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Author: hwimsey Story: The Eyes Have It Rating: Everyone Status: Completed Reviews: 40 Words: 20,752
Harry leaned against a lamppost outside Honeydukes, bent over, shoulders hunched, waiting for the burning stitch in his side to subside. An invisibility cloak, a Marauder’s Map, and an untold amount of luck were the only things that had transported him from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade without discovery. He had fled the Great Hall in a combination of raw panic and sensory overload. What he feared more, he couldn’t tell: Ron’s strange glances or Hermione’s suspicious ones. Whatever was happening to him, he had to find out the answer and soon. Risking expulsion or a Death Eater attack seemed of little consequence to him now. What he couldn’t keep out of his mind, whether he wanted to or not, was the image of her--Ginny, on the forest floor. He gripped his knees, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes: Ginny. Laughing. Running. Terrified. Then his. His in ways no dream, no real dream at least, had ever offered him. He shook his head, hoping the image would abate; for he wasn’t able to think rationally with it overpowering his mind. He felt possessed. He felt sick. He felt wondrous. Staggering a few feet, he wrapped his invisibility cloak tightly around him and headed toward the street. His heart fell a little as he looked about. The village was unrecognizable. Just last year its windows were bright with wares; carts of trinkets, and planters of spring flowers had lined the sidewalks. Hadn’t they all gathered for ice cream at Fortescue’s, tilting their faces into the warm sun? Was it only a year ago? It could have been a lifetime; so much had changed in those brief twelve months. So much loss--for him--for everyone. It seemed to hang stagnant now about the boarded shutters and “Out of Business” signs clinging to the hodgepodge of stores nestled about him. Amidst it all, one shop stood out, one solitary rebel, mutinous and proud. Quickening his pace, he couldn’t help but snicker at the newest advertisement inches below the “Grand Opening” sign adorning the front window. The drawing depicted a Dementor, its vicious maw curled into a grotesque smile, and in its skeletal claws it clasped a flaming red pop. Beneath it were emblazoned the words: “Even Dementors love to suck ‘em. Soul suckers: Lick death right in the face!” Thank God for the twins. Somehow, Harry believed, if they managed to keep the world laughing, maybe, just maybe, everyone might make their way to the other side, to a day when this place would be alive again, and happy people strolling down the sidewalks had the luxury to forget the past. The jingling of the overhead bells sounded as the door swung shut behind him as he slipped off his invisibility cloak. The shop, unlike the street, was far from empty. People scurried here and there pointing and laughing at the colorful displays. One young wizard yelped as something yellow and oozing began to bounce and sing its way across the floor. “Oh, here let me help you with that. Kinda has a mind of its own at times,” came a familiar voice from across the shop. George knelt down, and with a towel and something resembling a butterfly net, smacked a giggling ball of ooze into a metal tin. The tin reverberated in his hand a bit as George smiled. Looking up his smile widened, “Harry, what’ca doing here?” It slipped slightly as he added, “Nothing’s wrong is it?” and he glanced back over at the wall behind him. A small replica of the Weasley’s family clock hung near the cash register, all hands pointing towards “Mortal Peril,” with the exception of Percy’s which had been bewitched to read, “Head up arse.” “No, no, nothing. Everyone’s fine,” replied Harry, knowing that his unexpected arrival had probably shaken up the twin more than he was letting on. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and fixed his gaze on George’s shoulder as to avoid his eyes, “I was just wondering if I could, well, have a word with you in private,” cocking his head toward the supply room in the back of the shop. “Sure, of course,” replied George, appearing a bit curious at the request, then waved toward a pretty blonde girl behind the counter. “Beate, can you make sure no more Mellow Yellow gets loose; it’s been making a mess lately.” She nodded, batting her eyes playfully. George reddened, uncannily resembling one of his own Soul Suckers. “Uh. . .Harry and I are going to nip in the back for a second. Give a shout if you need anything; I mean like help, you know.” The blonde curled her shoulders into an almost feline pose, which caused George to turn on his heel, and march straight toward the back room at lightening speed. “Smooth,” whispered Harry to the rear of George’s bowed head as he followed him past a display of “Makeup Tip Mirrors.” George shot him a scowl, and accidentally bumped into a young witch who stood before one. “Ack! Not on your nose dearie, lipstick’s for your lips. Now onto the eyeshadow,” the mirror instructed. Floor to ceiling boxes cramped the storage room, some half opened, others chained shut. Harry eyed one box warily as it burst into a chorus of “God Save the Queen,” its sides sporting a naked witch clad only in a Union Jack. “We’re branching out,” was all George said before he took his seat across from Harry. “So what do I owe this pleasure?” “Or should we say, what would make the most guarded wizard of our time, break ten or so of Hogwart’s rules to sneak out in the broad daylight to our humble establishment?” Fred’s voice wafted from the back door. Harry spun around and smiled feebly at the other twin who was hanging his jacket on a gargoyle hook by the door; he pulled his hand back quickly, the hook snapping its teeth shut about the collar. Oh no, not the both of them? How was he ever going to do this? “So what can we do for you Harry? What brings you all this way?” Where to start? The truth? That was impossible, unless he wished instantaneous death. Why hadn’t he taken a swig of Felix Felicis? Yes, just like the night with Slughorn at Hagrid’s hut. He could lean forward, look them directly in the eye, and declare, “I am the Chosen One. I shagged your sister. I need my memory.” Maybe not. Taking a deep breath, Harry explained, “It’s about the Absent-ithe. You know, the bottle we all drank on Christmas Eve? Well, I think I’ve been having some side effects, and I was wondering . . . have any of you two experienced anything—out of the ordinary?” Okay, now time to run. The twins looked at each other guiltily, as though they were mulling over something in their minds; one rubbed the bridge of his nose, the other ran his hand through his hair. When they finally spoke, they began starting and finishing each other’s sentences. “You know, after much consideration--” “--we’re seriously considering--” Then together they blurted out, “Taking it off the shelves.” “What?” The twins twitched uncomfortably, both clearly bothered. George put his elbows on the table and scratched himself behind the ear, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, “Let’s just say it was one of our more brilliant, but not well planned out ideas. You see, it does have certain unforeseen side effects—headaches being one, and dry mouth, and then there’s the occasional tail growth--” “We took care of that one.” “Oh yeah, that’s right. And dream sluicing.” “Dream sluicing?” George opened his mouth and then shut it, “You want to tell him, Fred, or should I?” Fred’s chair creaked as it’s occupant’s feet hit the table, his hands clasped lazily behind his neck. “Well, Harry my boy. When a girl witch and a boy wizard fall in love and get married--” George’s hand reached out and slapped Fred across the head, “Tell him the truth, you idiot.” Fred sighed and sat up in his chair, rubbing the spot where George had smacked him. “We didn’t know about that particular side effect until Fred, Angelina, Beate and I shared a drink about three months ago, otherwise we would have never offered it to you lot at Christmas--honest. You see, we were sitting around upstairs having a few laughs. It started off harmless enough. Then we decided to pull out an ole blue bottle. And things got a bit out of hand, from what I can tell.” “More like in hand, if you ask me,” snickered George. “Seems this one never took a drink of the stuff.” Fred cocked his thumb toward his brother. “Yeah, good thing that; you two were all over each other that night. It was kind of embarrassing, all that snogging; I didn’t know where to put my eyes after a while.” “Hold on. You kissed her, the night you drank the Absent-ithe?” asked Harry, staring at Fred. Fred reddened, “Yeah, we think that’s what caused it actually.” “Caused what?” “The ability to sluice. You see, a few weeks later, I started having these awesome dreams about her and I, and we were . . .anyway the dreams were aces; everything just like I—well, you get my drift right?” Harry nodded numbly, “But you’re not dating her are you?” Fred coughed subtly. “I’ll get to that, in a second. Well, then one night everything starts going wonky in this one dream. I mean, I was out on the Quidditch pitch chasing her, and she wouldn’t let up; then we landed on the grass and she kept staring at me like I was some maniac or something. Crazy, crazy as all get out it was. Then things really got a bit eye-opening--if you know what I mean.” A mild hoot sounded from George who was securing one of the more active boxes. Fred frowned and continued, “It seems that the base formula somehow allows people to share the dreams of those they fancy. And boy, do those dreams get fancy, let me tell you. But the tricky part is that the ability to sluice only manifests itself once the desire reaches a certain, ahem, critical level in both parties. So to answer your question—yes, we’re dating. We’re engaged, in fact.” Harry felt the color drain from his face. “Yep,” announced George, ripping open one triangular shaped box, “Brilliant invention really, a drink that creates dream sluicing. The ability to slide in and out of each other’s dreams. Just gotta make sure you snog the the bejesus out of somebody after you’ve drunk it and before you pass out.” “But there’s one slight problem with it,” mumbled Fred. “What’s that?” Harry’s voice was nearly inaudible. “I recognized Angelina fine, but she didn’t recognize me until we, well, you know . . . Freaked the living daylights out of the poor girl, really. That’s why we decided to take it off the market. None too palatable until the end of the dream, then it’s abso-bloody-lutely marvelous.” “But how do you know?” asked Harry in a thinly controlled panic, “I mean how do you know, she knew that you knew too?” unsure he had made any sense at all with this question. “Angelina? When has she ever been silent about anything? Walked right up to me the next day and punched me right in the face. Told me if I was going to chase her around her favorite fantasy all night, I could at least have brought a blanket. I just gaped at her for like five minutes until she grabbed me by the collar and snogged the living daylights out of me. I guess I asked her to marry me at some point, can’t remember. Quite a confusing day, in retrospect.” Harry’s mind was quickly spinning out of control. He sat in stunned horror. He had sluiced into Ginny’s dream, Ginny’s fantasy. Become part of it. And had done . . . But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. Or was it? “So what’s your problem, Harry?” asked George standing up from the floor and brushing some fine black powder off his pants. Harry stared between the two of them in bewildered terror, “Headaches,” he blurted out, hoping they couldn’t see the sweat forming on his brow, “really, really awful big bugger headaches.” “We did go on quite a bender that night, according to Remus,” considered George, “I guess the lot of us were right pissed. Thank God, if it wasn’t for him, we’d have never made it into our beds.” “Remus?” inquired Harry numbly. “Oh yeah, the chap stayed the night, left in the morning to run an errand, probably Order business.” “Did he say anything, you know about—I mean since we can’t remember--we didn’t trash the place, and he was left to clean it or anything?” Harry’s mind scampered like a rabbit after any excuse to try to lessen the strange looks the twins were leveling at him. “Don’t think so, but why don’t you ask him yourself. I heard he’s up at the school today, Tonks is with him.” Harry stood up and glanced at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the Castle. Thanks guys, I just wanted to make sure not to expect anything more, bizarre, you know, I mean, glad you’ve got that tail growth thing under control . . .” He was speaking fast now, his eyes focused on the door. ‘I’ve got to get to Remus; I’ve got to get out of here alive; I’ve got to get to Remus; I’ve got to get out of here alive,’ ringing through his mind. “Thanks loads, gotta go,” and with that he bolted out of the shop as the twins watched him disappear in the afternoon sun. *** “I’ll give you ten to one odds he snogged her,” Fred chuckled, eyes flashing over to his brother who shut the door behind them. “Oh, absolutely.” *** Fortunately, Harry made it home alive. Unfortunately, in his mad rush to find Remus, he found a bathroom. And Draco. And the worst detention of his life. The shock of Harry’s expulsion from the last game of the season hung over the school like a miasma into which everyone stumbled in a dizzied, sickened fashion. What? No Potter? In the game? THE GAME! Ginny had little time to contemplate this latest calamity. Her dream had taken center stage, shoving even Quidditch out of her consciousness. Her mind could not conceive the ramifications of actually having Harry in her dreams. No, no. He could not just waltz into her most secret fantasies like that. But why not? He had created them in the first place, hadn’t he? He created them, inhabited them, and controlled them; doing things to her body she couldn’t contemplate without grasping large pieces of furniture for support. How was this happening? How could she face him? Luckily, the only interaction she had with Harry was one brief conversation in the Common Room a mere ten minutes ago, where she actually snarled at her best friend. How dare she lecture Harry about Quidditch? He didn’t mean to do that horrific thing. But did he? What was he capable of, really? Murder, mayhem, making love to her so wildly she could still feel the bruises where his fingers gripped her bare shoulders, his body, sweaty, as she writhed beneath him--- “Ginny, what’s gotten into you?” shouted Hermione from across the dormitory, “I was just trying to help, and you hand my head to me!” She sat down next to her on the bed, arms crossed, a look of hurt etched across her brow. Ginny looked up and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just that--” she didn’t know what to say to Hermione, her fingers plaited in her lap, pulling at the tassels on her bedspread. “With the game and all, I thought he’d have enough on his mind.” Staring at her friend fiercely, the tension of tears clawed their way up her throat. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not. And with that, Ginny crumbled, sobs rolling off of her in great waves. Hermione, wide-eyed, sprung forward, and grabbed her in her arms, rocking her back and forth as the endless stream fell. “It’s just that I want to remember,” her chest heaving, “I want to remember, I can’t remember, I can’t.” Sometime later, after Ginny had calmed down, her tears quieting into soft hiccups, Hermione leaned back, and lifted Ginny’s face with her finger. “It’s that awful drink. I know it. It’s messing with your mind. You’re not well, Ginny.” Studying her another moment, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a small stoppered vial. The sun from the casement windows refracted the glass sending a prism of light onto the far wall. Its orangey contents glided like liquid mercury as Hermione held it up and batted it with her finger, causing a tuning fork twang to fill the room. “What is it?” asked Ginny, wide-eyed, shouldering away the last of her tears. “It’s the antidote for Absent-ithe. I was going to save it for after the game, but you can’t go on like this.” Ginny shuddered, feeling woozy. “What will it do?” Hermione’s eyes returned to the bottle with an uncertain look. “Well, it’ll restore your memory from the night you drank Absentithe, for one. At least I hope it will.” “What do you mean ‘hope’?” “You’re my first test subject, no one else has stepped up.” Ginny bit her lip. Did she really want to know? Or was it better if she didn’t? She could live her life in dreams couldn’t she? Dreams were outward manifestations of inner feelings, that’s all. Harry hadn’t-- but lord, it had felt real; he had felt real, every nerve of her body cried out that it was his mouth pressed hard down on her mouth, his legs wrestling her to the ground, seconds before—. “Give it to me,” demanded Ginny, uncorking the bottle. The viscous liquid vibrated strangely as it passed her lips. It tasted bittersweet: Like the truth. *** Venturing a peek out of the small white tent, Ginny saw the stadium overflowing with screaming students. Scarlet and gold banners and scarves, and Luna Lovegood’s roaring hat, whipped in the late morning wind. In the opposite stands, a blue and bronze display shouted in deafening cheers as the Ravenclaw team took to the air, flying practice laps about the pitch. Ginny could see Cho’s black hair cemented against the blue sky. A gust of air filled Ginny’s lungs. Cho. Again. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She laughed ruefully that she could remember every detail of their last competition, seeker to seeker, yet, even after taking the antidote, she had remembered nothing – nothing of Christmas Eve. Hermione had stared at her for a good five minutes, before she twisted her lips, and announced in disappointment, “I couldn’t have brewed it incorrectly. Maybe I let it sit too long,” then strode off to double check the directions. Ron cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to the tent where the Griffindor team stood behind her. They moved into a huddle; Ginny quickly joined them. Hands draped over each other’s shoulders, Ron began, “I think I’m safe in speaking on behalf of the whole team, when I say that one of the main reasons we’re standing here today is back there in the dungeons, probably dying a thousand deaths right now.” The team nodded in agreement, murmuring Snape related curses under their breath, “So, we all know what to do. We’ve practiced long and hard. The only thing I’m going to ask of each and every one of you is to give everything you’ve got. We need it. We’ve got arms, legs, a few good brains, but we’re missing our hear--” his voice broke for a moment, “For Harry then,” he said. They all swung their hands into the huddle, one piled on the other. “Three hundred points for Harry,” they shouted. Ginny’s small whisper of, “For you,” went unheard by the others. Breaking apart, Ron stepped back, and parted the heavy damask curtains. The team walked bravely out to the cacophonous roar of the crowd, their heads held high, their fists raised in recognition. Kicking off into the air, the wind scrubbed Ginny face as she flew higher, pushing her Cleansweep faster and faster. Where was he now? What was Snape making him do? Stop thinking about that, she scolded herself, stay focused. You need keep Cho away from the snitch as long as possible. Minutes later, Madame Hooch gathered the teams together. The captains shook hands. “Mount your brooms. On my whistle then…three…two…one.” Ear-piercing cheers erupted from the stands as the Quaffle was tossed into the air. Griffindor took possession. Good, thought Ginny, keep it low, keep it tight, don’t get cocky. Both teams spent the first hour playing conservative textbook Quidditch. Before she knew it another hour had passed; Ravenclaw lead one hundred forty to Griffindor’s one hundred twenty. This was getting them nowhere. Risks. They needed to start taking risks. Seconds later, Demelza, mimicking Ginny’s life-threatening feint, rocketed the Quaffle through the hoop. Blaring cries of protest shook the Ravenclaw stands; Madame Hooch merely looked up in an almost reverence and let the points stand. Ginny spun away, laughing out loud, and ducked quickly, a Bludger inches from her shoulder. Wrenching herself steady, something slammed the side of her head; she spun around, blinking in confusion. All of a sudden a burst of white light exploded in her mind. Harry’s lips. She gripped her broom, the emotion was so overwhelming that she was forced to hold on with every ounce of strength. Flash. A darkened room. Flash. She wobbled dangerously on the edge of her broom, afraid she’d pass out onto the pitch below. What was happening to her? Screams from below wrenched her to consciousness. It was then that she saw it. The snitch. But so did Cho. The two chasers took off after the fluttering form. Plummeting down through the air, the Ravenclaw seeker shouted, “Not this time!” and sped faster, the snitch flickering inches ahead of her fingers. As though sensing her presence, it cut sharply left, and rocketed off to an unknown reach of the field. Cho cursed hotly and whipped around to face Ginny, her black thick hair swinging about her, “You can’t save him twice Ginny, don’t even try. You’re got nothing to--” But the words fell on the back of Ginny’s shoulders as she sped away. She was not going to let that girl unnerve her. Focused, Ginny, stay focused. Minutes passed. Up and down she flew from one side of the pitch to the other. Oh where did it go? The tiny gold body, the fluttering wings? Where the hell was the thing? Where were those green wings? Green wings? Flash. The light was so blinding she threw her hands to her face. Flash. The mistletoe on his cheek. Flash. We won’t remember. Flash. His lips warm, wanting, parting hers. Sweating, she angled her broom, skimming the ground. Merlin, oh Merlin. The night played back in exquisite detail in her mind. An agonizing boo came from the Griffindor stands as a Ravenclaw chaser bobbed joyously outside Griffindor’s center hoop. Arrgghhh. Ginny found her brother’s stone cold face, her own pale and wet with sweat. From the corner of her eye a flash of gold zoomed by. Cho hurdled from meters away, slamming hard into Ginny’s broom as she shoved off, a streak of black and blue in the sky. Hunched over, Ginny strained with everything in her, willing her Cleansweep to hurl through the sky. Neck and neck, air lashing brutally about their faces, Ginny shoved hard against Cho’s broom, “Give it up, Weasley,” shouted Cho, over her shoulder, glaring, “You’re going to lose.” “Over my dead body,” snarled Ginny, and dove sharply left after the snitch before it evaded her grasp yet again. Panting, the red face of Cho came within inches of Ginny’s. Words as weapons, she hissed, “You think you’re special, do you? You think he’d actually look at a girl like you?” Just then, the crowd erupted from below, the announcer shouting in surprise. They wrenched around, Griffindor scored! Now I can do it, Ginny’s mind screamed; we’ve got the points we need! I’ve got to find the snitch. Twisting hotly in her broom, Cho scowled at Ginny, “He’ll never like someone like you,” she spat. Ginny’s eyes widened. The snitch had appeared out of thin air, reflecting bright gold in the brilliant sunlight. It hovered only inches behind Cho, who sat on her broom, seething, completely unaware of its presence. “No,” Ginny whispered, heart beating madly in her throat. Don’t look at it Ginny, her mind screamed. Get her away! Get her away now! “You’re right,” Ginny wailed, forcing a sob, burying her face into her shoulder. The Ravenclaw seeker pulled forward to gloat, a pleased smirk smeared across her face. Raising her face, they hovered nose to nose. “He doesn’t like me Cho,” she spluttered, Cho’s eyes delighted, “Not like you,” Then bashing her full weight against the Ravenclaw seeker, she shouted, eyes blazing in pride, “He loves me!” Launching into the sky, Ginny sprung, hand outstretched, and yanked the snitch from the sky. The stadium exploded. The stands thundered wildly. Amidst the deafening cheers, the announcer screamed, “Weasley’s caught the snitch! She’s done it! Griffindor wins the Quidditch cup!” Pandemonium broke loose: the pitch disappearing under a vast sea of euphoric, screaming students. The last thing Ginny remembered seeing was Cho’s horrified expression before the Griffindor team swept their seeker up in a massive hug, and dragged her off to her delirious and ecstatic fans. *** The Common Room was packed. Scarlet and gold blanketed every square inch. Yelling, screaming, drinking, and celebrating students, crammed the room to the bursting point.. Ginny anxiously weaved her way to the punch bowl, ducking the relentless offerings of hugs and slaps on the back. What was she going to do? What was she going to do when she saw him? How was she ever going to look him in the eyes again? Palms sweating, she paced the room, the chorus of Weasley is our queen, dimly registering in her consciousness. Then the portrait hole swung open. The raucous cheers rattled the walls. “And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Ginny ran toward him, a hard, blazing look on her face as she threw her arms around him.” “Harry,” she whispered roughly, as she clung to him, her lips pressed to his ear, “I remember.” But before she could utter another word, his lips captured hers, his arms wrapped tightly about her. Ginny, weak-kneed and dizzy, clung to his shoulders. She was dreaming. This had to be a dream. She opened her eyes for a split second to gaze up at him. No this was real. Harry. Harry. Raising her fingers to touch his face, he pressed a few feverish kisses to the corner of her lips, and whispered her name. Her eyes fell shut as she lost herself in him. Sometime later, Harry reluctantly tore his lips from hers with a gasp. He pulled in a few deep breaths and gazed down into her eyes. If his arms hadn’t enclosed her, she was sure she would have crumbled. He smiled lovingly then raised his eyes over her head, as though seeking something. Finding it, he grasped her hand and laced his fingers through hers and grinned from ear to ear. Through the portrait hole he ran, her hand clasped tightly in hers. And ran. And ran. Turning the corner of a deserted corridor, he stopped, and wrapped his arms about her, plastering her against the wall. Panting, he put his hands to the stones, caging her in place. His eyes still fixed on hers, he took a step forward, gazing at her with such fierce emotion that Ginny’s breath stopped. “I don’t have anything to offer,” Harry mouthed through his last breaths, staring at Ginny’s bewildered expression. What was he saying? What was he trying to tell her? And for the briefest of moments, Ginny saw a glimpse of the horrible years that lay ahead, the separation, the pain. It was the other edge of the sword she knew so well. She swallowed down her tears. “I don’t have anything to offer you, and I feel like I should,” Harry continued fiercely, resting his forehead against hers, “but I have this,” he wrestled in his pocket, and drew out a long green ribbon. “I kept it, always, I don’t know why. I don’t need to know why, really.” He pressed it into her palm, white and shaking. “But the dream. The dream, Harry,” uncertainty and want filled her voice, her lips quivered a breath away from his, fighting to keep the emotions hidden. “I don’t want to dream anymore, Ginny. Not about this. Not about us.” *** Across the hall the suit of armor stiffened. What was Hogwarts coming to? Had it lost all sense of dignity? It was one thing for students to kiss madly, practically ravishing each other in wild abandon in some dark broom cupboard somewhere. But here, in broad daylight! And right below the portrait of Lady Marion for that matter! Well, he’d just have to put a stop to that nonsense right now, wouldn’t he . . ? The End As always, JKR owns this world. I just want to have a cup a coffee with her in a café and ask her how the hell she does it. The italicized text above is a near quote from HBP. Special thanks to the lovely Kelley for her editing. Someday my tenses and commas will get there, but until then, thank God for her brilliance and patience. Also, I’d like to thank all the readers who reviewed. This is my first piece of fanfiction and I’ve adored writing for you. The last paragraph of the story is based on the last paragraph of one of my favorite novels, Gaudy Night by Dorothy L. Sayers. And it is dedicated to critmo. Thank you so much for reading. Cheers! hwimsey
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