Far Too Late For Visitors

A/N: Okay, okay so I reckon this wee tale is now going to be five chapters. And that's it! I don't want this growing like a monster I cannot contain haha! But five it had to be because otherwise this chapter would have gone on and on forever. As it is I've split it up which means that this is yet again mostly talk *sigh* but the last two chapters will be all action (I hope)!

Thank you very much for reading my fiction and please let me know what you think in a review. Pretty please? Also I am just sticking this one out there with no boyfriend semi-beta so please excuse my mistakes if you spot any. Enjoy! ~Love, Marie.


Chapter Three – It’s the least I can do for someone like you


Hermione didn’t wake suddenly or with a start, but rather more slowly and lazily, drifting in and out of her dreams before she finally woke properly. She stretched out in the wide bed, stifling a yawn, her arms reaching above her head as she moaned in luxurious pleasure. Her eyelids were still heavy but beneath her long lashes she saw him standing at the window, the curtains drawn wide and the light pouring in, and her stretch was prematurely ended as she jerked her arms back to her sides and pulled the duvet up to her neck again. Then she silently cursed herself for being bashful, and for worrying about what he thought about her, and for just thinking too much.

She reached across and took her watch from the nightstand, squinting at the hands. It was quarter to four in the afternoon and she felt a bit strange waking up at such an hour, but her body felt thoroughly rested and raring to go, and her mind no longer had the gentle persistent buzz of tiredness ringing through it. She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing her eyes, and then she looked once again at the figure at her window.

He was standing absolutely still, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders set and held back so that his posture was as she remembered: Straight, sturdy and very, very tall. His eyes were fixed on some thing far in the distance, or perhaps many things, through the old glass of her sash windows. His hair was loose today, hanging down longer than she remembered – nearer to his shoulders than his chin – and obscuring most of his face. He was once again wearing his back shirt and trousers, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as before, her unhindered view of his smooth arms affecting her insides more than arms really should. She shook her head and then ran her fingers into her own hair, wincing when she felt how unruly and wild it must look.

He turned his head then, looking towards her but keeping his body facing towards the window, and after his muttered “Good afternoon” he turned back to the view outside.

“Good afternoon,” she repeated, unsure really of what else she could say as a reply. She added, “Did you sleep well?”

“Tolerably,” he said with a single nod of his head.

She sat quietly amongst the white sheets for a pensive moment, looking at him and at her hands and back to him again, then she flung the sheets back and heaved herself out of the bed. It was only when she felt the cool air of the room on her legs that she remembered that her jeans were on a chair on the other side of the bed rather than on her body, and realised that she was standing in her bedroom with a former teacher on whom she seemed to have quickly developed a strong and alarming crush, in nothing but her t-shirt and knickers. It took less than a second to come to this conclusion, and at the same moment her bookish and – well – prudish nature was screaming at her to dive back beneath the safety of the covers.

But instead she found herself striding confidently round the bed, trying to flaunt her long legs without making it appear like she was out of practise, which was the sad reality. She wondered what on earth had come over her, she was usually so shy of her appearance and yet she was the most naked she had been in front any person for years, and this was Snape! She thought, Snape! Her ex-teacher. A teacher! Her rational sensible self was screaming inside, but it was losing to her desire, the strongest desire she had felt for a very long time. And in her mind, nestled darkly from the moment she saw him on waking, the undeniable truth that today might be the day he died. She might as well give him a look.

At first she thought that it might not even matter anyway, since he did not even glance at her as she approached and then passed him, but when she picked up her jeans she turned to look at him over her shoulder she saw that he was doing the same. She caught his eye and smiled at him, trying to make it as obvious as possible that she really did not mind his looking, but he didn’t smile back and turned swiftly to look out of the window once more. Hermione dragged her jeans on quickly and tried not to think about the intense sorrow she had seen in his face before he had looked away.

She walked to the door and opened it, but she hesitated before walking through, her hand gripping the handle. Her mouth opened as she pondered what she could say to the straight back across the room from her, but she could think of nothing that seemed at all appropriate on any level, so she shut her mouth again and headed downstairs.

There was nobody in the kitchen but the tabletop was strewn with bits and pieces of food and dirty plates and cups. The sink too was full of dirty dishes. Hermione was amazed, she had only been upstairs for seven hours, not seven days, but the room looked as though an army had eaten there. She found it impossible to believe that Crampiddle could have eaten so much on his own despite his impressive size. When she walked into her sitting room, however, her questions were on some part answered.

Crampiddle was sitting in the armchair, returned to the room but pulled away from the fire now and positioned opposite the sofa, with her small wooden coffee table between the two. The Healer was leant forward and considering, with great concentration, a game of wizarding chess which was set up in the centre of the table. A young man with short brown hair and dressed in auror robes was sat on the sofa, also leaning into the table with a look of total involvement. Another auror sat next to the first on the couch, a grin spreading all the way across his wide face, and a third young man with sandy hair was sitting cross legged on the floor. All four of them were holding plates of something edible, and they all were eating continuously also, their hands bringing things to their mouths in strange automatic motions.

“It makes no difference what you play, Dan,” the grinning man said with a chuckle. “You’ll never beat ol’ Mac.”

“Never say never,” the old man said without moving his eyes from the board.

The brown haired man called Dan smiled then, and said his orders to his bishop, who boldly marched forward a few squares. The grinning man laughed out loud then and slapped the brown haired man on the back.

“Better luck next time, Danny Boy,” he said, as the old man muttered under his breath and his queen strode forward past the bishop and took the castle guarding the rival king instead.

“Checkmate,” Crampiddle said, and he took his opponent’s hand and shook it.

“Never say never, huh?” Dan said with a grin.

“Don’t despair, Harding. There’s plenty of time for you to beat me yet,” the old man replied with a laugh, and the other two young men were smiling too.

Hermione stepped forward into the room then and Crampiddle smiled when he saw her.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” he said. “Here is the other one, boys. Miss Granger, this is Daniel Harding, Stewart McKinney and Benjamin Harris,” the old man said as she shook their hands.

“You’re the one who did that remarkably neat Redintegro on Snape?” The sandy haired man called Benjamin asked her.

“Yes, this is the very girl,” Crampiddle said, not giving her time to answer herself. “The finest example of the spell I have seen in quite a while, and on the very first time.” His head shook in disbelief, his jowls wobbling. “Extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary you could find it in you to heal the snarky bastard,” the grinning man called Stewart said. “He almost made my auror career non-existent, due to his sadistic NEWT potion lessons. Fair play to you, Miss Granger,” he added with another grin.

Hermione smiled back, and couldn’t help but grin as the conversation rolled around her, the four men obviously friends and used to debates, their loud voices filling her tiny room. It was so noisy and loud and different from her usual solitary life that even though she had only planned to look in on the men in the room she ended up staying for several minutes. Of course she’d always felt comfortable in the company of boys, more so even than the girls who had babbled incessantly in her dorm room, and the jaunty laughter warmed her heart and made her feel safe in this strange situation. They continued to tease her about the old potion master, Stewart in particular, and she chuckled with them.

But she could not help but recall the way he had looked into her eyes in the dim room last night, the ripple of muscles on his rolling back, and the way he had held his head in his beautiful hands. She did not know how he could have changed so much in her opinion, in so little time as well, but even though she recalled memories herself of the torture he had put her through in her own lessons, she didn’t dislike him now as these three young men did. Far, far from it.

“I suppose I’d better take him some tea or something,” Hermione said to her company. “Harry will be back soon, won’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” said Crampiddle, looking at his wristwatch. “Shouldn’t be long now, although you never know with secure floos. Used to be a pig of a thing to set up back in my auror days. Well we’ve got perimeter alarms set up now anyway, and intrusion warnings plus some added oomph to your fantastic wards. Safe as houses for now my dear, and we’ll send Potter up when he gets here.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiling warmly at them all. “Do you need anything?” She asked as she stood to leave.

“No, no,” Crampiddle told her, standing too with a huff and once more shaking her hand, only this time with both hands, so warmly. “Come and play me at chess if he gets too tiring,” he added with a wink.

“I will,” she smiled again, and waved to the others as she made her way into the kitchen, and they smiled and waved back and called to her as she did, and she was still grinning at the their loud laughter while she quickly cleaned up the dishes. Then she made a cup of tea and carried it carefully upstairs.

He was still standing with his back to the door, staring out of the window. He didn’t turn as she entered and placed the cup on the sill next to him.

“I don’t know if you like tea,” she said. “I should have asked,” she added.

“Thank you,” he replied, turning to her for a moment then. “I do drink tea, but I prefer black coffee. When at school – ” he hesitated then and gave her a strange look, and turned back to the window. “ – I find I need the extra caffene,” he finished.

“I was never a fan of coffee,” Hermione said.

He was silent, back straight, hands behind him, just gazing out of the window. Hermione stood next to him and stared out herself, watching the sun and clouds roll across the hills around the cottage. The windows were old and large and enabled the both of to stand comfortably looking out, which they did as the minutes passed, Hermione wondering how she could approach the subject she had been wanting to discuss since she had opened her door to find him standing there. In the end she did not need to bother, because he lead the conversation there of his own accord.

“You have a lovely situation here, Miss Granger,” he said. “So quiet and peaceful, and so far away from everything. The views are exquisite.”

“Yes, I love the Peak District,” she said. “My family used to holiday here sometimes, when I was little. I found that it suited my – specific requirements – quite well.”

“Ah, yes.” he said. “Your requirements.” He repeated her but still kept his eyes staring out at the hills stretching towards the horizon.

She turned to look up at him then, at the profile of his face in the daylight, his large nose and furrowed brow casting shadows. Still he continued to just stare out. She felt just a twinge of annoyance rise in her, and although she did not usually lose her temper – and certainly would never have dreamt of questioning her former teacher two days ago – she could not contain her wonder and curiosity at his blunt statement.

“And how much do you know about ‘my requirements’, exactly?” She asked rather more sarcastically than she really meant to.

He turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised, but for the second time since his arrival a smile played on his lips. Only the merest hint of one, curling the far corners of his mouth, but it was a smile none the less and Hermione could have kicked herself for almost – almost – swooning. He turned back to the window and she was going to say something more, but decided it would probably be best to remain silent. She turned to the view herself once more, and a blackbird glided past. In a while, he spoke.

“You can’t have believed that I would not be able to recognise your rather particular writing style, even if the papers were published under a pseudonym. I’d read enough of your essays during your school career to notice the verbose formatting, literary-like inclination for complex sentence structures, even the deliberately convoluted introductions.” His smile perhaps widened a little but his gaze remained fixed on the view, as did hers. He continued.

“But, to balance it all, the simple, sure and absolute conclusions. Always certain, irrefutable. So knowing,” his tone here made her glance at him, but it wasn’t absolutely sarcastic, there was a softer tone there she’d never heard from him before. “But also so – ” he hesitated for the slightest of moments. “So gentle. You never pushed your conclusions, but lead one to them, as if you were sharing a secret.” His voice was quieter and relaxed, almost conversational now, and she smiled to herself. He hadn’t answered her questions yet but she didn’t care.

More seconds drifted past, both of them were silent, just looking out the window. Then he spoke again, still clear and deep, but with the genuine open tone of companionable conversation.

“Miss Granger, due to the situation we are facing I may as well be honest with you, and so you should know that there have only been three essays which I have read in my life that have actually given me goosebumps.” She turned to look at him and he turned to look at her. “Two of them were yours,” he finished simply, still with his wry smile.

She actually laughed in her surprise and pleasure of this confession and compliment, and she ginned widely while she said, “No, really? Do you remember which they were?” She asked out of pure curiosity.

“With clarity,” he replied, and his smile was just a little wider still. “The first time was when I read your Fourth Year essay on the true importance of proper balance in potions with a neutral base.”

“Ah yes!” She gave a small laugh again. “The balance is important with any base, but neutral bases are impossible to achieve in truly balanced potions. I didn’t share that particular revelation with Harry and Ron when I found it.” She thought she might have seen him twitch, but maybe not at all, at the names of her friends. “I still have a copy of that essay,” she admitted.

“So do I.” There was no denying it, he was actually smiling now. His lips were still pressed together but his thin smile was threatening to stretch from ear to ear. He turned back to the view, but the smile remained. “As with every year before nobody in the class had discovered the hidden trick question, and as I started your contribution I thought for a few minutes that it had evaded you too.” His smile became a smirk for a moment as he looked down at her again. She was the one remain looking out of the window this time. “I thought for one glorious moment,” he said silkily to her profile, “that I might actually have been able to give you something lower than an O.”

She laughed and turned to him, knowing that he meant it as a sort of joke, as unbelievable as it seemed coming from him. He turned back to window as did she. It seemed almost easier for him to talk when they weren’t looking right at each other. ‘Maybe it’s helping us to detach from the past’, she thought.

“But no,” he spoke, and his voice was soft and quiet. “Three inches of parchment from the bottom and there it was, subtle and brilliant. The most deserving Outstanding I ever gave.” He paused and smiled. “I got chills down my spine when I read it.”

“I remember waiting to put that revelation in at the last moment. I was particularly proud of that one,” she told him. His arm was so near to hers yet carefully not touching it.

“So you should be,” he said, and she felt a thrill of happiness unlike any she had had for a very long time. She felt as if she could throw her arms up into the air and run about her bedroom screeching in glee, so pleased it made her to hear this praise and admiration from her most severe critic. Even when he had been so mean to her in her lessons, her essays had still been able to give him chills. She didn’t cheer though, but stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and grinned.

More moments passed.

“The second time,” he said at length, “was when I read your extraordinary paper on sustainable perception brews with definitive proof of second-elemental links therein, published under the name of Ernie Macmillan.”

And there it was, the reason why she was so isolated, so far from her family and friends. He had smoothly brought the conversation back round to her original question and took her a little by surprise. She turned and walked to the end of the bed, sitting down quickly since her knees were weak. He turned to face her but the light was behind him and she couldn’t see him clearly, just his dark shape mostly, yet she knew that his smile had gone.

“I thought somehow it was not a pen name of your choice,” he said, and she nodded silently. “I immediately went to McGonagall, stating my certainty that the article was in no doubt written by you and not Macmillan and that I could provide several samples of writing as evidence to this point, but she told me that my claims – and those of everyone else who had come to her to say the same – would go unheeded. You had not decided to assert your rights to the piece against Macmillan, even though it was obviously stolen.”

Again Hermione nodded. “He was my editor,” she told him, looking up at him. He stepped nearer to her and she could see his face more clearly. “He had been reading over my notes as I made significant advancements, he claimed he knew someone at the Ministry Journal for Brewing and Arts who would publish the paper for me – ”

“Of course he knew someone! Anyone at that or any magical journal would have published an article finally proving second-elemental links in sustainable brews! It’s one of the most significant finds in the field since Arkwright’s Principle Stabilisers twenty years ago!” He was pacing now, back and forth across the room, sounding more than ever like her evil old potions teacher. But even though the subject was painful and his tone harsh, she was smiling at his indignation on her part.

“Surely it could not have escaped you, this discovery? You knew it was important, why didn’t you keep it safe?” He stopped now in front of her, standing just feet away, glaring down at her as she looked up at him. She shook her head and raised her arms up in a semi-shrug of uncertainty.

“I was trusting,” she said simply. “I was also hard up for money at that time, and Ernie offered to edit and promote it for me for free, I didn’t think to say no.” Her shoulders were slumped and her arms her drooped in her lap, she stared down at the carpet between their feet. Suddenly she felt the dip and bounce of the bed as he sat down beside her.

“It was a mistake, of course it was a mistake,” she said sadly, feeling the beginning of tears creeping up in her throat, but she refused to let them win. “The worst mistake of my life,” she added.

“And you became a recluse. You bought this property, you broke off your engagement with the youngest Mister Weasley, and have not been seen at any wizarding social occasion since. I looked for you,” he said quietly. “While the potions world lavished their praise on Macmillan, I was determined to tell you and only you just how impressed I was by that piece. I was astounded. To say I got chills reading that article would be a significant understatement.” She smiled again at his praise, still looking at the carpet. “But it must be six years now, and I never saw you.”

“No,” she said with another shake of her head. “Ernie offered me a lot of money, when his conscience kicked in I think, and I took it happily. I moved here where I had space and time and everything I needed, and here’s where I stayed.”

“With an apparation ban for a three mile radius, concealed and warded to an even greater extent than Hogwarts. Did you really trust no one?”

“Nobody,” she said with the slightest of sighs. “I don’t think I really wanted to trust anyone, if you know what I mean?”

“More than you can know,” was his quiet reply. “But I find it sad to find a Gryffindor reduced to such a state.”

She did smile but she felt horrible inside, and was quiet.

“It’s not like you, Hermione,” he said her name again into the quiet room. “I never thought I would see the day when Head Girl and war veteran Miss Granger failed to trust anymore.”

“As much as I might have wanted to trust no-one, it’s a lesson I’ve not learnt it yet, it seems.” She turned to look at him. “I let you in, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” He spoke quietly but seriously too, his dark eyes staring into her own. “Though I still can’t imagine why you did.”

“Well, you were hurt. I couldn’t leave you to die on my doorstep.”

“Very courteous of you,” he said with a smirk.

“And – well, I was curious.” She added as she looked away from him again, nibbling on her lip.

“Curious?”

She laughed. “Yes, ‘curious’! About what had happened to you, what had harmed you. But mostly what the hell you were doing at my door. And that’s something you’ve yet to answer. How did you get here? And why?”

He stood again, walking over to the window and resuming his stance, once more gazing into the distance. He cleared his throat, and then spoke.

“I was stabbed by Murasaki in my home at Spinner’s End, I had only apparated there to fool him, but as you are aware I was double-guessed, and a nasty sting awaited for me. I was able to stun him for long enough to apparate elsewhere and – somehow – it was to your cottage, to you, that I decided to journey. I would like to say it was a carefully considered decision, but what choice can be fully considered when it is made in an instant? I knew I needed somewhere safe, somewhere secluded. I needed somebody competent enough to save me, but in a place where he might not be likely to follow, unlike St. Mungos. Everything I needed was here. I assume that’s why I came here.”

“But how?” Hermione asked, desperate to know more even though she was thrilled at knowing her safe haven was something akin to that in his eyes too. “How did you apparate here? You couldn’t have walked three miles with that stabwound. You must have apparated near to the house, and that’s impossible!” Something in her mind clicked. “Unless – ”

“Yes,” he said, pre-empting her statement. “I used a pointfinder with it.”

“But that would mean you had been here before,” Hermione said, knowing full well that a pointfinder charm could only be used if you had previously purposefully cast a remembering spell on the exact spot you wished to travel to. “That’s impossible,” she said a little shakily. “Not even Harry knew exactly where I lived before today. Nobody knew…” she trailed off, not knowing what to think.

“Yes, I had been here before. And it was very possible,” he said, then added, “but not at all easy. It took me many months before I found even a hint of a clue as to where you might have gone, and the further I delved the more obvious it became that you were skilled indeed at hiding yourself. I must admit that finding you became something of an obsession to me one summer, but I hope you don’t find that too alarming.” He turned to her then, raising an eyebrow at her. “It was like a most excellent puzzle to me. I had to solve it.”

“Yes, I know how you like puzzles,” Hermione said with a slight smile, remembering the potion riddle of his she had solved in order help Harry reach the Philosopher’s stone, many years ago.

“Eventually I found the place, although it took me much longer than I care to admit,” he said with a twitch of his own wicked smile, and turned back to the window. “And once I had, I knew I must remember it. I knew one day just knowing of somewhere so far away would save my skin.” He cleared his throat again. “And I was right,” he finished.

“Well you might have thought to call in then,” Hermione said. “And given me fair warning that you might be dropping by at unsociable hours rather than just appearing from out of the blue. But I’m glad my home could be of some use to you.”

The Professor turned to her long enough to give her a strange look, as if he were trying to decide whether she was joking or not, and she realised that she wasn’t really sure herself. While it was flattering that he admired her home so much, this invasion into her privacy and his stalker-like admissions were worrying to her on many levels, though mostly she was just put out that he had been able to find her at all. She had thought she could keep everyone out – but apparently she was mistaken.

“I should have come inside.” His eyes gazed out at the distant hills. “I could see you through the window, alone, and I wanted to talk to you and congratulate you on your paper. But for some reason I hesitated. I found that the main reason I had for finding you was no longer relevant, and the idea of calling in on you without a legitimate excuse would have been seen as out of character, to say the least.” He gave a dry bark of a laugh then, but it was harsh and without humour. “But I shall be dead soon, so I can be honest with you now.”

“Very well then,” said Hermione, rising to the challenge. “Tell me. What was the main reason for your trying to find me? The one which became irrelevant?” She stood from her seat at the end of the bed then and joined him in his watching from the window. She saw him turn to her from the corner of her eye but she kept her own focused on the ragged, rolling edges of the peaks around the cottage.

“I was hoping, bluntly, to enter into some sort of business agreement with you. I myself had undertaken many hours of research on second-elemental links, and I – thought – that you might wish to further your own investigations with the help of my findings and perhaps work together to discover more on the subject. It had not been long since the paper was published, and I thought you would be eager to beat Mcmillain to the next stage. I thought that, perhaps, your past opinions of me might not prevent our being able to work together now that you’re – older – ” he finished with unusual ambiguity.

“And why did you change your mind on proposing this to me?” She was surprised at how calm she could make her voice sound when her insides were spinning with a mixture of elated joy and crippling dread of what he would say next.

“I made my decision based on my observations of this cottage, when I saw it. I was thorough in my scrutiny, believe me. You must know my skills were sound by the fact I had found you in the first place, and I did not want my initial hunches to be true, but they were. You had turned your back on potions, at least on a professional level – There is absolutely no space for a laboratory. At least, not one nearly large enough for you to carry on your research at any viable pace.” At some time – she didn’t know when – he had turned back to the window. His black eyes stared straight out into the day. The time was passing and the sun was moving further away now, and the landscape was changing with the light, starting to become darker and more sinister to her.

Inside, however, she was singing. A part of her thought, ‘My God! His stubbornness and assumptions!’, but mostly she was making a promise to herself. ‘I could kiss him!’ She thought, her internal voice was loud and clear and bright. ‘I will kiss him! I’ll kiss him before he dies,” she swore to herself at that moment, and her mouth twisted up into a very Slytherin like smile which, perhaps luckily, he did not see.

She looked down at the cup she had forgotten until now, and it seemed he had done the same, since the tea was untouched and obviously cold. She looked out of the window again. An hour must have passed at least, and no sign of Harry still. She turned to the professor, her eyes looking at his profile once more. She glanced at his lips and licked her own subconsciously. She looked once more at his ridged brow, seemingly always furrowed in slight concern, and his eyes staring out even now. A sudden thought came to her and a horrible chill of fear ran down her spine.

“Are you watching out for him?” She put a suggestive edge on the last word. He took a timepiece from his pocket and glanced at it before stowing it away again. He shook his head, his longer hair swaying a little.

“I don’t expect him to find us for a few more hours at least. And we are amply protected here, both by your impressive wards and the extra security of the aurors downstairs.” She let herself smile a little at his tone, sharp and Snapeish again. Then she turned and looked at him, and he turned and looked at her.

“We have some time, then?” She asked him.

His face softened a little, the merest hint of a smile returned. His voice was quiet and gentle again.

“Yes,” he said. “We have some time.”

“Good,” she replied. “There’s something I want to show you.”

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A/N: And for those of you who are wondering, it’s not a kiss *awwww* Not yet at least ;) All of the potiony-science stuff I just made up so I’m hoping it doesn’t offend anyone out there, it is just fiction after all. Please please please review and let me know what you thought, I really do care very much, and if you do you will get your name in bold at the bottom like these beautiful, wonderful people ~

Narcissas Sister: I’m glad you think that Severus is still serious and like himself, although this is something that might have been less clear this chapter, but hopefully it gave you some answers =) And I think it’s good to have a bit of down time before facing your ultimate doom! Thank you and I hope you enjoy what’s to come.

RedWritingHood: A favourite? *blush* I’m so glad you think so I hope the rest is as fascinating! I’m hoping for interesting at least. Thank you for your review.

Ultrazipped: Thank you for the repeat review! I’m hoping I can update this whole story before too long, so long as it doesn’t keep growing. Ninja goodness (or should I say badness?) yet to come. Love the idea of Severus waking Hermione up but sadly had started on this already! :D Perhaps in another fic? I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, and I’ll try to get the next up with my own super-ninja swiftness!

Heidi191976: Thank you for the review. Hope you like the rest =)

anncee: Here is some more and there will be even more soon. Thanks for reviewing, hope you enjoy!

ApollinaV: Well here is some more talking but I can’t decide myself whether this has provided answers or more intrigue! I certainly don’t think it’s helped me know what exactly is going to happen, which can be the problem with complicated plots, especially if one is too ambitious which I fear I may have been (only slightly! >_>) . Hopefully though it will end slightly polished :D Thank you so much for your lovely review.

And thank you too to anyone who read and rated or even just read, as usual, and please review now! Please? Thank you very much ~ Love Marie