It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 19 – You can’t escape, you won’t escape, you don’t want to escape


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“What? What did he say?” Her voice was barely audible in the roaring of the Great Hall. “What did he say?” she screamed in the ear of the assistant professor sitting next to her. They’d been listening to the new Minister of Magic’s speech for a while before it got interrupted by a cheering and yelling of the hundreds of students. Gerry lost track of what the Minister was saying about two minutes into his speech, her attention back where it had been lately – on Snape.

Ever since that night, when she realized there was something wrong with the dour Potions Master, she couldn’t take her mind off of him, and grew more apprehensive about his condition as the days passed. She made it her utmost important objective to find out what it was that was happening to Snape. However, her resources were extremely limited – she obviously couldn’t discuss the Potions Master with any of the students, and the adults weren’t all that eager to talk about their surly colleague. And so, short of cornering Snape and somehow dragging the information out of him, there wasn’t much she could do but watch him every chance she got – in the halls, during meals, at staff meetings.

She kept replaying in her head her conversation with Dumbledore after she concluded that Snape had some serious health problem. But no matter how many times she thought about it, it wasn’t helping to alleviate her fears. There wasn’t much the Headmaster could or would tell Gerry that would shed light on Snape’s condition, and his reassurances left her unconvinced.

“We had noticed that something was amiss, when the school was reopened after the restoration,” Dumbledore started his explanation, looking thoughtfully at Gerry, who sat on the edge of her seat, biting her lip. “He fell and broke his hipbone. When Poppy was tending to him, she became aware of…er…the changes – the weight loss, the insomnia. However, back then, in the absence of any other apparent explanation, we chalked it up to the fact that we all just came out of a terrible experience, and Severus had to endure more, and hence was affected more than most of us.”

The old wizard stopped, stroked his white beard, and continued with a sigh, “But when Poppy got a chance to look at Severus again, after you…” Gerry nodded quickly, allowing Dumbledore to skip the details of an encounter she still felt guilty about. “Our dear mediwitch was extremely upset when she examined him. He was getting worse – more weight loss, more exhaustion. Still, yet again, she couldn’t pinpoint any feasible cause for his condition.”

The old wizard paused, and Gerry urged him impatiently, “So…”

“She patched him up, and let him go.”

“What about this time?”

“I would venture a guess that Poppy will do everything she can and…”

“And what? Let him go to die!” For a split second she was as stunned as Dumbledore was, but then she realized that yes, this was what she was afraid of – Snape’s imminent dying.

“No, of course not, but…” the old wizard frowned.

“But what!” She was completely terrified. All her suspicions and deductions aside, when coming here she still thought that Dumbledore would be able to dispel her fears in respect to the Potions Master. Instead, she had two horrible revelations. First, Snape was dying, and second, “Don’t you see? He wants to die!”

“Severus?” the old wizard glanced at her in total disbelief. “No. Absolutely not!”

“How do you know?” Gerry made an effort to remain seated, and, ignoring the taste of blood on her bitten lip, waited for the Headmaster to answer her question. To tell her anything that would lessen the icy prickling that was filling her insides. He should know something significant, shouldn’t he, to remain that calm and composed, to sound that assured?

“My dear child, I grant you, Severus might be a tad depressed,” Dumbledore started. “I reckon he is not pleased his work against the Dark Side is yet to be known to people - his role in the war, and, especially, in the final battle…” Gerry gulped at that, but kept quiet. “I am sure he takes his inability to brew potions very hard as well. But suicide? No. Severus is a Slytherin to the bone. He can’t take his own life.”

“What does it that have to do with anything, Headmaster?” She jumped from her seat.

“You see, Slytherins believe in surviving despite all the odds,” the old wizard explained calmly, gesturing for her to sit back down. “Besides, I’ve seen Severus in considerably worse situations before, and he never gave in.” The old wizard contemplated for a moment and than shook his head, “No, Gerry, I am positive, we can safely rule out your supposition.”

“Slytherin, huh?” She tasted the word as if trying to see if it was convincing enough. It didn’t seem that way, though. But Dumbledore sounded so assured in his reasoning, so unruffled in regards to her speculations that Gerry had to begin doubting it herself. “So, what do you think is going on with…Professor Snape then?”

“As I said, we don’t know. There could be a number of things. It could be some kind of aftereffect of a curse. It could be…”

“Why doesn’t he get thoroughly looked at then?” She was too agitated to let the wizard finish his thought.

Fortunately, the man didn’t take umbrage, but smiled sadly, and answered, “Alas, Severus is not the most compliant patient, and Poppy simply never has had a chance to persuade him into staying in the hospital wing long enough to have him completely checked.”

“Why can’t you make him?!”

“Gerry, he is a grown man. It should be his decision to go to see a mediwitch. As it is,” Dumbledore sighed, “he is rather cross with Poppy…for her “inane nagging,” and he absolutely refuses to talk to me or any one else about anything related to his health. Hence, short of tying him to the hospital bed or force-shipping him to St. Mungo’s, there is not much we can do but wait and see.” The old wizard eyed her carefully, and then offered, “To ease your worries, I will go against Poppy and tell you this much – there is no curse on him, and there is no severe damage to any of his vital organs. I also was assured his hands would heal in time.”

“What about…?” She bit her lip, and pointed at her forehead.

“No, Gerry,” he shook his head, “no. Slytherins are well known for bouncing back from any adversity life throws at them. As far as I can tell, all Severus needs right now is an incentive to get better. And before you ask, we are trying to offer him some.”

If Gerry were not that distraught, she would have noticed the quick calculating glance the Headmaster threw at her. But she was too preoccupied, too anxious to notice anything. Did she believe in Dumbledore’s explanations? Had she been wrong in reading Snape? Was she too emotionally involved to think rationally?

Meanwhile, Dumbledore continued, “I appreciate it that you are worried about Severus. Believe me, we all do. And I would be more than happy to discuss with you any…hm…of your doubts or concerns. And now,” he got up, and as he walked around the desk, his shiny midnight blue robes, criss-crossed with white fluorescent comets, shimmered softly, “I believe it is breakfast time, my dear child. And you are ill-advised to skip a meal.” He smiled at her as she stood up and nodded, still thinking about Snape.

“Right.”

Several moments later Gerry found herself on the spiral stairs. Outside Dumbledore’s office, all of her fears and anxieties returned in full force. What if the old wizard was wrong, and not her? What if he missed something? It didn’t look like he knew about Snape being killed in the final battle. So, he might not be aware of other things as well. Besides, what kind of proof was “he is a Slytherin”!? No, she shook her head, she just couldn’t accept Dumbledore’s reassurances, she just couldn’t “wait and see.” She had to do something, something she actually could do.

The decision to contact Mrs. Doomsfield was only logical…

Gerry was looking around in disbelief – the cries had somewhat quieted down, but the Great Hall looked more like a disturbed bee-hive than a place where students and teachers ate. It seemed everyone was talking at the same time.

“The ball!” the assistant professor next to her screamed in her ear.

“What ball?” she screamed back. Instead of answering, the wizard pointed to the Minister of Magic, who stood next to Dumbledore, both wizards smiling at the kids, waiting for them to calm down.


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“Just bloody great,” Snape thought angrily. “Just what the stupid twits need – a ball.”

“We will extend the term for a day, so that the Leaving Feast will take place on Saturday night, and will be followed by the ball.” Finally the Great Hall had quieted down enough for the Minister of Magic to continue. “Thursday is the last day of exams.” The wizard glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded in agreement. “That night, after dinner, a team of professional costume makers, assigned to each House, will meet with you in your respective common rooms to assist with ball preparation. They will be at your disposal until the commencement of the ball at eight o’clock Saturday night.”

Before the Great Hall exploded again, the Minister of Magic managed to add, “All paid by the Committee of Awards Fund.”

“So, what are you going to go like?” Snape heard a snigger from his side. “Oh, wait, you’re all set as it is. Bet none of the costume-makers will be able to recreate a vampire look just as good as yours.” Hooch. Stupid infantile cow. Some things never change. Well, at least her jokes at his expense were usually delivered to his face and appeared to be a weak recycling of someone else’s pretense of humor.

He turned slowly and stared at her for several long moments. Hooch’s smirk began to look forced very soon. Then he drawled coldly, “Your pathetic attempt at wittiness leaves me breathless laughing, madam.” Then, again very slowly, he turned back to scowl at the students.

Merlin, would the torture ever end? Somebody up there must have thought that his life wasn’t trying enough as it was to make him sit there and listen to the excited howls of the out-of-control adolescents. The familiar headache began pooling at the back of his scalp, and Snape groaned inwardly - it was only bloody morning.

Meanwhile, the Minister of Magic waited out the screams and howls of the thrilled students, and went on about the upcoming ball – the band, the honorary guests, the awards, etc. Snape shook his head slightly. As much as he loathed and despised Cornelius Fudge, who was ousted out of the office after the end of the war, this new Minister of Magic, a short energetic elderly wizard, who exuded an aura of benevolence and cheerfulness, didn’t strike Snape as a good choice for a leader. He doubted very much that wizarding society, which was still licking its war wounds and mending its torn links, needed a Ministry who seemed to be more concerned with forgiveness and celebration than ensuring that there was no other Dark Lord waiting in the wings.

Of course, if he were absolutely truthful with himself, Snape had to admit there was only one reason he cared as to who the Minister of Magic was - he was in a hurry. He needed to die. But because of this jovial fool, he was forced to live and watch how the Ministry took a “with the Dark Lord gone, some of the Death Eaters saw the errors of their ways, and repent, so let’s give them a chance” approach. Why couldn’t the Ministry understand that acquitted even the least important of Death Eaters, given the proper motivation and the proper leader, could become a dangerous force to be reckoned with?

“The Ministry doesn’t have a choice, Severus,” Dumbledore would tell him every time they read about an acquittal of yet another Death Eater. “If there is no hard evidence of his crimes, they have to let him go.”

“And my testimony…” Snape would mention it every time, although he knew the answer to that one. And Dumbledore would just look at him and shake his head.

For Snape to remain effective in case of the Dark forces’ resurgence, the old wizard used all of his influence to keep the Potions Master from being arrested and tried, somehow persuading the Aurors to “ignore” him for the time being. As a result, Snape’s war activities were unknown to all but a handful of people, and he remained a suspected Death Eater in the eyes of the law. Tamed and protected by Dumbledore, but still very much a villain, whose word wasn’t worth a Sickle. In a rush to earn “a second chance” most of the captured Death Eaters were readily accusing each other of the most heinous crimes, and those accusations had been ruled inadmissible in court. Sometimes Snape wondered when it was finally all over, and his true role in the war was revealed, would his word ever have any worth?

“No-no-no, don’t tell me, a sneaky Death Eater is in pursuit of respect and trust!” the nasty loud cackle echoed in his head, bouncing off of his scalp and sending his escalating headache to new excruciating heights. Snape barely caught a dry heave struggling to get out.

He slowly folded his hands on his chest, willing himself to remain calm and made a quick mental check – the face expression, the back, the shoulders. Bloody fucking hell. He almost lost it there for a moment. A drop of cold sweat slithered down his face, but he refused to wipe it, afraid to draw unwanted attention.

At least the Minister had finished with the announcements by then, and everyone returned to their meals. Excited laughter and chatter took the usual noise of the Great Hall to a new level, and Snape clenched his teeth, wishing for breakfast to be over. Just a little longer, and he could leave. Just a little longer.

He could feel his shirt gluing itself onto his sweaty back, and the high collar of his jacket, getting tighter, dug mercilessly into his neck. Had anyone noticed? Dumbledore and McGonagall were busy talking to the Minister. Hooch on Snape’s right was fully occupied with her eggs and bacon, and another result of Albus’ pitiful attempt at filling the position of DADA Professor on Snape’s left was flirting with Vector. However, before he could let out a sigh of relief, he realized he was being watched. A quick glance around the Great Hall, and… Oh, shit! Bloody fucking shit! It was the girl. Of course, the moment he looked at her, her own gaze shifted, but he knew it was her watching him just then. He scowled, but little Ms. Pet Project couldn’t see it since she concentrated on steadily buttering her toast, the tip of her tongue sticking out, following the pattern of the knife’s movements.

Snape swore inwardly. He should have confronted her a long time ago. He just seemed to never have a chance. He didn’t feel like making a public scene, and refused to seek her out on purpose. The only times he was in her presence alone were Saturday afternoons, when she brew her potion. However, the two Saturdays that past since the Sacred Datura incident turned out to be of no use. The first one the girl had to share the lab with Sprout, who worked on bug spays, and Snape was left listening to the inane discussion between the two witches about newly developed American expellants. And before the last Saturday, the bloody arrogant girl asked him to reschedule her time in his lab.

“It is extremely unfortunate, Ms. Ardant,” he spat her name as if it was poisonous, “but I will not be able to change my schedule to accommodate your hectic social life. You will have to prioritize for yourself.”

The girl turned red, her unsure smile withered. “Professor, I do have to be elsewhere this Saturday, and…”

“Then, I trust you will enjoy your…activities enough to warrant a few missed doses of your medicine.” His smirk oozed venom as he glanced coldly down at the girl. “Good day, Ms. Ardant.” In a swirl of his robes, he turned around and left, forbidding himself to contemplate the strange expression on the girl’s face…

Snape swore again. He should have confronted her then. He should have given her a taste of his whipping sarcasm, humiliated her enough so that it would teach her to stay away from a wizard who had have no scruples about making her life a misery. The bloody slip of a witch probably thought he didn’t know she had a hand in the incident with Sacred Datura. She probably didn’t realize he knew she was plotting another prank on him, and that all her watching and following him around wasn’t as sneaky as she most definitely wanted it to be. The foolish girl didn’t understand just whom she was dealing with. But he wasn’t a spy for that long for nothing. He even recognized her trick of avoiding the company of the Rag Clown. Foolish, primitive Gryffindors!

Snape looked at Carnavale. Aha! The idiot was also watching him, and blushed slightly after being caught. The young wizard then glanced at Ms. Ardant, and the girl smiled at him. Snape’s inward smirk was menacing. May be it was a good thing he didn’t have a chance to confront Ms. Ardant yet. He’d rather catch both of these twits in the act, and they would pay. The both of them!


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Not a long time ago, news about an impending costume ball would send Gerry squealing with delight. Today she only smiled a little, but that smile was wiped away by the sight of Snape’s tensing. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, biting her lip, trying to see behind the blank mask of his ashen face. She should have been ecstatic about the ball. She should have already been planning out her costume. She should have been owling her friends for advice. Instead she watched a drop of sweat slithering down along the dark-haired wizard’s jaw line, his lips pursed into a thin, white, painful line, and her heart throbbed. Who would have thought love would make her such a touchy-feely fool? Unrequited love at that, to add an insult to the injury.

Gerry was so preoccupied with her musings, she almost missed the moment when Snape’s gaze moved to her. She quickly shifted her eyes to her food, and pretended to be concentrating on buttering her toast. She wondered if he noticed her watching him, but dismissed this concern. Judging by the way he ignored her, she decided he just wouldn’t be able to.

Very soon, she felt his gaze move off of her, and sighed. It was exhausting - the constant worrying, the blinding anxiety. Her whole life was twisted around and ripped apart by a wizard who didn’t even know it! Fuck, would he care if he knew?

She shook her head slightly, as if trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts, and looked at Jay. Poor guy, he couldn’t understand why she avoided him for the last two weeks. She didn’t really mean to hurt him, but at first she was angry with him because of Snape’s coma, and then… Gerry sighed. She was spending way too much time thinking about the dour Potions Master and his undiscovered problem. Not everyone’s world revolved around him. And if she was foolish enough to fall in love with a man who was disliked by most, she had to be able to ignore people’s opinion, or go through life completely alone. She gave Jay a small smile, and the young wizard beamed back.

That night he stopped by her rooms.

“Hey,” he said hesitantly.

“Hey,” she answered, standing in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” he inquired with a smile.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” She snapped out of her stupor, and moved aside to let him in.

Jay walked around her living room, then plopped down on the couch, and threw his arms wide on the back cushions.

“So, you still haven’t bothered to ask for some furniture yet.” He smirked at her, and Gerry laughed back.

“What, the couch is not big enough for your any more?” She shoved him slightly, and as he moved to the side, sat next to him. “See, we still fit.”

The initial awkwardness passed, and they were back again to the ease of their friendship. They drank the wine Jay brought with him. They joked about the latest school events. They discussed the upcoming ball. The hours flew pleasantly unnoticed.

When both of them were sufficiently inebriated and relaxed, Jay suddenly said, “Listen, Ger, there is a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about.” Having uttered that, however, the young wizard felt silent. His clownish face sobered, he looked around as if searching for help as to how to say what he was about to say.

“Shoot,” Gerry replied lazily. She was half-sitting half-laying, the wine she had drunk warmly buzzing in her blood.

“So.” Jay’s gaze wasn’t meeting hers.

“Come on, pal, what is it?” She nudged him smiling.

“I just had my resignation approved,” he finally said. “So…”

“So…”

“I was thinking…”

“Oh-oh, should I be worried?” She was still smiling.

“You know, I thought about traveling and such… I was wondering…” he trailed off.

“What!”

“You are going to be in New Jersey over the summer hols, aren’t you?” Gerry nodded at him, and Jay asked, “Would you show me the States?”

“Of course, all of them.” She chuckled, and began counting on her fingers. “Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas… There are quite a lot of them, you know.”

Jay hesitated, as if deciding if he should say something else, but then he gave out a burst of laugher and announced, “Boy, someone is totally pissed. Well, then, it is time to discuss serious matters.”

“Okay, and what would that be?” She made a move to sit up straighter and mockingly furrowed her eyebrows.

“The Leaving Night!”

Apparently, there was a tradition among the teaching staff at Hogwarts to make the last night the seventh years spent in school a memorable one by playing the most outrageous pranks on the graduating students.

“Count me in!” Gerry cried out happily.

When Jay got up to leave, it was well after midnight, and they both were very much drunk and tired. They lingered in the doorway, neither of them wanting the evening to end, happy to be good pals again, although none of them had acknowledged the reason for their falling out in the first place.

“Listen…” Jay was almost out the door, when he decided to ask. “If you need help with Snape…”

Gerry wasn’t sure how she managed not to show any signs of alarm. But whatever showed on her face, the young wizard seemed to read as the simple surprise of a person being caught doing something not particularly wise.

“I’ve seen you watch him like a hawk. Are you planning something interesting?” Jay winked at her.

“None of your business, Mister Nosy.” She swatted his arm playfully, and gave him a little push. “Go. It is late. And leave the poor Potions Master alone.”

“Will do, ma’am.” Jay’s wide grin flashed white in the darkness of the night hallway, and he left.

She closed the door behind him and pressed her throbbing forehead to the cool surface of the lacquered wood. Shit. The alcohol haze was rapidly dissolving, taking with it the elation of the last several hours.

Shit. Was she that obvious? If Jay had noticed, had Snape? No, it wasn’t likely. He would have eaten her alive by now if he had. Still, she should have been more subtle. Yes, from now on she had to keep in mind that she could be watched too.

On the other hand… Gerry shook her head. Who was she kidding? All of her Snape-watching hadn’t produced any results. None. She still had no idea what was wrong with the Potions Master, and her apprehension just kept sitting heavily in the pit of her stomach. All she could gather so far was that Snape didn’t eat during meals, that he looked dead tired at any time of the day, any day of the week, that he refused to talk to the DADA Professor, that all of his attire was completely black and overloaded with buttons. None of it was of any practical use. Really, the only way Gerry saw herself to be of any help to Snape was if Mrs. Doomsfield came through. And waiting for that was grating on her nerves no less than the worry about the wizard himself. Gerry kept checking her wand to see if there was a message from her, but the more time passed, the more she doubted she was convincing enough. Was there anything else she should have said? Was there any concessions she should have offered?

When Mrs. Doomsfield offered to meet her in Diagon Alley on Saturday afternoon, Gerry agreed right away. Although it was the time when she usually brewed her potion, she thought she could reschedule with Snape. As it was, it took the old witch over a week to find the time for an unplanned meeting. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and begging was what she was prepared to do to have Mrs. Doomsfield’s agreement.

However, nothing worked as she wished it would. Snape spitefully refused to accommodate her request to reschedule her lab time, and the old witch, although she wasn’t as harsh or malicious as the Potions Master, as good as told Gerry that her petition was total madness.

“You do understand what you are asking for, my child!” The old witch looked at her as if she asked for a pet dragon, surprise and horror mixed in equal proportions on her kind face.

Gerry nodded silently.

“No, I don’t think you do!” Mrs. Doomsfield cried, but then she took a deep breath, visibly calming herself, and quickly glanced around. “First of all,” she began in a softer voice, “after your antics last winter, I can’t begin to imagine going to the Council with your request.” Gerry bit her lip, but remained quiet. “Do you realize how much effort went into mending the damage you’ve inflicted on the Order! Somebody had to go in the Ministry jail to rearrange the memories of four wizards. Four!” The old witch looked scornfully at Gerry. “Let alone the fact that you barely made it out of there alive. Didn’t you see there was a battle going on?”

“Well, yeah, but… Look, this time it will be different. It will all be arranged…”

“There will not be a “this time”! If you don’t understand it, I will explain it to you!”

“Mrs. Doomsfield, listen I…”

“No, young lady, you listen to me first.” Gerry clamped her mouth shut. There was no need to aggravate the only person who could help her.

Yes, she agreed, Snape was neither a relative, nor a person important enough to warrant a Vita Redux. Yes, she nodded, she really didn’t know for sure if the Potions Master even needed one. Yes, she understood that, assuming for a moment she had an approval, she wouldn’t be paid for the ritual, since he was not on the Order’s list. And would she decide to go ahead without an approval, Gerry could face severe disciplinary charges, this being her third unauthorized ritual, which may go as far as exclusion from the Order and total Obliviation of any knowledge related to Vita Healing.

Gerry felt panicky. Somewhere deep down, she herself wasn’t all that confident if her decision was the right one. But there was nothing she could really do about it. Absolutely nothing. She had to help Snape.

The old witch’s pursed lips twitched, and she looked at Gerry, her expression turning from stern to sad. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” Gerry looked at Mrs. Doomsfield surprised.

Mrs. Doomsfield eyed her for a while, as if waiting for more, but nothing came. She continued, with a sigh, “Need I remind you, my dear, how long a person needs to stay away from any Vita Healing after taking a Killing Curse?”

“Nine months,” Gerry said softly. “And I’m almost there.”

“No, you’re not there, you silly child. And the nine months period is for a seasoned Healer, not a beginner.” Mrs. Doomsfield sounded angry. “You are a gifted Vita Healer, but if you continue to squander away your healing powers before you can actually let them develop and mature…”

“Mrs. Doomsfield,” Gerry interrupted, putting her hand over the old witch’s sleeve, “I know.”

“You know nothing, girl,” came a heated retort. “No one knows how much time you will need to recover if you do a Vita Redux now, before your own healing isn’t completed yet. Half a year? A year? Ten years?”

Gerry whimpered.

“What if your condition becomes permanent? Do you fancy a lifetime of drinking Dreamless Sleep and Nerve-Relaxing Potions?”

Gerry whimpered again, her eyes prickling dangerously.

“And what about,” the old witch lowered her voice to a whisper, “your connection with this wizard? You do realize it appeared unusually strong the first time. And, if you have to go deep, we can safely assume, it’ll be stronger, and it’ll last much longer this time around. It may become inevitable for you to stay away from him. Far away. Another country would do splendidly.”

Gerry’s vision turned blurry, and then a hot, wet tear slid down her cheek. “I understand…”

Mrs. Doomsfield shook her head again, obviously disapproving of Gerry’s decision. “Why do you want to give so much to this man? He is not your fiancé, or a friend, is he?”

Gerry shook her head slowly. “No,” she breathed out, “I just love him…”

She sighed, and realized that the surface of the door had become hot under her forehead. She quickly turned to go to back her living room, and saw the walls tilt a bit. Gerry made a small step, and everything around her swirled so fast, she had to grab onto the cloak rack to stay upright. Damn.

Damn Jay, and his wine. Damn her, and her perpetual inability to stop drinking while she was still coherent. Damn Snape, and his petty power trip that left her stranded with only several leftover doses of her potion that she had to make last for a week. Damn.

When she finally made it to the bed, she didn’t bother with her clothes. All she had the strength to do was throw her wand on the nightstand, and grab her nightly vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion. She sat a little, waiting for another dizzy spell to subside, before she was well enough to drink the bitter draught.

“Someone’s got to do something about this awful taste,” she thought, grimacing. The last thing she looked at before her head hit the pillow was her wand, lying lifeless on the dark surface of the nightstand.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll