By The Light
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Harry Potter › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
52
Views:
18,022
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Harry Potter › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
52
Views:
18,022
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
All of the characters portrayed in this fic (apart from Jamie.) and all other creations existing within the world Of Harry Potter are the creative genius of J.K Rowling, I make no profit from the writing or posting of this fan fiction.
Chapter 24: In Times of Need
Chapter 24
Charcoal black eyes regard me over a long crooked nose for many heavy moments before the potion's master begins to speak. “You are looking better today.”
I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms across my chest and pull a smile across my face that drips of self satisfaction. “I am.”
He makes a sound of reprisal in the base of his throat, taking the back of the seat in front of my desk in his long, bony fingers and turns it on the spot. “You also look very pleased with yourself.” He says pulling his robes tighter around his waist as he takes a seat.
“Oh, I am Professor.” I assure him.
Three days it has taken, three agonising days and although black spots are starting to appear in my peripheral vision and my head is pounding so hard I’m beginning to think a banshee has taken up residence. Not only content with relentless, nerve grating screams but also has found a sledgehammer and as developed a hobby of bashing it against any part of my skull it can find. Putting all that pain aside, I have managed to sit through a full hour of my potions lesson and the achievement is so gratifying I can't help but gloat over it.
The smells still sting my nostrils and make my eyes water but I have found a place on the castle grounds that has desensitised me to the acrid stench of this room, at least to a small extent. The answer was so simple, so accessible that it was hard to see why I had been unable to think of it until prompted, by Strix's delivery of my customary letter from Dale last Tuesday morning.
Excrement. Mass amounts of owl excrement.
Far to the west of the castle, stands the Owlery. Hundred of school owls, living together in a single coop. Not to mention the student's personal and family owls that will often take up temporary residence after a long flight or to await responses from the students who have received important letters from their parents. Birds being birds they hardly have special facilities when they need to relieve themselves. Filch does clean the place out once a week but no amount of cleansing potion and vigorous scrubs of his hard bristled broom will completely remove the stomach churning malodour, which emits from the tower.
The first time I approached the place I was unable to go within thirty feet of the front door, before I feel to my knees and ungracefully, empted the contents of my stomach all over the grass. The many long hours have I spend, gradually getting closer and closer to the building has paid off and I have been able to sit through my entire school day without either passing out or falling to a seizure. So I think I have a right to be just a little pleased with myself.
“Yes, well.” He leans back in his seat crossing his legs at the knee. “Don't let it go to your head.”
“Perish the thought, sir.” We share a smile at my words, my good mood today appearing to be infectious to the potions master. “It that all you wished to speak to me about?” I ask, he has once more kept me behind after class and has done little more than state the obvious. While I admit on at least some level I am pleased that he has noticed such a change in my demeanour to call attention to it is uncharacteristic of Snape.
“No.” He says, the slight upturn of his lips falling along with his gaze to the floor. “How is school life treating you?”
He's prodding me for a response. I can see it plain as day in his body language and immediately my mood drops like a stone and my suspicion raises. He is inferring that he knows something which I know I am not privy to and is trying to ascertain if I am knowledgeable about it before asking any direct questions. Years of training kicks in, watching every line of his face as I remain quiet. Any show of discomfort at my refusal to answer his very basic question. I count ten heartbeats before I see the crows feet at the side of his eyes twitch, it's barely noticeable but it's still there. “Is there something I should know Professor?” I train my voice to an even pitch as I ask.
His colourless black gaze meets my ice blue for only a moment before he relents. “I am uncertain.” He draws out slowly, still studying me for a reaction that I refuse to give. “There has been some...” he takes a deep breath moving his eyes from mine as he searches for an appropriate word. “...tension. Between the Headmaster and our resident High Inquisitor. It was very recently come to my attention that it revolves around you.”
Umbridge. It always has to be Umbridge. “Me? Why?” I notice the weaver in my voice at the mention of the vile woman but can do little to halt it.
“In truth. I was hoping you would already know. I fear the reason will become apparent all to soon.”
“And this worries you?”
“That depends wholly, on who won the argument.” For a long moment we are both silent. Both weighing the implications of this discovery. The headmaster I am almost certain has my best interests at heart. This would inevitably cause him and Umbridge to butt heads over my continued presence in the school and any privileges I should receive. Although she has already been able to remove many of my privileges along with my prefect status there are other, much more fundamental rights she may legally be able to prevent me from receiving. Such as being able to walk unescorted through the hallways and attend meals with my classmates. “If anything were to come about Miss Desay, I have little need to remind you that my office door is always open to you.”
“I understand.” I say with a nod to appease him. “Was there anything else?” I’m itching to get to my very small broom cupboard and down at least two drafts of the potions I have already prepared for this very expected headache.
For a moment he looks disappointed that I cannot shed light on the disagreement between the two high ranking teachers and looks torn on whether or not to question me further. “No, That will be all.”
“Thank you.” I try to remain polite even as I am three steps away from my seat in my rush to escape the room.
The large oak door closes softly with a click behind me ,which in turn provokes Hermione to lift her head from the stone floor where she has casually been pacing along it. Her eyes show me worry as they meet mine. “What did he want?”
I just shrug at her. “He just wanted to see how I am.” I say, I have no concrete information to get her with regards to what else we discusses so I see no reason to concern her further until something comes of it. “I did it.” I then say triumphantly, effectively cutting off any further queries.
“Yes you did.” Her arm is suddenly around my waist and she is pulling mine across her shoulders in a loose embrace, pushing herself up onto her tip toes to press her lips against my cheek in her own cerebration of my achievement. “Well done. Does this mean I might see more of you over the holidays?”
“I don't know yet.” I confess my free hand running across my forehead as her words remind me of the unrelenting pain currently running through it. “I still need some more practice.”
“It's end of term.” She begins to whine, later she will refuse feverishly that her voice had taken on such a tone. “You have more than two weeks until the next potions lesson. You can afford to take a little break.”
“If you say so.” I answer, with the two week holiday I’m certain I will be able to find enough time to spend with her and fit in my visits to the Owlery to my schedule.
She falls into an easy one sided conversation, telling me all the things she wants to be able to to with the time we will have over the next fortnight. What spells Harry has said he wants to cover in the up and coming Dumbledore's Army meetings. For once my persistence silence is either not noticed or not addressed. She is content to mount her own excitement at the thought of spending time in the company of her friends.
With an inconspicuous tug of her shoulders I am able to guide her past my room on our way into the Great Hall and I retrieve my pain medication.
When we finally enter the Hall for dinner much of the student body has already beaten us to it. The sounds of happy chatter, enthusiastic chewing and cutlery scraping across crockery reaches my ears many minuets before we turn into the Entarce Hall.
Once again Hermione takes hold of my hand in her iron grip and leads me down towards the Gryffindor table. It has been weeks since I have heard even a whisper from the Slytherin table but she still insists on trying to physically restrain me as we enter the Great Hall, just in case I am to raise to the bait should it be offered.
As we sit Ginny throws me one of her more mischievous grins before turning her attention to Hermione. “Hey, Sugar-bun.” Her voice so sweet it drips syrup.
Hermione sighs, in obvious discomfort. “You just have an obsession with sugar today.”
Ginny's mouth falls open to show her displeasure. “I've only come up with two sugar related names today.” She has come true to her word. Each and every time she addresses Hermione with another potential nickname on her lips. The first day it was nowhere near this subdued, however Hermione was able to last until well after sun set before she started screaming at both of us, wanting to know what was going on and why on earth Ginny felt the need to call her Doll-face. Come to think of it, it might have been that particular name that finally tipped my girlfriend over the edge.
I remained very, very quiet as Ginny stuttered her reply to that particular explosion, my smirk growing as she verbally ran herself deeper and deeper into the ground. Right up until she turned to me and told Hermione it was all my fault because I wouldn't settle on a term of endearment for her. Not surprisingly that confused the brunette even further, until I was able to calm her down enough to explain the situation.
I remember very distinctly that she looked first from me, to Ginny then back again, with a very baffled look before throwing her hands up in the air trying a full two times to form coherent speech, then just walking away. Something that Ginny very quickly took as some peculiar form of encouragement and redoubled her efforts.
Hermione's accusing glare hits me the moment I take my seat and I wonder why it is the earth never opens up and swallows you whole when you want it to. “If you ever call me anything with 'Sugar' in it. Ginny's getting detention.”
My head tilts to the side as I regard Ginny, her fork loaded with mash potato and carrots held almost forgotten at least three inches from her face. “What?” Her eyes open comically wide and her fork points in my direction. “Don't even thing about it Desay.”
“I didn't say anything.” I assure her, my attention at table and filling a goblet with pumpkin juice.
She grumbles incoherently for a moment before taking on the voice of a chastised three year old. “You were gonna.”
“That is a possibility. Yes.” I agree with her quickly and cast my eyes over the many foods on offer. It doesn’t feel like I can stomach it today, if I had not been accompanying these two woman I would very likely have completely skipped the meal.
Just as I’m contemplating how little food I can pull onto my plate without Hermione noticing, as for some reason my eating habits are of great interest to her, both Ron and Harry sit down on either side of Ginny.
“Hi Sweetie.” Harry greets before he has even bent his knees to sit.
Ron manages to wait until he is in his seat before managing to drop his grin enough to speak. “How is Bunny today?” It took less than three hours for the two boys to catch onto the game and participate, much to Hermione's annoyance.
“Bunny? Really?” Hermione asks managing to smile at the red headed boy and at the same time show her distaste for the suggestion.
Ginny drops her fork to the plate with a clatter as she jumps to her older brother's defence. “No. Be fair to Ron.” Her hand cut through the air as she speaks. “'Bunny' is a fair shout. 'Cause you two are at it like rabbits most of the time anyway.”
I have to cover my lower face with my whole hand and hold my breath to hide my amusement. Hermione on the other hand sits with her mouth hanging lose at the joint and steadily the red tinge of embarrassment, crawls up her face to engulf it entirely. “How...? When...?” Everyone else is completely silent as she starts to splutter. No one can quite render Hermione speechless the way Ginny can. Then suddenly her deep brown eyes, usually filled with such compassion, now filled with the blaze of fury are trained on me. “Have you two been talking about that?”
“Me?” How? In the name of all of the Gods can this be my fault?
She narrows her eyes at me for a moment, studying my demeanour to the finest detail.
“And this.” Ginny states, that arrogant smirk that was once upon my features adorning her face. “Is why we play the game.” I open my mouth to at least attempt to chastise her over her never ending amusement at my discomfort when a black bird lands, non to gently upon her head. Pushing her chin closer to the table on impact. “What the hell?”
The black owls presence is more than enough to warrant a confused frown. “Strix?” He ruffles his feathers and throws me the dirtiest look his wide brown eyes can manges over his full beak. Glaring at me as if it is down to me that he has had to make the journey from Dale's to Hogwarts twice in one day. With precision I would be proud of in myself, he flicks his head so the large packet held in his bill flies across the table and lands on my plate with a clatter. He gives a hoot of aggravation and pushes against Ginny's head to take flight.
As my gaze follows the displeased bird over our heads I catch the eyes of Dolores Umbridge. Her bulbous features blown up to twice their size and her face beat red to show her fury. Her eyes like daggers against mine. Could this have anything to do with her mysterious dispute she has been having with Dumbledore?
The envelope rips easily and as I upturn the letter into my hands several items slip through my grasp and fall the to empty plater. Three of which I recognise instantly as golden galleons. A pieces of white card with orange strips along both the top and bottom. Another very thin slip of paper, greens and blues blending together across the surface to make the shape of a elderly woman on its right hand side.
Curiosity overtakes me and rather than open the letter, which is very likely going to explain the situation to me, I forgo that operation and place it over my fork. Picking up the strange thin paper to study the elderly woman’s face. Turning it over it shows me the picture of an even older woman next to what appears to be a scene of a dinner table overloaded with children, the most curious part is that the pictures are completely stationary, no matter how hard I stare not one soul moves a single muscle. “What is this?” I ask.
Hermione clears her throat close to my ear before answering. “That's a five pound note.”
Well, that makes everything about as clear as mud. “And what is a pound?” My stare leaves the small paper to meet hers.
She smiles as she sighs. “Sometimes I forget you're a pure blood.” Just as I’m trying to decide whether to be insulted or not she snakes an arm around my back, pulling herself closer so she can rest her chin against my shoulder. “Pounds are muggle money. And this...” She takes the slip of card from the plate and turns it in her fingers. “Looks like a train ticket.”
“I thought your brother was a pure blood too?” Ron ask, the change in events not deterring him from his meal, three pork chops land on his plate in testament to this.
“He is.” I say, lifting the letter from the table and opening it. Only for more items to land on my lap, one of which is a very official looking document. All are quickly discarded along with the artefacts. “He lives in the muggle world.” the distraction is evident in my voice as I quickly read over the very short letter.
Jay,
This may be a bit out of the blue but you're coming to see me. Everything has been finalised today, I didn't say anything I didn't want to get you're hopes up. That Bat Faced Toad Monster tried to keep you in school indefinitely, which is why I couldn’t get you down for the Winter Solstice. So you're just going to have to make do with The Thesmophoria.
I'd come and get you but I have things to do on Saturday, (he has drawn a star here to indicate that the sentence continues in the margin, it reads. 'Besides, you're old enough and ugly enough to get down here yourself.)
Enclosed you should find some wizard and muggle money. A Train ticket, three maps, some detailed instructions and a legal document allowing you to leave the school grounds and into my care. (Once more he has continued his sentence in the margin. 'That last one was not easy to get so you take good care of it.)
See you Saturday.
Dee.
The letter crumples between my fingers and I place my closed fist against my open mouth. He wants me to visit him, in two days. I should refuse, there just isn't enough time for me to make any preparations.
“What's the matter?” Hermione's concerned voice greats me seconds before her worried eyes are in my view.
“Dale. He...” I pause, pulling out the creases I have put into the single sheet of paper to scan me eyes over the first paragraph again. “He wants me to visit him.”
“That's great.” She says enthusiastically, until she sees what must be a sour look on my face. “Isn't it?”
“It's not that simple.” I answer her with a distracted tone to my voice. I can't refuse his invitation. Not only would it be rude, after all the trouble he has gone to but it will also mean I will be passing up an chance to get a very subtle one up on Umbridge. Such an opportunity does not come to pass everyday. However, under normal circumstances I would undergo weeks of premeditation before leaving the castle to visit my home. Nothing suggests that anything would be different should I go to my brother's for over a week. I have never tried to accomplish it in such a short space of time but I find myself willing to try. Just to see that look of rage pass across the High Inquisitor's face once more.
“He's you're family.” Hermione starts, everyone else at the table remaining conspicuously quiet. “Why isn't that simple.”
My eyes dart upwards, scanning across the Slytherin table, passing over face after face in search of just one. I don't have the presence of mind to try and be evasive while in the mists of my search, which borders on frantic. “You wouldn't understand.” There were always many way to install order in my household, the worst of which I am able to prepare myself against. My father would all to often use non-violent methods, withholding of luxuries being one of his favourites. Lavishness often consisting of sunlight and food. The latter I am able to protect myself against to a certain extent, by ingesting and gathering as much as I am able to sustain me through any holiday period.
Her hand lands over mine but I pay it no heed. “Make me understand.”
I shake my head, already beginning to feel my back straighten in defence. “Not about this.”
“How am I supposed to understand if you keep closing off?”
“Well ask me something else!” I snap back, my voice raised in volume. Carrying the weight of a command not a request as it should have been. My blue eyes turn to hers and I can feel an inferno of emotion behind them, which she must see as she shrinks away from my gaze. Her fear stings my nostrils and my insides melt. “I'm sorry. I...” I come up short. Almost, I almost let go. My mental walls have become so thin around this woman it terrifies me. I had not noticed until this moment how easy it would be to close my eyes and let the words spill forth. That will not do, not with the impending presence of family. I have only a single full day to build them back to immeasurable heights, brick by brick.
Forcing my gaze downcast I quickly and decisively push every document and item back into the envelope from whence it came, then push it deep into the concealed pocket on the inside of my robes.
The eyes of my new friends bore into me, burning me with questions and accusations. My outburst may not have disrupted the rest of the student body but these four are attuned enough with my natural demeanour to know that something is amiss.
I pass my palm once over my brow, feeling the cold sweat prickle my skin reminding how little time I have until my departure and that I am not in the correct frame of mind to evade all the questions that will soon be fired at me one after another. This in turn means that I must alter the order of my plans.
Without uttering a word, I stand from the table, casting one last glance over my house mates. Assuring myself that the person I am searching for is most defiantly not in the Great Hall and turn to leave. Only to be stopped my a pressure against my wrist, which only becomes tighter as I try to pull away. I feel my jaw clench and my eyelid twitch in irritation at the obstruction. Consciously I wipe my face clean of any and all emotion, before I turn my gaze down to Hermione.
Even though I am certain I have schooled every single muscle in my face, keeping them unmoving and ridged in an expression of disinterest, she sees something. What that is I am uncertain but the moment that her gaze falls to the floor, a look of pure defeat pulling at the lines of her features, so does her grip on my arm. She says nothing as she turns back to the table, shooting a look across it's surface, that renders the occupants opposite completely mute. For some curious reason, I am equal parts grateful and disheartened by her actions but do not permit myself the indulgence of analysing it further.
As I make my way between the excited bodies all around me I tune out the hushed conversation that begins immediately after my departure between the four friends. Choosing instead to focus my attention on the crowd, until their voices are swallowed entirely by the incessant din.
The guilt hits my chest the moment I am alone and I find myself in the uncommon situation where I am entirely unable to ignore the feeling. I knew before I even drew breath that it was unwise to raise my voice at Hermione. Especially when she is so concerned and primarily has my interests at heart. I know and accept that I have wronged her but this feeling of regret that I am not only incapable but disinclined to push to the back of my thoughts is a new experience. Only weeks ago I would have simply insincerely apologized for the transgression and moved on. Today I reply the interaction in my minds eye, over and over again. Picking it apart, not only trying to pinpoint the movement I made to make Hermione give in to my will so easily but also just to berate myself for my own behaviour.
As I slowly begin to descend into the dudgeons I shake my head to dispel the images. If I have to go deep into the serpents nest it would be foolhardy not to do so without a clear head.
The password for the Slytherin common room as not changed since my last visit and that in itself surprises me. I had thought they would wish to keep me out of the community by any means necessary. All it would take if the consent of all the prefects, a decision I no longer have any influence over.
As the heavy wooden door closes with an audible click behind me, melting back into the wall it strikes me that it is possible that my continued access to the common room is not merely negligence on the part of the house prefects but rather the foundations of some sort of trap laid for me. It would not be unheard-of, a half bread like me lulled into a false sense of security only for the serpents jaws to slab shut. In a place where the highest values are the pureness of your blood I would do well to keep my senses sharp.
With this in mind I try not to draw any comfort from the fact that the room is sparsely populated. No more than three students all studying in secluded silence, taking advantage of the evening meal in such a way. Not one raises their head to acknowledge my presence but I refuse to delude myself with even so much as a passing thought that my entrance has gone unnoticed.
I do however have a small amount of solace in their continued disinterest and with steps so light not even I can hear the footfalls, press further into the room. A third year clears his throat to my right, adjusting his position in the high backed armchair and all of my muscles tense for combat. My hand pushes under my robe to rest against my wand protruding from my back pocket and as I move I position my head to keep him in my peripheral vision. It is unlikely that he is only uncomfortable in his position, so I take the movement to be a test of my reactions. If that is the case it becomes apparent that he is disconcerted by the response as he presses his nose further into the open book and turning away from me as I pass.
I manage to make it to the spiral staircase and down into the dormitories without any further incident. My quarry is proving to be very illusive and I find myself wishing that I had thought to check in the library or the Quidditch pitch before risking the wrath of Slytherin house but the urgency that had been running through my veins prompted me to seek him out at the most likely of locations. Unfortunately, this happens to be one of the more dangerous parts of the castle for me.
Three levels down and I push the door open into the living space of the sixth year boys. Releasing a breath that could almost be alleviation when I find Adrian Pucey alone in the room. He's standing over his bed, two piles of clothes thrown upon it, one in a haphazard pile and the other pristinely folded. He is currently in the process of folding a starched white school shirt when he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Desay.” He says with a gracious nod before retuning to his task.
Noting that both his voice and his eyes only held a shadow of disinterest, not the contempt that I had been expecting I step further into the room and close the door behind me. “Pucey.” I return the greeting making a show of thrusting my fists into my trouser pockets so I do not appear threatening.
If there were such a commendation Adrian would easily be crowned the most noble of all of Slytherin house. Though I hasten to add that such a title would not be difficult to obtain or respected once it was but it is the only reason I have placed myself alone with this man. Had anyone else in my house been in possession of what I needed I would have found a much less direct way to obtain it.
Slowly I make my way closer, not wanting to be overheard by potential eavesdroppers at the door. “You know. I'm certain we have house elves to do that for you.” I say, eyeing the meticulous way he folds his clothing.
“We do.” He doesn’t even raise his eyes from the task. “But this is humbling, I kind of like it.” He presses a neatly folded pair of trousers atop the pile and meets my gaze. “Doesn’t your golden girl do this sort of thing?”
I let a grin touch my features to show I have noticed his restraint at using the term 'mudblood'. “Point taken.” In point of fact, with how hard Hermione campaigns for house elf rights I’m almost surprised she doesn’t march down to the kitchens and make our meals herself. Not wanting to either drop myself into an argument or give her any ideas I have not voiced this opinion.
We are silent for several minuets, each of us waiting for the other to start. This is how many conversations take place in the presence of Slytherins, neither party wanting to start out on the back foot by putting their thoughts forward first. It is a far cry from the incessant Ginny Weasley and her endless ramblings but I find myself dropping back on such habits as if I had never forsaken them
I know that I cannot sound to desperate but also that I do not have the luxury of time to stand and play this game long into the night. So once a respectable silence passed between us I relent that I must be the first to speak. “You know what I want Adrian.”
“Yes.” He says almost curtly. “And you know I can't do that.”
“We have an arrangement.” I say. Trying to keep any sort of insistence out of my voice, it would be nothing but detrimental.
“We used to.” Another pair of trousers land on the pile and he rests his palm heavily upon it, rising his gaze to show I have his full attention. “When you were human.” He takes a deep breath and walks around his bed, tilting to rest his shoulder on one of the posts, he smiles a short snort of laughter passing between his lips. “Used to be you couldn't be seen dealing with me. Now I can't be seen dealing with you.”
“It is a risk, I’ll grant you that. Yet here I stand.” I cross my arms and mirror his posture, letting a thoughtful look cross over my face. “Perhaps I would offer to compensate such a risk. Then we might be able to come to some sort of agreement.”
His face twitches and already I know he will bend. I have mentioned money, something that is much more important to this boy than blood. “Double.”
If I weren’t in such a hurry I’d haggle as it stands I reply much to quickly so he is unable to draw breath and change his mind. “Deal.”
He is on his knees and opening his trunk before I am able to reach into my pocket for the envelope from Dale. I fish for the coins so he cannot see it's full content and remove two of the gold galleons and throw them within the confines of my hand so he can hear them rattle against each other.
As is customary, he wraps my purchase in parchment and hands it over the same instant I drop the coins into his open hand. I nod in his direction, I see no need to stop being polite now I have what I came for. “Thank you.”
I have my hand on the doorknob before he speaks again. “Jamie.” My given name on his lips grasps at my full attention instantly. “I won't make a deal again. It's to risky for me. You need this stuff again, you find someone else. Is that clear?”
My eyes rake up and down his body, it is likely I could defeat him in a duel if I were to be discourteous and things were to turn violent. However I have no way of knowing how many more students have returned to the common room after their evening meal. Only knowing for certain that I would be outnumbered, the only variable is exactly how overwhelming that number would be. With this in mind I bow my head, taking on the role of the subservient. “As crystal.” with one hand wrapped around my precious parcel and the over touching my wand I exit the common room. Even making it all the way back to the ground floor and into my quarters without seeing a single soul. One would almost think that my luck were returning after abandoning me for so long.
-~-
Look look, progression! We moved forward a whole four days and I didn't need to describe every tinsy wincy little movement. I'm growing, although the abundance of description I don’t think I’m going to be able to just drop. You'll learn to deal, although by this point I would think you already had.
Alright just a quick note, I’m going address a few things here. Firstly, lots of people keep asking what Jamie looks like. I haven’t described her, this is sort of intentional. This is her diary, her thoughts and feelings and she's just not physically vain. Academically vain yes -almost arrogant in that respect – the only time she every describes herself is when she's using it. Her hight, her hair, her eyes. There I've said it we can move on now.
Second thing. The review known as Asher has made the suggestion for a prequel to this story to show how they got together. I had actually not though of that, not even a little should have done... didn't. But now it's been brought up I like it, I like it a lot. So I’m going to set about trying to do that... at some point... honest.