It Takes a Miracle

Epilog – Is there something missing? Is there someone missing me? (part 1)

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It was raining. Not the usual May, heavy yet short downpour that made the green of new grass and leaves look brighter, but a persistent, barely-there, late-autumn drizzle. More like a dense mist hanging in the air really, than a rain. To make the matters worse, it was also unseasonably cold. Anyone would have to think twice before venturing outdoors on a day like this, and it was no wonder the town felt deserted.

Heavy boots splashing shallow puddles, he strode down the empty Main Street. He ignored the overly cheery windows of the little shops that displayed souvenirs, pastries, and some such rubbish. The lonely reflection of his tall black-draped figure moved quickly from one window to the next until he stopped abruptly at the door of one of the smallest shops. Rows of soaps, shampoo bottles, creams, and perfumes filled its tiny window to the brim. The sign above read - “Love Actually is All Around.”

Snape wiped his wet face with the palm of his hand, reached for the door handle, and paused. This was insane. He was insane. What the bloody hell was he doing here? In this god-forsaken town, on this freezing, soaked-through street, at this silly shop?

Not far from him a door shot open, and a couple of kids giggled their way out of it. They wandered back and forth, chattering happily, until they found another store and hopped in. An older witch with an unhappy expression on her face followed them, wrapping her heavy cloak tighter around her wide middle and muttering something under her breathe. She glanced suspiciously at Snape, and he quickly turned to face the shampoos and creams, pretending that he was contemplating the offerings.

Merlin, he could have been in Hogwarts, prowling the hallways, taking points, or brewing some outrageously complicated potion. Instead he was here in this god-forsaken town, on this freezing, soaked-through street… Wait, he was repeating himself.

Snape frowned at the bottle of “Strawberrishest” shampoo, turned, and stepped to the door of the shop once more. He hesitated there for a moment, and then continued on his way to the corner. There he turned again, and went back. This time around he passed the perfume shop and stomped all the way to the other end of the block.

He looked up and down the street and, wiping yet another bead of water that had swollen on the tip of his nose, muttered some choice expletives. The hood of his cloak, pulled over his head and all the way forward, was useless in shielding his face from the tiny, cold droplets of water that floated in the air. Bloody rain. He didn’t need to leave Scotland for this, did he? Then why did he come? Why, indeed…

Only a week ago he had been rather pleased with his life. For him the war was at last over. His exposure during the ordeal with Malfoy Sr. last autumn rendered worthless his services as a spy. With the Dark side in shambles, there was little need for the Order of the Phoenix any longer. The Ministry of Magic had officially cleared his name and reinstated all his rights as an heir to the Prince estate. And, although he wasn’t as big of a celebrity as some other participants of the war, he did have his own Order of Merlin. But the best part of it all was that for the first time ever he had his life at complete disposal. He was free. Unexpectedly, astonishingly, welcomingly free. And then…

Snape shook his head and glanced at the coffee shop across the street. Polyjuiced as kind-hearted Sprout, he had spent a couple of hours there, listening to the bored waitress’ detailed account of the town’s important events, generously mixed with local gossip and complaints about the slow season and bad weather. Of course, it wasn’t hard for him to steer the conversation into the direction that interested him.

“The perfume shop across the street? Good stuff they sell there. Worth every knut, if you know what I mean. Sent a bar of soap to my niece in Canada, she owls me every holiday now – Happy Christmas, auntie! Happy Easter, auntie!” The waitress chuckled. “I think I’ll buy her some shampoo for her birthday, you know what I’m saying?”

Snape pinched his leg under the table to remind himself who and where he was and forced an agreeable smile. Little did he know that there would be another full twenty minutes of her ranting about the family that owned the store. It started with a tale of “the coo-coo mother, if you know what I mean,” who went to France to get married, and came back seven years later with no husband, but with a little boy who turned out to be a girl, “but who could have told that with her short hair and dirty robes, and a little broom in her hand.” Then Snape learned about the perfume shop owner’s second failed marriage, which left her broke and with two more kids. “Those boys are little bandits, if you know what I mean, but with a sister like that, and a mother who is too busy trying to make the ends meet...”

And it went on and on, with all the sordid details and wild speculations. It was unbearable, especially with the aggravating “you knows.” Snape swore inwardly every time the waitress would throw in her rhetorical question.

“No, I don’t know,” he felt like screaming. And he didn’t want to know. Instead, he wanted to spit something absolutely vile in the witch’s round face, give her one of his best glare, storm out of that hellhole, and Apparate as far away from there as possible. But he didn’t do any of those things. After all, he did come here for something. Even though that “something” was irrational. Well, idiotic more like it. And so, without outward wincing, Snape made himself endure the onslaught of the woman’s seemingly unending wealth of knowledge and enthusiasm in sharing it. He sat there, sipping appalling tea, feigning interest, and painstakingly fishing out bits and pieces of useful information from the waitress’ blabbering. He then cataloged and filed them away with the care and precision developed over years of spying...

Irritably, Snape ran his hand over his face once again and shook off the moisture. Bloody Merlin, he knew more than he would ever care to know about the Ardant family, but he still didn’t know why he came here, to this god-forsaken town, to this… Well, he was repeating himself again…

It all started with Filch’s request to remove the spell off of the storage room below the Entrance Hall. Apparently, there were new sinks coming for the student restrooms, but the installers were not available for another week. Argus Filch, Hogwarts’ caretaker, was a squib, and had to rely on other members of Hogwarts staff in matters pertaining to the use of magic. And so Snape shrugged and gestured for the caretaker to follow him.

He didn’t think much about going into that storage room. After all, he passed it daily, several times a day in fact. Whatever happened in there all those months ago had never compelled him to avoid the room, or even to quicken his step. There was no reason for that. The whole situation with “that girl” was a nuisance that had happened to culminate in an unfortunate blunder. Considering his condition at the time, it was just a blunder. A slip. A mistake. An infuriating, foolish, humiliating one, but still just a mistake. Of course, he would feel much better if he at least could have had a chance for revenge against the two who pushed him into that situation. But since both the girl and the Rag Clown were out of reach for the time being, Snape had refused to dwell on his mistake. He had made many graver errors in his life to let this one bother him more than necessary.

While Filch walked around the room, pushing aside dusty boxes and muttering under his breath about dirt, idiots, and sinks, Snape worked on resetting the wards so that they would let the caretaker enter and exit the room. Once he was done, he turned to say that he was leaving, but the words never made it out. His gaze fell on the box, The Box, and suddenly his mouth went dry and he forgot what he was about to say.

In the rays of light coming from the ceiling, the dust raised in the air by Filch’s prowling created something akin to a halo above the box. Snape was mesmerized. For what seemed an eternity, he stood there, oblivious to the caretaker’s grumbling, unable to move or to avert his gaze. Bloody Merlin.

Meanwhile, Filch made it to the box. He kicked it aside, and the metal tip of his boot broke one of the thin wooden boards with a loud crack. Snape screamed.

Afterwards, he had spent two days in an utterly fool mood before giving in and coming here…

Here… Snape looked around and found himself standing in a narrow alleyway, between two rows of tall timber fences, the hem of his cloak floating in the dark greenish water of a deep puddle. Pathetic.

He strode purposefully back to the shop, schooling his features into an expressionless mask, and jerked the door open. There was a tinkle of a little bell above his head, and he stepped into a small room cut in half by a tall counter.

“Welcome to Love Actually,” a voice came from behind curtains in the back of the shop. Snape’s heart skipped a beat. Bloody Merlin. “I’ll be right with you.”


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She was humming softly, stirring a dark-purple liquid in an old, battered cauldron. The potion looked promising, and she smiled as she pushed aside a strand of hair that had escaped yet again from the confines of the ponytail. Another half and hour, and she should be able to test her creation.

Gerry put her stirring rod down, adjusted the fire under the cauldron, and stretched, her smile turning into a grin. It was great to have a couple of days of peace and quiet. With her mum and her brothers away, visiting some distant relatives, she had the house, the lab, and the shop all to herself. No matter how much she loved her family, she needed these “free” days - no one to yell at her after yet another of her potion experiments blew up, no one to explain to why tending to the garden should result in scratches on her face (and her mom didn’t care to know about a fresh growth of Cat Vepres, since there was no use for it in perfume potions), no one to eavesdrop on her firechats, and no one to hide from, when she sneaked out of the house with a broom (and no one to rub it in, when she came back limping like yesterday after a less than successful attempt to make it around the backyard on the broom). Unfortunately, though, without anyone around to snap her out of it, she tended to spend an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming. Daydreaming about…

Gerry’s grin faltered. No. As much as the memories had sustained her through the worst of times, she couldn’t concentrate on her work while feeling the ghost of his touch against her skin, imagining his lips on hers, listening to the rustle of unspoken words uttered in his deep silky voice... No, not now, not in the morning. No.

She glanced at her potion and quickly got up from the stool. The floor tilted under her feet, the room slowly swung left, then right, and Gerry had to grab at the edge of the worktable with both hands to remain standing. Shit, she kept forgetting just how damn weak she still was. The recovery was taking too long. Way too long.

Biting her lip, Gerry waited impatiently for the room to right itself. Oh, how much she hated being like this, crippled, powerless. If she would have taken her Nerve-Relaxing draught, there would be no need to stand here, clutching at the worktable, afraid of falling face down into her own boiling cauldron. Shit, she could just imagine the cool feel of a blue vial in her hand. But then she reminded herself how expensive that draught was, and how much debt she was in, and how it would be a waste to take the potion on an ordinary day like this. “I’ll manage,” she either told or ordered herself. Hopefully, with the weather like they’d been having lately, there wouldn’t be any customers to worry about. As for the falling face down into the boiling cauldron, she’d just have to be more careful, wouldn’t she?

The room finally stopped moving, and Gerry carefully let go of the worktable. Slowly, she took a cautious step. Then another one. The floor stayed level, and Gerry hazarded a short walk to the shelves on the opposite wall to pick up a small ladle. When she safely returned to the worktable, she breathed out a sigh of relief.

But the next moment she forgot all about the too-expensive draught, and the dizzy spells, and everything else for that matter. One look into her cauldron made her face split into the widest of grins. The boiling liquid had begun to thicken the way Gerry had only hoped it would. “Oh yeah, oh yeah baby,” unexpectedly came out of her mouth. She shook her head. “Idiot. Now what? A victory dance?” Gerry snorted at that, flopped on her stool, and grabbed her notes. Let’s see what she had finally done right…

The chime of the shop’s bell startled her, but she fired automatically, “Welcome to Love Actually. I’ll be right with you.”

Gerry put down her quill and skimmed over what she had written. She nodded as she went through it, but then she came to a place that made her frown. No, it wasn’t right. She picked up her quill again and scratched out several sentences. There should be… She scribbled a couple of words and crossed them out again.

She cocked her head to one side, looking in turn at her boiling potion and her notes. Had she forgotten something? She narrowed her eyes, training them on the notes in front of her. What did she forget? Oh, shit, the customer.

“Shit. Shit.” Gerry dropped the quill and quickly cast a containment charm on the cauldron. “What kind of nut would be shopping for soap in a weather like this?” She jumped up from her stool, but before she made another move she had to grab at the worktable with both hands, because the room tilted and swam out of focus.

“Shit, not again,” she muttered venomously. “Great timing.” Gerry closed her eyes, and waited, cursing the dizzy spell to subside. When it finally did, she bit her lip and hurried to the leather curtains that covered doorway between the shop and the potion lab.

“I apologize for the delay. How…” Her first words were out before Gerry actually saw who her customer was. But when she did, she froze in place, her question forgotten. Oh, Merlin.

For what seemed like an eternity she stood there, her jaw hanging slack, before she managed to snap her mouth shut. Merlin, what was it she was saying?

She scrambled for the appropriate greeting, but in vain. Her eyes captured by the blackness of his, she couldn’t think of anything to say. The silence between Snape and her stretched perilously. Then it occurred to her that Snape wasn’t saying anything either. Maybe it had not been that long since she came into the room. Or maybe…

Her heart beating faster and louder, Gerry suddenly felt out of breath. It was insane to hope, but...he came. He came to her. Had he understood? Had he forgiven her? Or… Could he have …? Before Gerry had a time to censor herself, her lips stretched into a wide grin.

“Oh gods!” she thought in horror. Was she determined to utterly humiliate herself? First staring at the wizard with her mouth agape, then grinning at him like an idiot? Her face heated up. Oh no. Gerry made an effort to wipe the grin off, but it was back before long, and she had to fight it again.

Thankfully, her struggles were soon interrupted. “Ms. Ardant,” Snape drawled, and bent his head slightly.

“Professor…” Gerry didn’t recognize her voice, so raspy it was. Frowning slightly, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Professor Snape, good morning.” There, a little better. “How are you? How have you been?”

“How do you do?” came his clipped response.

“It is very nice to see you, sir,” she said, too glad to manage not to add “at last,” too happy not to snort at the gross understatement of her word. The sheer sight of him, as he stood in the middle of her shop, which suddenly seemed too small around his tall, black-clad, rigid figure, was intoxicating. Hoping that it didn’t look like she was staring, Gerry hungrily took in every little detail.

His well-worn traveling cloak, completely soiled at the hem, glistened with the twisted, liquid threads of raindrops that slithered down, struggling around the coarseness of the fabric. The wet strands of his hair were stuck to the sides of his sallow face, opening it up to scrutiny - the large hooked nose, the thin lips tightly pressed together, the coal-black hooded eyes, the rough ridges of jaw and cheekbones. His long potion-stained fingers, pale and bony against the darkness of the cloak, stuck out from the wide sleeves.

There was nothing attractive about the wizard in front of her, and his whole presence radiated tension so thick that it felt like he was about to either strike or run. Yet, none of it mattered to Gerry. “Severus,” she almost breathed out. Happiness bubbled in her chest, straining to spill over, bursting for release, and she had to make a conscious effort not to run and throw herself at Snape. All deities above, it was nice to see him.

Forcefully shaking herself from her daze, Gerry took a measured step forward and carefully drew together the leather curtains behind her. In the corner of her eye she caught her reflection in one of the glassed shelves – the old tattered apron, the untidy ponytail. Shit. Shit. Shit. As fast as she could, Gerry shed the apron, threw it under the counter, and looked at Snape smiling apologetically. “That is… Well…”

Snape watched the proceedings with his usual scow that was altered slightly by a hint of disdain. A new wave of blush burned Gerry’s face and withered her smile. Her hand, raised to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear, froze in mid-motion for a moment before it continued on its way. She dropped her gaze to the counter. “So…Yeah…” Shit. And there she thought she was doing all right.

She bit her lip and kept her eyes down, dully studying the neat rows of soaps and shampoos. “Come on, come on. Say something,” she nudged herself inwardly. Unfortunately, with her heart beating wilder with every passing silent moment, and her palms so sweaty she could barely suppress the urge to wipe them on her robes, Gerry had a very tough time thinking of anything remotely intelligent to say. Besides, excited and self-conscious as she was, she wasn’t sure if she could trust her voice to utter a word.

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” she swore mentally. Then again, it wasn’t like his opinion of her could suffer – there wasn’t much of one to begin with. This last thought calmed Gerry down a little. She frowned and managed to open her mouth.

“So, what brings you here, Professor? Business or pleasure?” Gerry refused to look at Snape, afraid to lose her newly found ability to talk using more than just one-syllable words. Instead, she pretended to rearrange the bottles on display. “You know there is plenty to do in town. There is a very good bookstore. And there is a museum of the first transatlantic broom flight. And…if you were to stay until Sunday, the traveling theater company is putting up a new play. They are very good. They brought Hamlet last year, and everybody loved it.”

She knew she was babbling. Unfortunately, out of all the clever and important words she had been imagining for months that she would say to Snape when she saw him again, none came to mind. Still, talking seemed a slightly better alternative to standing silently, blushing and chewing her lip. And so, with an inward groan, Gerry took a breath and went on. “This is a really nice town. The shops, and the restaurants, and the library. There is a portkey station in the next town, so you can go to New York, or Philly, or…”

“Ms. Ardant.” The words, spoken in a low, almost growling voice, made Gerry choke on the end of her sentence and finally look up. The hard stare of Snape’s black eyes met her gaze. Gerry’s giddiness hiccupped and started to shrivel rapidly.

Snape accepted her silence as attention and continued. “I am here…” He paused before finishing tersely, “I am here because I would like to speak to you.”

Gerry opened her mouth to reply, but the intensity of his stare became almost unbearable. She remained silent.

“I would like to speak to you on a matter that I do not trust to owl post.” He scowled and, visibly forcing himself to continue, uttered, “It shouldn’t take a long time. In fact, if you have a couple of minutes to spare right now…”

“Yes, sure,” she rushed in. “Would you like to come upstairs? I have an apartment above the store. We can have some tea, and discuss whatever you…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Snape cut her off. “There is no one else in the building, is there?”

“No.”

“Then, here,” his gaze swept around a small shop, “will suffice.”

“Okay.” Gerry nodded hesitantly, wondering what it was he wanted to discuss that he couldn’t commit to parchment, but had no problems talking about in a public place. Well, a usually public place.

As if to answer her unspoken question, Snape produced his wand, and, having said, “With your permission,” tapped it at the entrance door. Then he glanced at Gerry. “Just a simple alarm ward in case there is someone coming.”

Gerry blushed yet again. “Yes, the weather’s been awful. For business.”

“Of course.” Snape’s lips curled into a perfect sneer.

Somehow she managed to keep her smile. “Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He waved his hand impatiently.

Stubbornly ignoring her growing unease, Gerry made another attempt. “Would you care at least to take off your cloak?” The said cloak was dripping mud on the light boards of the floor. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I am fine, Ms. Ardant,” the wizard snapped. Still, with a flick of his wand he dried up his clothes and got rid of the dark puddle on the floor. “And now, if you do not mind,” he growled angrily, “ I would like to get to the actual purpose of my visit, so I can leave here before nightfall.”

“Of course, Professor.” She nodded, her smile barely there. Suddenly it felt as if the damp chill of the outside had slipped into her cozy shop, and Gerry shivered.

Meanwhile, Snape noticed a stack of newspapers at the end of the counter and pointed at it. “Can I assume that you read them?” Gerry jerked her head in agreement. “Then,” he continued, folding his arms over his chest and sweeping to the other side of the room, “you probably know a bit about the eradication of the New Death Eaters Army, led by Mr. Malfoy.”

“A bit?” Gerry cried out. “Professor, that was all we read about for months!”

“You did, did you?” Snape turned abruptly on his heels and stomped across the room. He covered the short distance in no more than four of his long steps. When he reached the wall, he turned around to stomp back.

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure how to interpret his reaction. “And afterwards, the trials and the awards. We knew each and every member of the Order of the Phoenix, and the Aurors’ team, and... It was all over the papers.” It wasn’t that Gerry believed that if she kept on talking, her steadily growing apprehension would dissipate, and everything would turn out just fine. But she could try, couldn’t she? “Oh, and Professor, congratulations!”

“Pardon me?” Snape threw a glare at her. He was pacing incessantly then, and in the small shop it looked more and more like the romping of a caged animal.

“On your Order of Merlin,” she explained. “By the way, you looked dashing in your dress robes. The witch that runs the clothing store two blocks down the street had your picture from “The New York Prophet” cut out and posted on the wall. You know, Professor,” she giggled nervously, “when I mentioned that I knew you back in Hogwarts, I was practically mobbed for information. Everyone wanted to know what the Hero of the War was like in person.”

At that Snape swirled in place to face her. “Right,” he hissed. “That brings us to the actual purpose of my visit.” His face was hard, and Gerry realized that her effort was in vain. Merlin help her.

“You see, Ms. Ardant,” he growled and turned to pace again, as if just looking at her was too unpleasant for him to bear. “I am a private man, and as such, I dislike it tremendously when my personal affairs are dragged through the gossip mill.”

“I understand, Professor,” she said quietly.

“Do you now?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then, Ms. Ardant, you should have no trouble understanding my offer.”

He paused, crossed the room several times, and continued without looking at her, as if he was talking to himself. “No doubt, no doubt, it will not take long for the general public to grow tired of reading about heroic deeds, and dangerous missions, and such rubbish.” For a fleeting moment Snape’s disgust was almost palpable, but then he stilled himself and went on. “I suspect that all too soon the brave heroes of the war,” he sneered at that, “who have been so widely admired and so reverently worshiped up until now, will find themselves subjects of another kind of interest. The interest that has nothing to do with their actions in battles, but rather...er...other aspects of their lives.”

“But Professor, surely you can’t expect people not to be a little curious about their heroes. What they like to do, what their favorite color...” Gerry offered him an apologetic smile, and shrugged lightly. “I, for one,” she thought with sadness, “am dying to learn everything about you.”

“It is not a big deal. Really,” she continued out loud, watching Snape’s pacing with worry. “Besides, there isn’t much you can do about it.”

“I will endeavor to control the damage, Ms. Ardant,” Snape spat. “That is why I am here. Now, have you spoken to any reporters yet?”

“Me?” Gerry furred her brow confused. “No. What would I talk with them about?”

“You’ve been through my head twice, girl!” In one swift motion the tall wizard was at the counter, leaning over it so that his face was centimeters away from Gerry’s, the fury in his eyes burning darkly.

“Professor, it’s not what you think, it’s...” she protested weakly, her heart thrashing like a bird trapped in the cage of her chest.

“Spare me.” He curled his lip into a sneer and slowly moved away. “Besides,” he continued, his stare heavy on her, “there is a matter of a little incident in the storage room. Should you tell me what I am to think about that?”

Gerry felt yet another blush heating up her face as the pair of black eyes bore into her. “Professor, it was...it wasn’t...I didn’t...It’s not like...” The words stumbled over each other, refusing to line up into any kind of coherent sentence. She knew it. She fucking knew it would not end well. She knew he would never believe her, and she knew he would never forgive her. “Please, let me explain... You have to understand...”

“Enough, Ms. Ardant.” He stopped her with an impatient wave of his hand. “I care neither to understand, nor to listen to your explanations.” The wizard turned his back to her, and walked away.

He stopped at the window, and without looking at her, said in a very business-like tone. “Now, I don’t pretend to know the going rate of a juicy piece of information, but I am sure I can compensate you adequately. I will give you one day to come up with a number, and return…let’s say tonight, so we can discuss the matter of your compensation.”

“Compensation?” Gerry shook her head dumbfounded. Her mind was still in turmoil, grasping for shreds of arguments convincing enough to make Snape listen to her, so she thought she misheard the wizard’s last words.

“You personally may not care for a monetary reparation, but, although I don’t intend to presume,” he glanced around the shop, “it looks like your family couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity to...er...improve the financial situation. And this is the opportunity I am willing to offer.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, staring at the wizard. “Are you offering me money?”

“Yes.” The short simple word lashed, as if he spat, “are you absolutely daft?”

“You are offering me money...” It still made no sense. “Money for what?”

“Didn’t I say? Your memories, of course.” Snape didn’t try to hide his irritation. “And in...er...gratitude for the...shall we say, healing.”

“My memories...” She didn’t want it to make sense. No.

“Don’t worry, nothing as drastic as Obliviate.” Snape read her confusion as fear. “ There is a spell that should take a moment to perform. No preparation required. All you need is to say my name, and everything you remember about me that I deem...er...damaging or unnecessary, will become, for the lack of better description, hazy.”

“Damaging or unnecessary...”

“Precisely. I will leave you some snippets of seeing me in the Great Hall, or staff meetings – you did spend several months at Hogwarts. I will also leave you the recollections of the healing rituals, but you will not be sure it was me you healed, and will have a hard time recalling what it was you saw while you healed me.” Snape resumed his pacing, but this time around his steps were slower, measured, as was his speech. “The spell is very mild, and there should be no ill-effects. You will experience no discomfort, neither at the time of casting, nor in the future. It is practically undetectable, hence irremovable by a third party…”

If she hadn’t been going through one dizzy spell after another for the past year, she would most probably have tumbled down right there and then, so weak did her knees feel. But the tale-tell swing of the room made her grab onto the nearby shelf, which thankfully was sturdy enough to bear her weight.

The wizard went on and on as if he was lecturing his students, rather than trying to strike a bargain. The longer he talked, the more detached he became, and Gerry watched him with morbid fascination of a person watching a Dementor swoop down on him.

She couldn’t decipher Snape’s words any longer, but there seemed to be no need any more. Finally, everything was clear.

Oh.

Oh…

Biting her lip, she separated herself from the shelf and carefully moved to the leather curtains that covered entrance to the lab.

“Would you excuse me, Professor,” she thought she said, but didn’t bother to look at Snape to see if he actually heard her. Instead, she purposefully walked into the lab, and closed the curtains behind her. Then Gerry closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled deeply.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll