetus. It was an odd situation in which his heart and his hormones were telling him to do the same thing. Past experience warned him to disregard both of them – but his brain hadn’t exactly proven itself to be trustworthy either. So where did that leave him?

“Ron?”

“Wha—?” Ron was jolted out of his stupor by Hermione, who was peering at him closely. They were on the uncomfortably cold walk to Hogsmeade, and Ron knew he had been uncharacteristically silent as they leaned into the wind and sleet.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. Ron forced himself to look away from those chocolate eyes before he couldn’t.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his neck. “Blimey, it’s cold out.”

And indeed it was. The weather was a wretched combination of blustery and bitter cold, sending sheets of slushy ice whipping down from the heavy cloud cover. It was one of those days where the colour was leached out of everything and the world faded to grey – a vista modelled in the ugliest concrete, drab and without life. Ron felt a trickle of water run down the back of his neck and futilely tugged the scarf even closer to his skin.

Next to him, Harry nodded in miserable agreement, his glasses all but iced over. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

“Cry me a river, you poofs,” Scott said cheerfully. The blond boy was assimilating the portions of British slang that were of interest to him – in other words, the expletives. He wasn’t even wearing a scarf or gloves and still seemed completely comfortable. “I can still feel my balls, so it can’t be that cold out.”

“Can’t you complete a sentence without being obscene?” Hermione asked him plaintively.

Scott frowned, as if he were considering that. Then he shrugged. “Guess not.”

“But you just did!” she pointed out triumphantly.

“No, that was a sentence fragment.”

“Just let him swear, Hermione,” Ron advised her. “He’s a poor, uncultured American. He can’t help himself.”

“He’s right, you know,” Scott said. He released a torrent of swearwords that rolled off his tongue like obscene poetry.

Hermione flinched as if she had been physically assaulted. Ron gave Scott a chiding look. “Now you’ve used them all up.”

“I don’t mind repeating myself,” Scott assured him. “Sodding… damn…”

Harry shook his head. “You’re both going straight to hell.”

“Oh, not you too, Harry,” Hermione groaned.

Hogsmeade’s usual aura of cheery comfort was dampened under the blanket of sleet. Instead of stopping to congregate on their way about their errands, the witches and wizards in the streets hurried down the icy walks, huddled against the cold. The frozen branches of trees crackled in the wind, brittle as they swayed and shook. The town chilled and congealed beneath the kind of all pervading cold that seeped through skin like water into cloth.

Ron noted that Zonko’s had been boarded up, a sign of the times. None of them commented on it, though Scott was looking the store over curiously. Ron remembered that the exchange student had never been to Hogsmeade before.

“It’s not the best day for a trip,” Harry said apologetically to Scott.

“It’s cool,” Scott said. He pointed at Honeydukes. “That place looks busy.”

“That’s Honeydukes,” Ron explained. “They’ve got sweets, mostly. Let’s go there first.”

“Out of Chocolate Frogs already?” Harry laughed at Ron.

Alright, so his obsession with Chocolate Frogs wasn’t exactly a secret. Harry never need know that Ron still had a substantial stash of them in his trunk, as he hadn’t been sharing. “I could use some more.”

Hermione gave him a disapproving look, but it was mixed with affection. “I don’t know how you can eat them like that without making yourself sick.”

“It’s a gift,” Ron boasted, but his heart wasn’t really in it, and Hermione seemed to sense that. She gave him another searching look, which he returned with a bland smile. What was he supposed to say?

Compared to the temperature of the street outside, the ambience inside Honeydukes came blasting over them like a furnace as they stepped through the doors. The shop was not nearly as crowded as it usually was on Hogsmeade weekends, but it was still an oasis of activity compared to everywhere else. The inside was a visual cacophony of colours as a million different shades of sugar called to customers. Usually the sight would have made Ron’s mouth water. Today his mouth was still watering, but only because Hermione was standing closely in front of him, and her hair was wafting into his face. He clenched his jaw and suppressed the urge to plant a kiss behind her right ear. How was it even possible for an earlobe to be sexy?

“I admire variety in a candy store,” Scott stated as he gazed with interest at all the shelves and bins.

“Here, I’ll show you around—” Ron said immediately, desperate to separate himself from temptation. He moved to the first row of displayed sweets and waved Scott over. Here was something he’d be good at – tour guiding at Honeydukes. He was fully qualified.

So he immersed himself amongst the various confections, pointing out candies of particular excellence to Scott as they went along. He heard what was unmistakably the booming voice of Professor Slughorn behind him and didn’t bother to turn around. He was already feeling inadequate enough without the influence-mongering Potions teacher ignoring him completely. Instead Ron pressed a container of Jelly Slugs into Scott’s hands with the promise that they were excellent and pretended that he wasn’t being excluded from a party.

It wasn’t really the party itself that was important. It was being the one left out. Harry and Hermione went under a velvet rope that held him back, and he resented not the rope itself but the act of separation. He didn’t care about the stupid parties. He just didn’t want to be left behind.

“So these Chocolate Frogs are good?” Ron’s attention was pulled back to Scott, who was holding a box of said Chocolate Frogs and reading the print on the packaging.

“Yeah, great stuff,” Ron confirmed, “can’t go wrong with those.”

Scott nodded and added the frogs to his small pile of candied assortments. “I’ll give these to my sis; she’s a chocolate whore.”

“Then she and Ron would get along famously,” Harry said, coming up behind them.

Ron felt frustrated with himself when he couldn’t think of a witty comeback. Wasn’t he supposed to be the funny one? This moody pall that had been cast over him dragged him deeper every second it remained. It was like he had used up all of his vitality on the walk to Hogsmeade. A single comedic exchange with Scott and he was done for the day. He struggled to force a rejoinder from his lips before giving up. He didn’t miss the way Harry frowned at his complete lack of response.

It didn’t take long for Scott to make his purchases, and they moved back towards the door and the cold outside. When Hermione asked Ron where he wanted to go next, he only shrugged testily and she pulled away from him, respecting what she saw as his desire to be left alone.

Harry suggested that they go to the Three Broomsticks, so they went back out into the wind. After the almost smothering heat of Honeydukes, the October weather was like a slap in the face. Hermione shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, and Ron quite nearly had to grab his left arm with his right in order to prevent it from settling on her shoulders. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? Watching himself, carefully keeping control? One day he’d be half-asleep or not paying attention, and he’d do something impulsive, and after that she’d know.

They hadn’t gone far when Harry spotted Mundungus Fletcher, looking as seedy as always, standing on a street corner with a dented old suitcase. When Harry called his name, the shabby wizard dropped the case and it sprang open, dumping its contents into the slush. A silvery object rolled to Ron’s feet – it was strangely familiar. Frowning, he bent over and picked it up.

It was a goblet bearing a recognisable crest. “Hang on,” Ron said, “isn’t this—”

Mundungus grabbed the goblet back from Ron, but Harry had made the same connection as his friend and pinned the thieving Fletcher against the wall with his arm. Mundungus squawked as his air supply was cut off, and Harry leaned in to hiss venomous words in his face. Hermione pleaded with Harry as he increased the pressure against Mundungus’s throat. She gave Ron a desperate look, as if he should step in and intervene. Not that he was going to. As far as Ron was concerned, Dung deserved what he got for stealing Harry’s goblets.

Was Hermione actually surprised at Harry’s behaviour? Harry had been a ball of repressed rage since the Department of Mysteries, and maybe even before that. It swelled around the edges and through the cracks of his personality now and then. He would explode and then cool, like a volatile substance that burned itself out in seconds. If you ignored that fact, it was almost like there was nothing wrong with him.

Somehow Mundungus managed to push Harry away for a split second, enough time to make a try for the suitcase, but Scott had picked it up and stepped back out of reach. Mundungus Disapparated before Harry could grab him again. Hermione watched with growing alarm as Harry proceeded to give vent to some of the darker portions of his vocabulary.

“COME BACK YOU THIEVING SON OF A—”

“Harry!” Hermione yelled. She whirled on Ron, her glare clearly demanding that he say something.

“He’s gone, mate,” Ron said loudly over Harry’s tirade. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“At least I got the case,” Scott said, holding it up. “Here, that’s some of your stuff anyway – oh, hey Lil.”

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, “please calm down – I’m sorry?” She stopped, looking towards Scott in confusion. “Lil?”

“Who?” Ron figured he must have missed something in the conversation. Who was Lil?

“Me,” an unfamiliar voice said. A woman wearing a strange green coat was standing next to Scott. Harry lapsed into silence while they all focused on the newcomer.

Hermione was wearing her ‘I’m-solving-a-puzzle’ face as she did a double take. Ron could see why – the resemblance was definite. The woman seemed to represent the feminisation of Scott’s basic features. Scott’s straight edged nose became a small nub with a delicately rounded tip on her. His square, jutting chin receded into a smooth curve, his thin lips became more compressed and full. But what drove home the obvious blood relation between the two of them was the exact same shade of dark blond hair, the same calculating grey eyes (though hers looked out from beneath decidedly more feminine eyebrows), and the same set of the jaw.

There was no question that she was beautiful. But she also wasn’t Hermione. Accordingly, she managed to stir only a basic appreciation in Ron. He wasn’t sure whether he should resent the diminishing of his general libido or become more determined to get what it really wanted.

Hermione had drawn the obvious conclusion, unfortunately at the exact same time as Ron. “You must be—”

“Hey!” Ron interrupted her. “You didn’t tell us you were a twin!” It was pretty odd that Scott had never mentioned that fact.

Scott informed them that they weren’t actually twins, which surprised Ron. He’d have bet money that they were. Maybe they both took after the same parent. Scott’s sister introduced herself as Lila and held out her hand for them to shake. When Ron’s turn came, he found her grip to be very similar to Scott’s – calloused and deceptively strong. As she turned away to take Harry’s hand, Ron wondered why Scott had never talked about her before.

As the conversation continued the interactions between the siblings proved to be amusing, but Ron found himself mostly preoccupied with his increasing discomfort. The temperature had dropped even further, and his teeth began to chatter as the wind cut through his coat. When Lila suggested that the group go inside, he found himself in agreement.

But before they could act on that excellent suggestion, yet another new voice called out, “Is everything alright?” Unlike the last vocal addition, this one was familiar. Tonks’ bright pink hair came into view as she approached them, giving Harry a friendly smile. “Wotcher, Harry. You too, Scott.”

Since when did Tonks know Scott? Ron had to have missed out on something. Harry’s rage at Mundungus resurfaced, and he asked Tonks why the Order couldn’t control the sneak thief, causing Ron to blink in surprise. Was Harry completely daft, talking about the Order in front of Scott and his sister? That was top secret! Hermione looked shocked too. Tonks shot a warning glance towards Scott and Lila, but Harry was dismissive of her caution, saying, “They already know about the Order. Dumbledore told them.”

When? Why? Maybe there was no point in asking. The last thing Ron wanted was to be drawn back into the mystery of Scott Kharan – he had enough to brood about with Hermione occupying his days. There were a lot of things that didn’t add up when it came to Scott, but sometimes Ron thought it was better not to know. It was simpler to let everyone else think that he was unobservant.

Tonks seemed willing to take Harry at his word. Maybe it was because neither Scott nor Lila showed any signs of not having already known about the Order.

Despite Tonks’ assurance that Dung was still useful, Harry stubbornly insisted on telling Dumbledore about the goblets. Ron knew that Mundungus was scared of the Headmaster, so it probably wasn’t a bad idea. Tonks, apparently realising that Harry wasn’t to be dissuaded, didn’t contest the decision. Instead she changed the subject by introducing herself to Lila.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” Tonks said after they were introduced, “but I’m still on duty – miserable day for it, too. You lot should get inside before you ice over.”

Scott nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it. I was sweating inside the castle, and now my ass cheeks are frozen together.”

Everybody laughed at that except for Hermione, who Ron suspected held her tongue more out of principle than a total lack of humour. It was a shame really; he loved to see her laugh. Making her do so was one of the greatest accomplishments he could put to his name.

The Three Broomsticks wasn’t very crowded though it still retained a comfortably close atmosphere. It wasn’t difficult to find a table, and they all slid into a booth, Ron discovering himself delightfully squeezed in next to Hermione when she sat down with the Butterbeers. He sipped at his drink and tried not to concentrate on the heat of her thigh close to his, a task easier said than done.

“Lila,” Hermione began, starting up the small talk, “Scott said you were living in Ottery-St. Catchpole?” Ron did recall Scott saying something about that when they had been in Diagon Alley. There would be a good chance of seeing Scott over the holiday.

“I rented an apartment there,” Lila answered. “Finally got all settled in now. Except for Scott’s room – that’s his job.”

Scott and Lila had the kind of relationship that Ron would have expected from a brother and sister about the same age, not the kind that would result from one sibling being forced into the role of parent. Still, it wasn’t like he knew much of their history. Maybe things were different at their home. Taking a drink of Butterbeer, he refocused on the discussion.

“—you’re an attractive young woman,” Lila was saying to Hermione, “and my brother does most of his thinking with his little head.”

Ron sat straight up.

“With his little… Oh!” Hermione blushed bright red. That was a good thing, right? That meant that she hadn’t understood, so it couldn’t be true. Or did it mean she was thinking of an occasion where it had been true?

Scott was grinning. “If you’re trying to embarrass me, Lil, you know it’s not gonna work.”

“No, nothing like that – no!” Hermione stuttered. “He would never…”

“I most certainly would!” Scott interjected.

Ron was going to kill him. He was going to kill that sodding wanker, Scott Kharan.

Hermione gaped at Scott. “But – we’re, we’re not—”

“Well, no…” Scott shrugged, like the conversation hadn’t taken the turn it had. “But I’d hit it, that’s all I’m saying.”

Actually, Ron was going to kill him slowly.

Harry, the traitorous bastard, was laughing into his Butterbeer. Hermione blushed again. “Of all the—”

“We know you have better sense than to hook up with my brother,” Lila said. “You’re obviously smart, and even girls of average intelligence know to dodge that bullet.”

“I’m often misunderstood,” Scott said sadly. “Hermione – hold me.”

Enough was enough. “Alright, lay off!” Ron snarled at Scott. What the bloody hell was the American playing at anyway? He should know better than to talk about Hermione like that!

“It’s a joke, son, a joke. Hermione is strictly hands off, I promise,” Scott said shrinking away from Ron, though he was still grinning.

Ron felt Hermione’s eyes on him and realised he had said too much. He should have waited until they got back to Hogwarts to confront Scott – now she was probably on to him. “Not like it’s me you have to say that to, or anything…” he mumbled, attempting to cover up for himself with a swig of Butterbeer. He tried not to meet Hermione’s intent gaze.

Ron couldn’t have repeated a word of the conversation that followed – he was too busy maintaining a false sense of distance between himself and Hermione. What was it that he had thought earlier, about Harry needing to keep his mouth shut? Ron should know; it was a shared affliction. A single sentence could break the friendship with Hermione that he held so dear, and he had come dangerously close to it.

It didn’t do to entertain hopes that she might have wanted to hear it.

On the way out of Hogsmeade, Scott fell behind them to talk to his sister. Ron trudged onwards, lost in his thoughts. The October wind was biting and scoured the senses clean of any lingering somnolence, but instead of providing clarity, it only made him numb.

Hermione was shivering again next to him. What would happen if he gave in? Maybe if he would just reach over and offer her his warmth, everything would turn out alright. But that was the point of no return. That brought him back to the crux of the situation.

He was afraid to find out.

**********

::Author’s Note::

Ah, my first author’s note for this story. I suppose I should say something profound, but if you’ve read this far then you know I’m not capable of that, so I’ll dispense with the bullshit.

I felt that I should apologise for the long wait for this chapter. There’s been some trouble with Perfect Imagination and the way my beta used to submit these chapters here, and so the situation sort of dragged on interminably. So... sorry. I guess I owe you all consolation blowjobs.

I haven’t really done author’s notes for chapters in, well, shit, I guess it’s been years now. This brings back memories of what online audience interaction is all about, though I suppose the excellent review reply feature this site has makes this sort of thing obsolete. Or not. I don’t know, but it seemed like a progressive thing to say. I had a ton of stuff I wanted to talk about concerning my story, but naturally I’ve forgotten all of it, so please ask lots of questions in your reviews so I can ramble on at unnecessary length in my next authors note or in my reply to you.

—Caleb

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