|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Majick Story: The Essence Divided Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 5 Words: 83,022
It seemed as though hardly any time had passed, but when they reappeared, it was very dark, and for a moment Harry thought that they must have been travelling for hours. Looking up, however, he realised that it was just that they were under the canopy of several mature trees. A chittering overhead made him look closer at the branches of the trees, and he saw several bowtruckles running to and fro amongst the leaves and twigs. "We're in a forest," Ron said, his wand drawn as he looked around. "A magical forest, to be exact," came a slightly papery voice. "Wood is harvested here and used for the manufacture of wands." Harry turned in the direction of the voice. "Hello," he said. "Mr. Ollivander." * Harry stared at Mr. Ollivander as he fussed with a kettle and prepared a cup of tea for each of them. "Yes, Fawkes came to me, the night that Albus died," he said soberly, relaxing back on a large stone after he'd passed out the cups. "It was a very unwelcome surprise, of course, although not entirely unexpected, I suppose. And I hear that Severus Snape is accused of the killing itself?" "He did it," Harry said, flatly. "I saw him." "Hmmm," Ollivander said, peering into his cup. "Well, I would very much like to hear the full account of that, Mr. Potter -- one so rarely gets to hear the whole story when one is constantly on the move. And, of course, it's not as though I can be written to very easily, unless I send Fawkes to someone." "So, it is possible to block letters, then?" Hermione asked, eagerly. Ollivander looked puzzled. "Of course, my dear. Do you mean that you haven't done so? Small wonder that you've had run-ins with the Death Eaters already, then. And how is your stomach, by the way?" "Who's telling you all this?" Harry asked. Ollivander smiled, but gave no answer. "Allow me," he said, and drew his wand. Waving it over the three of them, he muttered a few words. "There," he said. "The charm is Ekacs Rmtou Basuk Sa To Nod. I would advise renewing it at least weekly. Of course, any letter you send to someone can be replied to -- once only -- by invoking the charm on the letter as well. It's rather a clever little piece of magic, if legally suspect." "Why did you want to speak with us?" Harry asked, as Hermione repeated the charm under her breath, over and over, until she seemed satisfied that she had it memorised. "Ah, to business." Ollivander replied. "Very well. Two years ago, Albus contacted me to discuss your wand, Mr. Potter. As you may be aware, your close relationship with He Who Must Not Be Named has lead you to use a similar wand to his, both with a core of phoenix feather, taken from Fawkes here." Ollivander reached up and stroked Fawkes' beak. The phoenix, which was perched on Ollivander's shoulder, trilled quietly. "Albus asked me whether it was possible to fashion for you a second wand, one that would be as suitable for your magic as the one you bought from me six years ago. I replied that it wasn't -- after all, we Ollivanders have been making wands for quite some time now, and I like to think that I know all that there is to know. However, Albus persisted, and at last I agreed to research the matter. That took me much of your fifth year, and shortly before your sixth year began, I discovered something quite extraordinary. "There is a way to counter the magic that locks your wand to the Dark Lord's when you face one another, Mr Potter. It will mean that I shall have to construct a new wand. It will take some time -- many months, I fear. I still am not entirely sure exactly how I shall make this wand, only that it can be done. It will be my crowning achievement as a wand maker -- and it will help you finally destroy You Know Who." Harry sat frozen on his stone, unable to quite believe what Ollivander was saying. "Really?" "Oh yes," Ollivander said. "I know that Albus worried a great deal about your chances of facing He Who Must Not Be Named -- one poorly-timed casting could place you in the trap of Priori Incantatem again, and then, perhaps, an end... But this new wand will prevent that problem." "What will it be made of?" Hermione asked. "I am not quite sure. It may be that the act of creating the wand will be sufficient to counter the expected problems, if performed correctly. It may be that a special wood will be required, or that I shall need to plate the handle of the wood with gold, or platinum... Everything I know tells me that this will not be a normal wand, and yet... I do not know what the end result will be." Mr. Ollivander looked up from the fire, and turned his piercing gaze on Harry. Harry shifted slightly on his rock as Ollivander raised the branch he had been using to poke the fire. The smouldering tip passed just a few inches before his eyes, and Harry felt the sweat begin to prickle on his forehead as Ollivander brushed his fringe to one side. "And if I am wrong," the wand-maker said, apprehension evident in his voice. "If I make just one single mistake... Your mother's sacrifice will not protect you this time, Mr. Potter." * They lingered for a short time in the woods, feeding woodlice to the more adventurous Bowtruckles that came down from the trees. Eventually Harry grew restless, and stood up to leave. "Tell me," Ollivander said, looking up once more from the fire. "Are you intending to stay in more hotels and guest houses?" "I'm not sure," Harry said. "I don't think we have much choice." "Could you not obtain a tent?" "Not at the moment," Ron said, quickly. "I thought about it, but it's already getting cold -- and besides, Hermione's not fully healed yet. We need some place proper to stay." Ron's ears seemed to glow pinkly in the firelight, but Harry looked back at Ollivander. "A wizard's tent, you mean? I didn't even think about it -- but it would save a lot of bother." "There are a number of ways of obtaining them," Ollivander said. "I wouldn't recommend walking into a camping supplies shop at the moment, of course. You are far too recognisable, even with your hair dyed. No, I should think that the easiest method would be for you to enter my shop. In the upstairs apartment, you will find a small tent in the cupboard in the second bedroom." "Oh. Thank you," said Harry. "You need not worry, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, staring intently at him once more. "It has no great value -- in fact, I should imagine it is rather musty. It is not an invisibility cloak, nor an enchanted map of the school. In fact, you would be doing me a favour by airing it -- I'm rather hoping to go on a camping trip in the south of France next summer." "What if we can't defeat Voldemort?" Harry said, quietly. "Well then, Mr. Potter... If that is the case, then I shall still be leaving this country. In all likelihood, however, I shall not be coming back." * Mr. Ollivander had given them precise directions to the small alleyway off Diagon Alley where the rear entrance to his shop was located. Three faint pops greeted the arrival of Harry, Hermione and Ron, and they faced outwards from their point of arrival, wands drawn in readiness. "It's so quiet," Hermione breathed. It was mid-afternoon, and yet no one seemed to be in Diagon Alley. Ron walked along the alleyway and peered around the corner, looking along the length of the street. "Two or three people," he said. "All of them look like they're shopping for a month. I got this off the bench just 'round the corner." He held up a copy of the Prophet, which they had been unable to find while staying clear of wizarding areas and near Hermione's hospital. "More attacks," Ron went on, paging through the paper. "Three since we've been in hiding. One in France, one in Ireland, and one in Cornwall." "Did anyone die?" Hermione asked, quietly. "Not in Ireland or Cornwall. Just terror attacks, it seems," he replied, his voice sounding unusually restrained. "And France?" Ron didn't answer. Harry noticed that his ears had become a fierce red in colour. "Ron?" "It was a school," Ron bit out. Pushing past Harry and Hermione, he lifted the latch on the door to Ollivander's property, and went into the yard at the rear of the shop. Harry and Hermione followed quietly. The stairs leading up to Ollivander's flat were rickety, and shook under their feet. Ron didn't help matters by stomping up them as though he held a grudge against them, and his snapped-out unlocking spell at the top of the stairs was not the whispered hiss that they had been using whenever discreet magic was necessary. Hermione looked as though she wanted to admonish him, but seemed to be holding back. Harry thought that this was probably wise -- Ron was in no mood to be told off, and the last thing they needed was an argument to attract any more attention. Already he felt wary of Ollivander's home. The Death Eaters would have stopped at nothing to capture the venerable wand maker. Surely they would be monitoring his home, just in case he returned to it? It took the three of them no time at all to find Ollivander's tent. It was lying on the low table in the middle of the flat's main room. The flat was dingy and small, a bed tucked away against a wall, a fireplace with a rusty cooking pot in the centre of a second wall, and a small workplace occupying much of a third wall. A large picture window dominated the fourth wall, offering a panoramic view of Diagon Alley below. A single elderly witch shuffled slowly along in the middle of the street, heedless to Harry watching her closely from above. "Is it all there?" he asked, as Hermione poked through the tent's carrying bag. "I think so. It's been three years since I did any camping -- and that was only for one night." "Did you see all this stuff?" Ron asked, from Ollivander's work area. Harry turned away from the witch, who had stopped to talk to a younger wizard, and looked over at him. Ron was holding up a half-finished wand, a rather grubby looking hair protruding from the handle. "Looks like someone's been here," Ron said. "Taken everything useful, probably." "We should get going," Harry said, feeling a chill on his back. He turned to look out the window again, suddenly aware that he was very visible while he was standing in the bay. "Come on, then," Ron said, reaching for the tent. Harry reached for it as well, but Ron shook his head. "I can handle it," he declared. Harry relented with a stifled sigh. Ron had insisted on carrying more than anyone else, and the goblet Horcrux was also stashed in his rucksack, hidden in a cracked Quaffle that they had found on their travels. Adding the tent, as small as it was, to his load would only make matters worse. He resolved to discreetly move some of the items to his own pack when he got the chance. As Ron struggled to strap the tent to his bulging rucksack, Harry glanced once more out of the window. He felt again a cold shiver, and noticed the witch and wizard had vanished. Didn't Ollivander say that the tent was in a cupboard? "Let's go," he said quietly, reaching for his rucksack. "Just a minute," Ron grunted, as he and Hermione tugged at straps and clips. "Now!" Harry barked, a fraction too late. Twin cracks greeted the arrival of a witch and wizard into Ollivander's home, their wands drawn. The wizard spat out a string of words, his wandtip glowing brightly for a split-second before a yellow-brown spell burst forth. Harry threw himself away from the window, which shattered as the spell hit it. Ron and Hermione had already tried to dive from sight, but while Hermione had taken shelter behind the room's only chair, Ron had somehow managed to feed one of the straps of his rucksack through the cuff of his shirt, and his dive towards the doorway was abruptly halted, sending him crashing to the floor. If anything, the sudden stop saved Ron from the witch's assault, as she hexed the area that he would have been in, but she was quick to respond, belying her advanced years. Harry suddenly recognised the pair as being the people that he had seen outside only moments before. Apparently they had been watching Ollivander's home, waiting for someone to enter. Harry rose quickly, his wand out, already casting a tongue of flame towards the witch as Hermione rose above the back of the chair and fired a stinging hex at the wizard. It was a move that he had drilled everyone in during the DA sessions the year before, and it worked as their attackers were caught off balance. The witch staggered to one side, thrown off-balance by Harry's attack. As she stumbled against Ollivander's table, Ron managed to tear his sleeve free of his rucksack. Hermione ducked back behind the chair as the wizard drew a bead on her and fired off a slicing hex that slashed into the wood, which split with a loud crack. Harry fired off a pair of pinching curses that bracketed the witch, leaving her unable to move for a split-second as Ron targeted her. Harry turned his attention back to the wizard, who was sheltering behind a shield spell as Hermione sent a series of quick, low-power hexes in his direction. The wizard snarled defiance from behind his shield, and had to turn at the last instant to block Harry's hex, before Harry in turn focused on the witch. Harry felt his frustration growing as he rained a rapid spray of curses on the woman. She, like her colleague, had a strong shield behind which she took shelter. The two attackers had been lucky in that they were facing their three targets from across the room, and were able to move slowly towards one another. Harry knew that if they combined their shields, then they would be able to hold the three of them off indefinitely. He was determined not to allow that to happen. As Ron and Hermione switched targets, making them pause in their movements, Harry sprang forwards. Hurdling the damaged chair, he dropped into the space between the two attackers, and blindly fired a quick curse at the wizard, before turning and hexing the witch. He was rewarded with a high shriek as the hex caught the witch on her right shoulder, making her drop her wand. Ron's stunner caught her flush in the stomach, doubling her over and dropping her unconscious to the floor. Harry spun on his heel and focused on the wizard, who had been lucky enough to catch his first curse on the edge of his shield. With his attention split between the three teenagers, however, he had no chance of defending himself. Letting loose a scream of frustration, he dropped his shield and attempted to Apparate away. Halfway through the turn, however, he was hit in the head and hip by hexes from Harry and Hermione, which sent him flying backwards and outwards as the abrupt interruption caused him to splinch. Harry felt his stomach heave as the man's detached right arm hit the far wall while the rest of him crumpled to the ground, his left leg looking rather like it had fallen off at the knee, although mercifully this was hidden by his robes. The room fell into near-silence, only the faint hiss of contained magic slowly evaporating audible to Harry's ears. He looked around at Ron, who was still sprawled on the floor, and Hermione, who had sunk into the chair, and was holding her wand tightly in shaking hands. "We need to get out of here." "We can't leave them," Ron said, standing up gingerly. "They're Death Eaters," Harry said, indignantly. "They're not a risk at the moment," Ron said, scrambling over to the fireplace. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pot of Floo powder. "Sorry, mate. That one," he nodded at the wizard, "needs help." Ron lit a fire with his wand, and threw a pinch of powder into the flames. Harry crossed the room to Hermione, and crouched down to look her in the face. "Er, are you ok?" he asked, feeling a little helpless as she took a great, shuddering breath, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She was very pale, and Harry worried that she'd hurt herself again. She was holding her stomach very protectively. "I think so," she said. "I don't like fighting." "I know," he said. He put a hand on her shoulder, and wished fervently that Ginny were there. He thought that she would have known what to do. Briefly he thought if she had been there, that he would have known what to do. "Come on, let's go," Ron said, hurrying back across the room. "Derbyshire, that spot just outside Belper, got it?" Harry looked at Ron in surprise. "Come on," Ron repeated, more forcefully. He seized Hermione around the shoulders and lifted her up, almost without help from her. "Grab the bags and tent, now, come on." "But-" "Harry, in about thirty seconds, my Dad and half the Aurors, Order members and Magical Reversal department are going to be Apparating in here. At the very least, we need to give them some room, right?" Harry nodded silently and moved around the room, grabbing the bags while Ron held Hermione upright. "Now, give me your arm, Harry. This is going to be a bumpy ride." Harry had no chance to say anything. A whisper-quiet hiss alerted him to the arrival of a pair of Aurors in dark robes, swiftly followed by a white clad Healer who appeared almost on top of the splinched wizard. Arthur Weasley was the next to appear, and his gaze immediately fixed on Ron and his friends. He opened his mouth to say something, but by then the familiar tightness constricted Harry's chest, worse than ever. The last thing he saw was the Aurors turning to face in their direction as Arthur stepped forward. Harry would have gasped as they disappeared, but the air had been forced from his lungs. He felt himself grow increasingly dizzy, and it felt as though his head was being pounded by a series of sledgehammer blows. They reappeared with a loud crack that startled the cows whose field they had appeared in. Harry crumpled to his hands and knees, barely feeling Hermione's weight as she dropped on top of him. His vision blurred, but the vivid red of Ron's hair was clearly visible as his friend collapsed in a heap beside him. Harry struggled to stay conscious against the encroaching blackness. He gasped for breath, his chest aching, sharp stabs of pain accompanying every lungful of air. His head fell forwards, and he shuddered at the pain as his forehead collided with the ground. * At first, Harry wasn't sure whether he had actually opened his eyes, and he had to wave his hand in front of his face to be sure. His head throbbed, and his chest still felt tight, but he was grateful that he was still alive. He forced himself upright, dislodging Hermione, who was sprawled across his knees and Ron's back in a way that Harry imagined was very uncomfortable. He looked around, peering unsteadily about him in the faint light from the far off village. It was as near to pitch black as Harry had known since his last encounter with a Dementor. The sky was covered with clouds, thick and heavy with an oncoming storm. Harry felt grateful for the tent, which he spied on the ground a short distance away. Crouching down, he shook Hermione and Ron by the shoulders. Ron swore under his breath, while Hermione erupted in a racking cough that made Ron snap upright, his hand reaching for his wand. "It's alright, it's okay!" Harry said quickly. "We're safe." Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Even though it was so dark, and Hermione's face was already red from coughing, Harry thought that she coloured still more as she realised that she was lying across Ron. Ron, for his part, scrambled upright so quickly that he might almost have been burned. Harry would have said something, but remembered how embarrassed he had been about his feelings for Ginny, months before. Deciding to leave his friends well enough alone, he walked over to Ollivander's tent and carried it back to where Ron and Hermione were studiously not looking at one another. "There's a storm coming in," he said to both of them. "We should get the tent pitched. I don't know what time it is, but we'll need to be up and moving before dawn." Hermione checked her watch, and discovered that it was after eleven, which meant that they had been unconscious for almost eight hours. Despite this, all three still felt exhausted from their unexpected fight and flight, and all welcomed the idea of a decent sleep in one of the beds in Ollivander's tent. The tent was put up fairly quickly, considering their inexperience, and shortly after midnight, Harry crawled through the flap and stopped short. "Harry, come on," Ron moaned. "I want to get some kip." "Er," Harry said, grinning almost in spite of himself. "Harry, what on earth is taking so long?" Hermione asked. The flap was pulled back, and Hermione and Ron stuck their heads through. "Oh." Harry knew that there would be no problems keeping the tent warm. Hermione and Ron's blushes would see to that. Ollivander had given them a tent that, although it was heated and equipped with a skylight, was lacking one important feature. Instead of the small flat that they had been expecting, there was just about enough room for the three of them to lie down, provided they didn't mind being huddled together like sardines in a can. * Surprisingly, Ron and Hermione hadn't said anything on seeing the inside of the tent. Ron had just shook his head, crawled over to the right side of the tent, and fallen asleep as though the lumpy ground beneath the ground sheet were the most comfortable bed in the world. Hermione had stayed awake long enough to tend to the cuts and scrapes she had received in the fight, before making herself as comfortable as she could, as far on the other side of the tent as she could. Harry noted with a slightly sour smile that he was left in the middle, and if the other two were restless sleepers, then he was almost certain to be attacked by flailing arms from both sides. It was scarcely a hardship compared to the thought of facing Voldemort, but Harry couldn't help but feel that it was the sort of detail that could have been added to adventure books to really illustrate the sort of problems an adventurer might face. * Harry wasn't sure what it was that made him wake up until he'd had a few seconds to reorient himself. Then he realised that the space beside him was empty. He patted the ground a few times before turning over to speak to Hermione, only to find her gone as well. A cold fear bloomed in his stomach as a thousand unbidden images of his friends in trouble flooded through his mind. His hand snaked beneath his pillow and came up with his wand ready. Sliding out of his sleeping bag, he crawled carefully toward the open flap of the tent, which seemed to gleam silver in the bright moonlight. Peering cautiously through the opening, he saw nothing in any direction that seemed to pose a threat. Crawling through the flap, he made his way to the corner of the field, and looked quickly over the stone wall. Nothing. Standing up, Harry vaulted nimbly over the wall and chose on instinct to head towards a small hill a short distance away. The hill was lightly covered with trees and offered the only decent coverage in the near area. If Ron and Hermione were in trouble -- Harry's stomach twisted again at the thought -- then they would have gone there if they could, and tried to lead pursuit away from him. Sticking as much to the shadows as he could, Harry made his way towards the hill. He was alert to the slightest sound, the smallest movement, even the feel of the ground underneath his feet as he moved from patches of grass through dead leaves fallen from their trees under autumn's grip. At last he reached the foot of the hill, and realised with some relief that there was sufficient cover to make his way up the hill almost unseen -- although if he was using the cover, Harry knew that there had to be some chance that there was someone else using it as well. As quietly as possible, he made his way slowly up the hill, eyes peeled for any sign of Ron or Hermione. Eventually, he came to the top of the hill, disappointment coursing through him at his lack of success. A little way to his right, Harry heard the fluttering of wings, and turned to see an owl soaring up into the air, momentarily outline against the moon, before it vanished into the night sky. And then he heard them. "...to tell Harry," Hermione was saying. "No. You know what he'd say," Ron replied. "But it might help him-" "If he knew what his two best friends were doing behind his back? Come on, Hermione. You know Harry better than that. Look, I know I'm not the brightest person about emotions or anything, but... Think about what Harry's been through. Look how he reacted when he found out that Dumbledore had been keeping things from him." Harry crept closer to his friends, curious about what they could possibly be discussing. He saw them standing a little way down the hill, so close as to be almost touching. Harry realised that the two of them were talking in near-whispers. Had he not been so close, he would never have heard them. "All the more reason to tell him now-" "No!" Ron snapped. "Listen to me... Harry thinks the whole world is his responsibility. If he knew that... Well, we'll tell him if we have to, but until then, I think he's better off with one less thing to worry about." "Ron..." "Hermione, you have to promise me. I know you're a ruddy genius, and normally you know more about anything than anyone -- but this time you have to promise me you won't say anything." "Fine." Harry watched as Ron and Hermione walked away, following a path around the hill that would take them back to their campsite. With a start, he realised that he had to get back before them, as he was beginning to suspect that he knew exactly what they were talking about -- and he didn't want them to know that he'd overheard them. He stepped forward, wincing as a dry branch cracked underfoot. Ron and Hermione froze in mid-step, spinning around to cover one another's back. They drew their wands quickly. And then Ron reached behind him, and took Hermione's free hand in his. Harry had seen enough. With great care as to where he was placing his feet, he ran downhill, moving as quickly as he could to avoid being overtaken by his friends. He made it back to the tent, sweating and gasping for breath, and dived into his sleeping bag. Barely a minute later, he heard rapid footsteps, and he tensed himself, taking care to breathe as normally as possible. The footsteps paused, and there was a low murmur of conversation that he couldn't make out. Then the tentflap parted, and Ron's head poked through. "Harry?" Harry lay still, not saying anything. "He's asleep. Come on." The tent shook as Ron and Hermione climbed in, and Harry thought that he would have had to have been a champion sleeper not to have been awakened by the noise and, by being stepped on more than once. Finally, his friends settled down, and he wondered if they also felt almost unbearably hot, as their combined body heats from running down the hill and along the road caused the temperature in the tent to rise inexorably. And then Ron's snores filled the tent. As used to them as he had become, Harry could never quite believe that a human being could create such a remarkable noise, which he could only liken to a chainsaw attempting to chew its way through a steel cable. Eventually, Harry felt himself drifting off. As darkness closed around him, he thought he heard Hermione softly call out his name, but by then he was already asleep. * No mention was made the next morning of any nocturnal wanderings, and the three friends enjoyed a fine breakfast of fried bread, bacon and tomatoes, that Ron had prepared. It had come as some surprise to both Harry and Hermione that Ron was a quite talented cook, but Harry supposed that Molly Weasley would not have let any of her children grow up without at least learning a few things in the kitchen. "Harry, do you know what tomorrow is?" Harry looked up. "It's the fifteenth of October," Hermione said. "The date of your hearing with the Ministry." Harry grimaced. He'd allowed himself to forget that fact. "Are you going to attend?" Hermione prompted. Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so. I was all set to ignore it at first -- I mean, what difference does it make if I show up for this hearing? But things are bad enough without making it any worse. Let's get this over and done with, and then we can get on with all this." He looked at Ron. "Are there any other entrances to the Ministry that don't require us going through the phonebox?" Ron nodded. "You think that Scrimgeour will have the press there?" "I'd bet Galleons to Knuts on it," Harry sighed. "He wants me to look like his pet pygmy puff," he added, with a small sigh at the memory of Ginny playing with Arnold, her pet pygmy puff. "Well... I can ask Dad for help, but Harry..." Harry looked up from the fire, having let himself become lost in a reverie of its golden-red flames. "What?" "Well, Dad helped us yesterday, and now we're asking him for help for tomorrow as well. He'll want to know what we're doing." "Maybe we should ask for more help," Hermione suggested. "We're not any further along in finding out how to destroy that goblet -- and it's been four weeks." Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore didn't ask for help." "None of us is Dumbledore, though," Hermione said. "Dumbledore swore me to secrecy," Harry went on, although he had no choice but to concede Hermione's point. "I could tell you two, but no-one else." "Someone else might be able to help, though," Hermione said. Harry sensed that she was testing him, seeing how far she could push before he'd lose his temper. "I understand what you're saying," he said. "And I've considered it -- of course I have. I'm sure Professor Lupin, or Professor McGonagall would be able to help a lot. But it only takes one stray word to the wrong person... Dumbledore trusted Snape when he shouldn't have done. Malfoy too." "We don't know that Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore, though," Hermione said. Harry glared at her. "We don't, Harry. You said yourself that it was supposed to be a punishment to his father for being caught, that he was supposed to fail and be killed." "Besides, it's not like we're in the same position as Dumbledore," Ron said. "I mean, I know you're a good fighter, but Dumbledore knew nearly everything -- I mean, he was over a hundred and fifty." Harry let his shoulders slump. "If we haven't found anything by Christmas, we'll ask, okay? Now, what am I supposed to say at the hearing tomorrow?" To be continued... (Author's Note: Still no reviews from my wife -- but she was in the States rather than England this week, so maybe I'll let her off...)
|