Inky Fingers

The usual disclaimers apply. J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter universe and everything you recognise is hers. Except the perversions, of course. Those you can blame me for.

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"I had an owl from Harry the other day" Hermione said. "He and Mariel seem awfully happy. Young James Sirius is sleeping through the night at last so they are feeling much fresher. They're living in this small country town where it seems everything is happening - it's almost like living in a Soap Opera, I believe! Hedwig's not really happy in Australia, though. It seems she stands out an awful lot in Wandin Valley, where most of the Wizarding community seem to be." She was chatting with her old Transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonagall, while they waited for the last-night feast to begin.

"Ladies" The voice that had been haunting her dreams for so long sounded just behind her. She turned, half-smiling, to gaze at her former Potions Master. 'He looks awfully good,' she thought 'he should wear velvet and jet always'. The Headmaster was saying something, she wasn't sure what. She was too engrossed in gazing at Snape, drinking in the sight of him. The body that had fuelled her dreams (day and night) was hidden beneath the enveloping robes, yet the way they draped showed that it had lost no muscle tone in the intervening years. She licked her suddenly dry lips and opened her mouth to speak...

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr". She flung herself tr fer feet and began to pace the room. "I *know* he was restrested when all he could see was my back. His voice gave him away, no less than that sudden quickening of his breath when he stopped right behind me. Then he saw my face, and all he could think about was that the Know-it-all of Gryffindor had come back to haunt him!" Dejectedly, she dropped back into her chair. Her eyes were stinging, but she wasn't going to burst into tears again. Not this time, not like the *last* four times she had relieved the awful agony of the evening. Damn him anyway! He was just a stinky old Potions Master who couldn't see the woman she had become in his distaste for the girl she used to be.

"What *have* you been saying to upset our noble Potions Master so?"

Hermione started as the voice of Moaning Myrtle came from behind her. "Myrtle, why can't you remember to knock? Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to burst in on a lady's bedchamber uninvited?" She was sulking, of course, what use for a ghost to try to knock when her hand would go right through the door?

"It's just that Snape is storming about the dungeons, muttering something about dreams turning into nightmares. Since he saw you and Squirmy last night I can guess what inspired those dreams. Given the state of his bedchamber this morning" Myrtle blushed a shiny silver.
mionmione's eyes lit up. "He saw me, did he? I inspired his dreams, huh? Well well well. Perhaps it's not so much of a Lost Cause as I thought."

"You like him too? I would never have guessed it of you!" Myrtles voice was eager. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I'm sure Squirmy will have some ideas, though - and it's got to be better visiting him than sitting here fretting over what happened at the feast."
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A/N. Viewers of Australian Television Drama cannot help but be familiar with Wandin Valley, a fictitious rural community portrayed in the long-running hit series A Country Practice. It's the kind of nice, gentle, caring and accepting place that I figure Harry would be happy to retire to after The War. He deserves a chance to rest, recouperate and stais lis life anew.

Thanks again to all my reviewers. Your kind comments keep the creative juices flowing. Thanks especially to WIKTT chat members for inspiration, encouragement and above all sick and twisted humour. Without you guys, Squirmy and hove ove life would never have seen the light of day. You know who you are.