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Author: St Margarets Story: Lee Jordan: Tour Guide Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 18 Words: 142,091
“Jordan, I want you take your day off tomorrow instead of Saturday,” his boss informed him then next morning. “Yes, Dick,” Lee muttered under his breath. It was another gloomy day outside and another slow day at the Quidditch Museum, and to make matters worse, he didn’t have a proper weekend to look forward to. In the back of his mind he had been thinking of taking Holly around London some more, but now that plan was dashed. He hated days off in the middle of the week, since all of his friends were busy working. He could go sit with the mums in the play park, he thought ruefully. Or the old fellows who had permanent seats at the Leaky Cauldron. He shuffled off to the stock room to complete the inventory of Coach McCain’s things. His boss had been delighted with the meticulous lists Lee had written and wondered aloud why Lee didn’t apprentice to be a curator. While he enjoyed history and the glimpses into the past, Lee didn’t think he could stay enthusiastic trying to date early cauldrons or alchemist’s flasks. In retaliation for taking his Saturday away, Lee did nothing in the storeroom but organize his own notes of Coach McCain’s life. He even wrote how he imagined the scene when the fanatic Wimborne Wasp fan cursed Black Jack McCain, ruining his career as a Beater. He could hear the roar of the crowds, the dismay in the announcer’s voice, the squishing of the mud as the medi-wizards ran to attend McCain. Then he realized he wasn’t sure if it was raining during the match – he would have to look that up. He slipped out of the storeroom and darted into the alcove that housed the records of every official Quidditch Match played in Britain since the Middle Ages. He found the match in volume four hundred and eighty-seven. His heart started beating rapidly when he found more information than he dreamed possible. The match had taken place at the famous Exmoor Moor. It had been raining. The Wimborne Wasp fan was apprehended and remanded to St. Mungo’s for evaluation…. He quickly scribbled down the information, keeping one ear cocked for the sounds of his boss checking up on him in the storeroom. Now he knew what he could do with his time on Thursday, he could check out the landscape of Exmoor to get it just right for the scene he was writing. * “Oy! You there! No match today!” Lee was sniffing the heavy air that smelled of the sea. He had attended matches with his father here at Exmoor, but he had never noticed the untamed scenery. A short, crab-legged wizard was painfully making his way over to him. “No match, I say!” Lee was surprised to see the old man had his wand out and was looking distinctly uneasy. “I know,” he said mildly. “I just fancied a look around.” “The Ministry doesn’t want the public on the moor unless there is a match,” the old man continued in his dogged way. “These are suspicious times.” There was something eerily familiar about that gravelly voice. Lee wanted him to continue talking. “I’m here because I wanted to get a sense of what it was like when Black Jack McCain was hexed by the mad spectator.” The old man lowered his wand. “I haven’t heard that name in many a year.” He narrowed his watery blue eyes. “Why is a youngster like you interested in a someone who last coached more than twenty years ago?” Lee could see he was winning the man over. “I work at the Quidditch Museum in London. A few days ago we received all of Black Jack’s things.” He shrugged. “He had an interesting life.” “So he did,” the old man nodded. “I suppose you better come in so I can tell you about that match.” Only then did Lee notice the small stone cottage. Actually it looked like a pile of rocks with a door. The old man must live there. Maybe he was some sort of hermit or something. Lee followed him, ducking to enter the low door. Inside, the fireplace took up most of one wall. There was a dumpy settee, a table with two chairs and some shelves where the old man had his cooking things. There appeared to be another room behind the rough wooden door. It was rustic, but strangely cozy after the vastness of the bare moorland. “Sit, my boy. I don’t get many strangers here – at least not until match day.” “Where are the stands?” Lee asked, looking out of the only window. The table was centered right underneath it. “We take them down as soon as the crowd leaves. Have conjuring boxes now, so I don’t have to have help to conjure the stands whole cloth. I just walk around and tap the twelve boxes buried in the ground and then we have the famous Exmoor stadium in about twenty minutes.” The old man turned and hung a kettle over the fire. “Hang on,” Lee said with mounting excitement. “You’re Jim McGuffin – I’ve listened to you on the Wizarding Wireless.” “Yes, you have,” he answered, looking pleased. He set two mugs on the table. “I’m going to give it up soon, though. My eyesight isn’t what it should be and I miss a lot. And now the Ministry wants me to ‘defend’ the moor against Death Eaters.” He snorted and poured tea out of the cracked brown pot into each mug. Without asking, he shoveled two huge spoonfuls of sugar into each cup and then slid one to Lee. “I can’t imagine what the Death Eaters would want with this patch of ground.” “Perhaps the beast of Exmoor?” Lee suggested with a grin. “They can have the over-grown Kneazle,” Jim McGuffin answered. “Honestly, the stories the Muggles come up with….” “So tell me about the match with Black Jack McCain,” Lee prompted. * Lee didn’t arrive home until dark. His mind was full of the exciting exploits of the various Quidditch players, and he felt decidedly energized by the gallons of strong tea he had drunk during the course of the afternoon. His restlessness hadn’t worn off after dinner, so he decided to take a walk and check up on Fred and George, but their shop was dark and shuttered when he arrived. Probably doing something exciting and noble for the Order, he thought. Sighing, he turned up the collar of his cloak and tried to decide what he wanted to do. He could go to the Leaky Cauldron – or even The Club…but that didn’t fit his mood. He looked up at the sky, wishing for the millionth time that he could see the stars in London like he could at Hogwarts. That was one of many things he missed about the North. He wondered if Holly missed it too, being a Hogsmeade girl. Holly – he could pop over and see her. Feeling cheered by that thought, he Disapparated. Angelina answered the door with a grumpy, “Fred and George aren’t here.” “I came to see Holly,” Lee answered, hiding a grin. “And hello to you, too.” “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “Yes, she’s here.” “Lee!” Holly’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “Fancy a walk?” “Do I get ice cream?” They both turned at Angelina’s loud sigh. She stared stonily at them. “I’ll get my cloak,” Holly murmured, her eyes sparkling. “What’s up with Angelina?” he asked out in the corridor. “She’s been called back for a second round of trials for the Kestrels tomorrow,” Holly explained. “So she’s nervous. And I don’t think she’s talked to Fred all week.” “So why is she upset that you’re going out?” Lee asked once they were out on the pavement “Because she thinks that you’re going to string me along as the default girlfriend until you find someone better,” Holly said bluntly. “Oh.” Their footsteps echoed on the deserted street. “Sorry,” Holly said. “That didn’t sound too nice did it?” Lee laughed. “Not nice about me or about you? First, it makes you sound desperate and pathetic for accepting anyone who would make you a default girlfriend.” “And,” Holly added, smiling. “It makes you sound like a heartless cad who can’t be without a woman on his arm.” “I reckon we deserve each other then.” “We are friends, right, Lee?” she asked seriously. She was standing in a pool of light cast by the magical street lamp. This was the second time that he noticed how the light picked up the gold in her hair. Were you supposed to notice things like that about your friends? “Yes, we’re friends,” he answered. He wasn’t going to entertain any more thoughts beyond that. She smiled, showing her almost-dimples. “Then I can tell Angelina to mind her own business.” “Won’t work.” “I know, but it’s the principle of the thing.” They walked briskly in the fresh night air. When they came to a crossroads, Lee stopped. “Here’s a test. Which way to Diagon Alley?” Holly looked around carefully. “That way?” she said hopefully, pointing to a street lined with houses. “Very good.” “I had a fifty percent chance of being right,” she giggled. Lee turned down the other street. “Where are we going?” “I have a little surprise to show you. Not very many people know about it in magical London.” “Ooo, what is it?” “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it?” he said, laughing at her eager tone. “So how did the jokes go over?” “They were perfect.” She sighed happily. “Every one of the children laughed and they all talked to me a little. Now I just wish I could get them to draw or work with clay….” “Do you draw with them?” “No – do you think I should?” Her steps slowed as she thought about this. “I mean – I wouldn’t want to intimidate them because art therapy isn’t supposed to be about mastering a skill….” “I think they would love to see you draw. There’s a lot of enjoyment in watching someone do something well. And you’re a grown-up, remember? They would expect you to draw better than they do.” She was chewing on her lip in thought. Lee tried not to notice this. “You know,” she said, “I still forget I’m supposed to be an adult now. Some days I don’t feel much older than those children.” “Then you’ll like this.” “Like what?” Holly looked around. They were next to a high stonewall with a wrought iron gate in the middle of it. Lee led her to the gate. “Look.” “I can’t see anything. Is there a charm on this gate?” “Right. Forgot.” He flicked his wand in the general direction of the lock. Holly gasped like he knew she would. “There are trees! And grass – in the heart of London.” Her eyes were round with wonder. “Who lives here? Is it the Minister of Magic’s estate or something?” “No, it’s a park for all the people in the neighborhood to use. The charm is on it because they were having trouble with ’the wrong sort’ coming around.” “Can we go in?” “Sure. Let’s see if I remember the password.” He hated when he blanked like this. “I’ll have to ask Mum,” he said, giving up. “Oh, that’s okay,” Holly said, looking longingly through the gate. “It’s no problem; our house is right across the street.” “Oh!” Before Lee opened the door, he realized that this was the night his mother was hosting a meeting of the Neighborhood Benevolence Society. He could hear the buzz of conversation as they walked down the stairs. “Mum’s having one of her meetings,” he explained to Holly. “About what?” Lee shrugged. “This one is a neighborhood group. I think they’re all getting back together for the first time since Mum returned from Africa. Come in and meet everyone.” Holly hung back. “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to interrupt.” “Coward,” Lee said, taking her hand and pulling her after him through the door. For some reason, he didn’t feel the need to drop her hand after they entered the crowded sitting room.” “Lee, my boy!” “What happened to his hair?” “Jessica, did he do that while you were gone?” “Hi everyone,” Lee said, smiling at the familiar faces. Most of these witches and wizards he had known since he was a child. And most of them he hadn’t seen since the Christmas holidays. “Who’s the girlfriend?” asked Leonora Reed. She was their landlady and liked to know everything. “This is Holly Kirke,” Lee said, giving her small hand a squeeze. “Just back from Beauxbatons and working at St. Mungo’s.” There was a chorus of approving ahhs. “Healer, are you my dear?” Charles Miller asked. Mr. Miller was a hypochondriac and had the utmost respect for Healers. Holly cleared her throat. “Um – no, I’m an art therapist, actually.” “Oh, what is that?” Mr. Miller was fascinated by a cure he had never heard of. Lee knew he would match his symptoms to the methods if he had to. Lee decided it was time to rescue her. “I’ll bring Holly ‘round some other time,” he said. He looked at his mum and winked. Mum didn’t smile back because she didn’t think it polite to make fun of Mr. Miller, even though he was a crashing bore sometimes. ”I popped in to find out the password to the park.” “Did you cool your brain when you cut your hair?” Titus Shippe asked with a loud guffaw. Lee laughed. Mr. Shippe had taught him half of the jokes he knew. “Is that what happened? I thought I had learned too much at Hogwarts.” “It’s ‘Pocket watch,’” Mum said. “Do you want to stay and have tea and cake, Holly? We finished the agenda. Mr. Miller is going to be in charge of leaf raking and disposal and Mr. Shippe is going to clean the fountain once a month for us.” She beamed at the men who looked flattered at the attention. “Later maybe,” Lee said. “Holly’s been homesick for trees.” “That’s why they should have St. Mungo’s in a better part of town – it’s not healthy over there,” Mr. Miller fretted. Lee backed out of the room before they were treated to a lecture on air pollution and the latest in Scouring Charms. “That’s the Neighborhood Benevolence Society – well, it’s really all the lost sheep my mum has found over the years.” “She has a way of getting them to do what she wants, doesn’t she?” Holly said shrewdly. “They love it; the old gents – they feel useful, and they get recognition for it.” They were at the gate now. Lee muttered, “Pocket watch,” and the gate swung forward on groaning hinges. “Mr. Shippe is going to have oil those.” “Oh – look at this! It’s just like the play park in Hogsmeade,” Holly said, taking in the slide and swings and roundabout with delighted eyes. “There’s a play park in Hogsmeade?” “Of course. It’s off of High Street, down the hill and turn right.” “Unless it’s across from a joke shop, I wouldn’t know about it,” Lee said. “Right. You lot were quite the businessmen.” Holly walked over to the small fountain. “I was public relations only. Fred and George always had the ideas.” “This is nice,” Holly said indicating the fountain, ringed with some late-blooming purple asters. “You must have come here a lot when you were little.” “Every day it was fine. Mum would have to drag me home for meals.” “She let you come here on your own?” Holly started toward the swings. “I wasn’t alone.” Lee laughed. “There weren’t a lot of children my age, but Mr. Shippe and Mr. Miller were always here. Mr. Shippe used to enlarge the fountain on hot days so I could swim.” “Really?” Holly sat on one swing and Lee took the other. “They put me on my first broom – even though it was probably breaking a half-dozen laws.” “Wasn’t your mum worried you would get hurt?” “Mum?” Lee shook his head. “Mum isn’t the worrying type.” “My mum is,” Holly said with a sigh. “She could think of every possible injury that could happen to a child. And then she would say things like ‘Holly, don’t fall backwards when you’re climbing up the slide,’ or ‘that swing could fly up and hit you in the teeth.’” Holly dug in her heels in the soft earth and started to rotate the swing, twisting the chain high up. “That must have been annoying.” “Well, I was used to it. My grandmother Kirke – we lived with her – would get irritated though. ‘Annie, you’re going to make that child afraid of her own shadow.’” “And here the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor.” Holly lifted her feet off the ground and the swing spun around, lifting her hair a little. She was smiling when she stopped. “Who would have guessed faking all that courage would have fooled the Sorting Hat?” “What do you mean?” “I learned that the best way to make Mum less nervous was not to show my nervousness.” She dug her toe in the dirt. “I reckon it got to be a habit.” “What about your brother?” “Oh, Mum never worried about Andrew. Probably because he looks like Dad. And my Dad is one of those people….” She pushed back in the swing and lifted her feet, so she gently skimmed forward. “Dad didn’t go to Hogwarts.” “He didn’t?” Lee couldn’t imagine living in Hogsmeade and not wanting to go to Hogwarts your whole life. Holly swung a little higher and then stopped abruptly with her feet. “My grandmother Kirke is a domineering old witch – but even she couldn’t stop my grandfather from dying when my dad was a boy.” She sighed. “I should be more sympathetic. I mean here she was a young widow with a small child… Anyway – she apprenticed him to Ogden’s instead of sending him to Hogwarts. It didn’t cost her anything and from what she made as a seamstress, she could still live in her house and all that.” “Okay,” Lee said, frowning. “You said you’re related to the Ogdens. How does that work out?” “My mum was an Ogden. The only child of the second son.” Lee thought out the implications of this. “The apprentice married the owner’s daughter?” “One of the owner’s daughters. There were a lot of Ogden siblings,” Holly answered. “And her parents – my grandparents – were killed when my mum was a toddler.” She compressed her lips together for a moment. “They think that’s when all of Mum’s troubles with depression started – because she saw the murders. But they don’t know for sure because my mum wasn’t old enough to talk properly.” Lee felt a horrible chill in the pit of his stomach. “Was it You-Know-Who?” “No,” Holly said in a hard voice, “it was the Campbells.” “Who are they?” “Who were they,” Holly corrected. “Lowlanders – whisky makers. They wanted the Ogden’s process and they turned up at my grandfather’s house looking for it.” Lee noticed that Holly’s very faint accent was becoming more noticeable, a sure sign she was upset. “How are you so sure? Was there a trial?” Lee asked. Holly spun around once and then let go so that the chain spun her back. “Because they were all found in the house. They fought to the death – like the mad Scots they all were.” “How did you find all this out?” Lee asked, hoping Holly hadn’t read it in a newspaper article or heard it from a gossipy neighbor. “My dad told me,” Holly said. “After Mum had to go to St. Mungo’s. That was our fifth year when all the Dementors were in Hogsmeade.” Lee remembered how Holly had been so worried that year – not about exams, like Patricia Stimpson – but about her mum and her brother who was just a first year at the time. Lee didn’t really know how he knew it. Holly wasn’t one to make big dramatic speeches or scenes. She must have told him in bits and pieces. “My mum was raised by her aunt and uncle who were both very involved in the business and they didn’t know why Anne was so sad all the time – and frightened. They didn’t want her to go to Hogwarts because they didn’t think she could handle it. But she wanted to go. And you know what?” Holly’s voice grew stronger. “The minute they gave her a wand, she started to get better.” “Why?” “Because she finally had control – a way to protect herself. Just think about it. She was the only one in the house without a wand.” “Yeah.” It was Lee’s turn to dig his toe in the dirt. He had such a clear image of a little baby with flyway hair and big brown eyes – helpless. He cleared his throat. “So what house did the Sorting Hat put her in?” “Gryffindor.” “Of course,” Lee murmured, “it takes a lot of courage to carry on when you realize how frightening life can be.” “Yes,” Holly whispered. Her hands were gripping the chains of the swings and she was looking down. He couldn’t see her expression clearly until she faced him. She had tears in her eyes. “She’s suffered so – her whole life.” Holly swallowed. “I’ve often wondered if she had received some therapy when she was a child, what sort of difference it would have made….” “And that’s why you’re doing what your doing,” Lee said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Kind of an indulgent reason,” Holly said, running her hands along the chains. “I shouldn’t be so emotional about it.” “How are you supposed to be about it?” Lee asked. “I’d think you’d have an advantage in helping those children.” “I’m supposed to be objective and unemotional,” Holly replied briskly. Then she tilted her head. “I can fake the clinical calm, too.” “Just like you faked the quiet shy girl at Hogwarts,” Lee said with a smile. “And you faked the love-sick swain for Angelina.” “I think a swain is fake,” Lee said, “Although I don’t know what one is, exactly.” “You’ll have to look it up,” she said, standing up. “Although I thought you had already looked up everything in the dictionary.” “Just Snape’s insults and Dumbledore’s speeches. Why a good vocabulary was wasted on Snape,” Lee grumbled, also getting to his feet. The evening chill had settled into his bones and it felt good to move around. Holly laughed. “A good vocabulary isn’t one of nature’s gifts, you know.” “No, but potion making is,” Lee answered in his best silky-smooth Snape voice. “I reckon nature left us both out,” she said cheerfully. They started walking toward the fountain. “So how did your dad – the apprentice – meet your mum if she was at Hogwarts?” “It was the Christmas party at the brewery. It’s Ogden’s tradition to hand out gifts to all the employees at the beginning of the party. Then after the formalities, the gentry would leave and the workers would party. My mum went her seventh year and my dad was there, of course. He was a brew master by then.” Lee could see the little cloud of white as Holly spoke. “And?” he prompted. Holly giggled a little. “He thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but he was too shy to talk to her. Mum said she noticed him too, but she was an Ogden and Ogdens weren’t supposed to fraternize with their workers. So she stayed after all the Ogdens went home, which she wasn’t supposed to do.” “Oh – out comes the Gryffindor.” This time Holly did laugh. “That’s what they call attraction?” “That’s what they call doing something about it.” “Right,” Holly said. “Anyway, Dad worked up the courage to talk to her and they danced for the rest of the party. Mum’s uncle finally realized that she was missing and found her with Dad. This part of the story gets a little hazy – it didn’t sound like they were still on the dance floor.” “Whatever could they have been doing?” Lee asked with a grin. Holly giggled and resumed the story. “My mum’s uncle dragged her outside and put her on his broom. Dad stood on the steps and watched them fly away over the roof of the brewery, and when he stepped back to see them better, he fell right on top of a holly bush.” Lee stopped walking. “A holly bush?” “Right.” Holly was grinning. “That’s when he realized that it wasn’t all a dream and that he had really danced with the most beautiful girl in the world and the he was going to move heaven and earth to marry her.” She giggled. “Then he realized that holly was rather prickly and that he’d better get going if he was going to find out who she was.” “He didn’t know her name?” “He knew she was an Ogden – that was it.” “So is that why you’re named Holly?” “No one’s ever said, but I reckon he always associated holly with when they met.” Holly began to walk around the fountain, but Lee touched her elbow and pointed her down a barely visible path running through the grass. “What’s down here?” “Sandbox,” Lee said, “and –” “Holly.” She laughed, looking at the long green hedge defining the edge of the park. “Mr. Shippe always said not to eat the berries, but Mr. Miller thought that if you brewed the leaves they would cure…” He stopped and frowned. “I forget what ailment he was worried about at the time.” “Surely Mr. Miller was worried about every cat and Kneazle in London using this sandbox,” Holly observed, wrinkling her nose a bit. “That’s why there is an Imperturbable Charm on the sandbox.” “Oh – so every London child has to learn how to reverse an Imperturbable Charm in order to use the sandbox?” “These modern children – know how to listen to the Wizarding Wireless – but they can’t lift a simple charm – now in my day,” Lee mimicked. “Oh – you’ll have to meet my grandmother. That sounds just like her.” They turned away from the grove of trees and holly. “What’s on the other side?” “Hippogriff perches. You wouldn’t believe the people who come out to show off their Hippogriffs. This park is the place in London to go if you want to meet Hippogriff people.” “Hippogriff people?” “They call themselves enthusiasts. And they are enthused. If this park is ever going to be discovered by Muggles, it will be because an over-bred, fancy Hippogriff decides to bolt and do something exciting besides preening.” “And the owners preen, too.” “Exactly – it’s a narcissist paradise for man and beast.” “You know,” Holly said seriously, stopping before they went through the gate. “I shouldn’t have said that about you two years ago and I shouldn’t have brought it up now – even jokingly. It’s not true for one and it’s bad manners for another.” “Finally, I can talk about me, me, me,” Lee answered with a grin. Sometimes Holly took things too seriously. “I was wondering when I could get a word in edgewise. Luckily I had the fountain to stare at my own reflection.” “Stop,” Holly said, giving him a little smack on the arm. Then she grabbed his arm and said with a giggle. “Now I am regressing. I haven’t hit anyone for saying something ridiculous since Hogwarts.” “And it was probably me you hit,” Lee remarked. “Probably.” She laughed and then tugged his arm. “Okay – enough about me. Tell me about your day as you walk me home.” “Don’t you want to come in for cake?” “I’d love to, but I have to be in early tomorrow for a little girl who is going to have a procedure done at six in the morning. Her mum asked me to be there.” “Six in the morning!” Lee paused to lock the gate behind them with a flick of his wand. “That’s prime time in a hospital. I reckon they figure the patients are so disoriented from lack of sleep that they can’t fight back.” “Remind me to stay out of hospitals.” They began to retrace their steps along the high wall of the garden. “Stay out of hospitals,” Holly said. “You have been hanging around the younger set,” Lee said, laughing. “I however, have been hanging around the announcer at the Exmoor stadium.” And he began to tell her about finding coach McCain’s things and reading his diary. Holly listened intently, her eyes on the ground. Every now and then she would look at him in question or nod encouragingly. When Lee finished the bare bones of Jonathan McCain’s story, Holly asked, “Are you going to write a book?” Lee stopped. He had never considered writing a book. A book was what other people read. He was just writing to stave off boredom and because he was very curious about how a man could build a career after such a horrible set back. “I don’t know. I never thought about that.” “It’s a great story,” Holly said, her eyes sparkling. “And you tell it well. Why don’t you?” “A whole book – that’s how many rolls of parchment?” “You don’t write them all at once,” Holly chided. “Look, before Dad could leave Ogden’s he had to write a procedures manual since he was taking a lot of knowledge with him that had never been written down. I remember he said the same thing – how could he ever write a manual?” “Did he?” Lee asked. “Oh yes. Mum helped him.” The breeze picked up and Holly shivered. She started across the street, but Lee grabbed her elbow. “This way,” he said. They continued down the pavement, past shuttered shops and the back of the Daily Prophet printing office. They could hear the press humming from the street. Lee didn’t say anymore because a plan was blooming in his mind. He didn’t know if he could write a whole book, but maybe he could write an article that a magazine would pick up about the hexing of Coach McCain. “I actually found the way,” Holly said. He looked around, startled. They were in front of Holly’s building. He had been completely absorbed in his story that he hadn’t even noticed where he was walking. “I’m sorry – had a narcissist moment there.” Holly giggled. “You were thinking. That’s the first step to a book.” “First step to doing a lot of things.” “Right.” She nodded. “First step to getting up at five is to go to bed before midnight.” “It’s not that late!” he said, looking at his watch. “It is.” Luckily she didn’t sound too upset. “Good night, then.” Lee quickly walked home, his mind full of the past. Thoughts of Coach McCain’s victories swirled along with the thought of Holly’s father falling in love and falling into a holly shrub all at the same time. It was all so vivid in his mind, that it was no wonder that the colors of his dreams that night were dark, living green with shots of bright red and the warm tones of amber.
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