The Amazon Queen Zara Ziti

HSM Update

2007-03-12T04:50:41Z

Be Who We Are is updated at FFN here.

A request: even if you're not a High School Musical fan, would you mind reading Chapter Two of this fic? About half of it is kissing scenes, and I want to know if the logistics work for you, or if it's too technical. (I'd rather know now, before I get to the more explicit stuff.)

On that same note, has anyone noticed that people don't really write all that much drawn-out kissing in fanfic? It's often either smut or nothing. I think that's sad, considering how much fun just making out can be. It's an odd second request, but I'll toss it out there anyway: if you've any fics with good kissing scenes, either written yourself or in your Favorites, would you drop me a link? Research purposes only. Any fandom is all right, although Harry Potter het is preferred.

Also I am back to work on One Whole Star as we speak. Wahoo! I'll have some tidbits for you soon.

Cheers,

AQZZ

Long time, no see...

2007-03-07T01:57:10Z

Hola to the Friends list. I am so sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Or posted. Or anything. Please believe me when I say I've had a lot going on.

The main thing is -- wahoo! I'm in school! I'm a couple months into the Culinary Arts program at the Culinary Institute of America in NY. This makes my schedule kind of odd and unpredictable, depending on what class I'm in at the time. See, my Meat Fabrication class started at 2:15 and ran until, um, whenever the Chef decided we were done, which was usually 10:00 or thereabouts, but we didn't have much homework. My Fish Fabrication class ran from 2:15 until much earlier, more like 8:00, but the homework load was much heavier. Muy confusing.

Anyway, I'm just starting to get the hang of it, but fanfiction is never far from my mind. I'm still plotting away on One Whole Star, as well as an as-yet-nebulous darker fic. I may have some extra free time coming up soon (more on that in a bit) to get some of that done.

Now, my real confession: a week ago a very dear friend of mine came to visit me at school and had playing in her car the soundtrack to High School Musical. It was kind of downhill from there. She bought me the DVD as a joke, we watched it, I fell in love with Zac Efron, we watched it again, the weekend ended and she went home, I watched it again... Do you sense a pattern?

High School Musical is pretty much the definition of fluff. It's cheesy and predictable and I love it. What can you do? (I was briefly worried that my crush on Zac Efron made me a pedophile, but I looked him up on IMDb and he's only a month younger than me, so we can all relax.) Another thing about HSM is that it's the perfect medium for any and all cheesy musical fanfiction ideas you've ever, ever had. Which brings us to this: Be Who We Are, Ch. 1.

I got sick last weekend and had little to do but watch HSM... again. And Be Who We Are is what came of that. I have no idea if any of you guys are loco enough to like HSM enough to read the fic, but if you are I'd love to know what you think of it.

So that's the update. There should be more of both One Whole Star and Be Who We Are soon.

Thanks for sticking with me this long!

~ AQZZ

oy vey.

2006-11-24T18:19:58Z

Okay, all. I realize it has been A ZILLION YEARS since I posted anything, of substance or otherwise, and I have all sorts of excuses, but it boils down to two major issues:

1) Real Life; and

2) I've been trying to write Chapter Four from Xander's POV.

Real Life has steadily been becoming less of an issue, while Xander has been more. I just can't get inside his head. I can write about him just fine, but from his POV not so much. I'm not entirely clear on why, it just keeps coming out awful. And glib -- not in a cute Xander way, in an obnoxious way. So now that I've realized this and will be trying something else, I'll have something for you to read soon.

Just an quick update so you know I'm not dead of having fallen off a cliff or something.

~ AQZZ

One Whole Star continuity issue

2006-08-15T22:40:33Z

I know I haven't replied to your comments from the last post to that, but I'll get to it as soon as I can. In the meantime, I'm taking a mo to address an issue that proftlb inadvertently brought to my attention:

I got the timeline wrong!

What I wanted was for Harry to start Hogwarts in September of 1999 -- i.e., when Buffy and Willow started college at UC Sunnydale in canon. However, this is impossible the way I've set it up, with Harry turning seven in summer 1996.

So here are our options:

1) I go back and edit my old authors' notes and bits of previous chapters to make Harry seven, going on eight, instead, which gives him three years, not four, in Sunnydale. (This makes me gag -- I want Harry to have as much time with Willow as he can!)

2) I go back and edit my old authors' notes and bits of previous chapters to make this the summer of 1995, a full year before Buffy comes, giving Harry four years in Sunnydale but also saddling me with Willow and Xander's first year of high school. On the one hand, this could be interesting, and could also give them extra time to find out about and adapt to the existence of magic; on the other hand, I don't really want to, I'd have to do a lot of revamping, and it makes Willow's level of maturity even more improbable than it already is.

3) I decide to keep Harry's Sunnydale tenure from 1996-2000, which means revamping Season Four and dealing with the Initiative, which kind of makes me want to crawl under a rock and hide. Then again, I could do as many authors do and skimp on the detail, which I'll be doing a bit of anyway as I refuse to rewrite every single episode no matter what. This would make it easier for me to let Willow do fun stuff like, say, get full legal custody of Harry, as she'll be eighteen (otherwise it'll still happen but it'll be complicated and we'll have to cheat on the paperwork with that cure-all, magic), and maybe buy her parents' house. Also I'll have more time to expand on the Willow/Faith I see creeping up on me, and make it more plausibly long-lasting.

4) I ignore the problem entirely and pretend I didn't notice any discrepancy in the timeline.

Previously I was leaning towards 4, but having written it out I find myself favoring 3. Do tell me what you think.

the wizarding world, from a muggle point of view...

2006-08-14T15:46:20Z

This is in regard to some musing I've been doing, mostly for One Whole Star, but also for HP fanfiction in general.

It pretty much sums up to this:

THE WIZARDING WORLD IS FREAKING WEIRD.

What ways can you come up with in which the wizarding world is incomparably alien to the muggle one?

My favorite is schooling. You realize of course that muggle parents aren't given a tour of Hogwarts? They're just expected to pack their children off and let them go. I tried to imagine what my mother's reaction might have been had I gotten a Hogwarts letter and just about died laughing. Likely she would have said something along the lines of "bitch please", except more long-winded and marginally more polite.

Take a while and think about it, and get back to me with ways you and your friends/family would find the wizarding world incompatible with your lifestyle and expectations.

To warm you up, here's a plotbunny I've been favoring: Harry gets his Hogwarts letter. Willow's not going to send him there without seeing it for herself and learning more about it, as any parent would. So they reply to the letter requesting a tour. See Willow's disgust grow as she finds out there is no tour, there is no school handbook for general distribution, there is no proper course guide for the upper years, there's only one professor per subject, and on top of all that, Hogwarts teaches magic only -- i.e., no math, biology, art, music, literature or writing classes, which are all part of the education you'd expect any child to get.

Huh.

One Whole Star - Animagus forms.

2006-07-22T22:01:20Z

Mmmkay. My previous post is Friends-locked, just because a ton of my brainstorming and planning is in there and I don't know that I want it just free for all on the web, but I've Friended everyone who's Friended me so far, so you lot are set. If you want to be added as a Friend just drop me a line letting me know, because I can't guarantee I'll notice you've Friended me otherwise.

-- That's important because in the previous post I explained my excuse for having animagus forms plotted out for everyone, because we may end up knowing what they are even if folk don't all actually do the transformation.

I think it's fun picking forms out, because the way I figure the animal needs to match the person, so it's not about what sounds best or looks most impressive, but about what is true. So.

Your only clues are 1) Xander is a dog -- it's the breed that matters; and 2) anybody who is a magical creature in their natural form is also a magical creature in their animagus form. Slayers count as magical creatures.

So, on the count of three, guess! If you have a convoluted reason, tell me -- you might change my mind. The same goes for names. (Of course all credit will be given where it's due.) And if enough people actually guess this time, I'll post the answers.

One... two... three!:

Harry Potter:
Willow Rosenberg: Fox. *WingsOfFate* guessed it!
Xander Harris:
Cordelia Chase: Cat. jaaku_san guessed it!
Rupert Giles:
Amy Madison: Rat. *WingsOfFate* guessed it!
Jenny Calendar: Owl. *WingsOfFate* guessed it!
Devon MacLeish:
Joyce Summers: Lioness. jaaku_san guessed it!
Buffy Summers:
Kendra I-Have-No-Last-Name-I'm-de-Slayer:
Albus Dumbledore:

Forms I Haven't Decided On:
Jesse WhatsHisFace:
Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne:
Faith the Runaway:
Freddy Iverson:
Severus Snape: Woodpecker (*WingsOfFate*). Possum (jaaku_san).
Bill Weasley:
Filius Flitwick:
Hermione Granger: Dolphin (*WingsOfFate*).
Blaise Zabini: Pine marten (*WingsOfFate*, jaaku_san).
Augusta Longbottom: Vulture or mountain goat (*WingsOfFate*). Bald eagle (jaaku_san).
Neville Longbottom: Killer rabbit (*WingsOfFate*).

Well, then?

some musings...

2006-07-01T21:38:16Z

I realize I'm getting ahead of myself in this story, but I had to get this down before I forget it.

I'm musing on One Whole Star of course, as I always do, and have been thinking about how I'm going to integrate Harry and the Scooby Gang into the world of Hogwarts once Harry turns eleven (though there will be some overlaps before then). And also I've been reading a lot of Indepentdent!Harry and Manipulative!Dumbledore fics recently, which is no help at all.

So... At some point Harry discovers his British wizarding heritage, and he and Willow investigate his Gringotts accounts and find ...

The Last Will and Testament of James Simon Potter and Lily Ash Evans Potter
signed 21 September 1990

(blah blah blah, insert legal jargon here...)

In the event of our deaths, the custody of our son Harry James Potter will go to his Godfather, Ar. Sirius Orion Black.

The following is a list of those to whom Harry might go if for any reason Sirius Orion Black is unwilling or unable to assume guardianship.

1. Harry's Godmother, Ar. Alice Carroll Longbottom, and her husband Ar. Frank Louis Longbottom, to be raised as brother to their son Neville Richard.

2. Remus John Lupin. (NOTE 1: We, James Simon Potter and Lily Ash Evans Potter, are fully cognizant of the fact that Remus John Lupin is afflicted with lycanthropy. Our decision stands regardless. We trust that Remus will arrange alternate care for Harry on the night of the full moon.)

3. Peter Judas Pettigrew.

4. Msr. Minerva Maria McGonagall III, Master of Transfiguration.

5. Msr. Filius Gimli Flitwick, Master of Dueling.

6. Andromeda Atilla Black Tonks and her husband, Theodore Tonks, to be raised as brother to their daughter Nymphadora Felice.

7. Molly Ginevra Prewett Weasley and Arthur Ralph Weasley, to be raised as their seventh son.

8. Amelia Susan Bones.

9. Edgar Christopher Bones.

10. Ar. Czarina Jamaica Shacklebolt, to be raised as brother to her son Kingsley Vici.

11. Ar. Alastor Moody. (NOTE 2: Though we trust Alastor implicitly to ensure the safety of our son, we stipulate that he and Harry must meet at least once a month with any three people on this list. This is to ensure that Harry doesn't grow up paranoid beyond all reason.)

12. Emmeline Calliope Vance.

13. Rubeus Hagrid. (NOTE 3: Though we trust Rubeus to love and protect our son, we stipulate that he and Harry must live on the grounds of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry so long as Rubeus is employed there, and that he and Harry eat with the staff in the Great Hall at least twice a week. This is to ensure that Harry doesn't grow up wild beyond all reason.)

14. Sturgis Roman Quincy Podmore.

15. Severus Sebastian Prince Snape. (NOTE 4: In the event that Severus' reputation as a Dark Wizard precedes him, Lily Ash Evans Potter asserts her confidence that Severus is a Light Wizard with a Dark temper.) (NOTE 5: Though Lily Ash Evans Potter may trust Snape to care for Harry, James Simon Potter does not, and therefore stipulates that Snape and Harry must meet every two weeks with any three people from this list. This is to ensure that Snape's animosity towards James Simon Potter, Sirius Orion Black, Remus John Lupin and Peter Judas Pettigrew does not adversly affect Harry's upbringing.)

ADDITIONAL PROVISOS:
We, James Simon Potter and Lily Ash Evans Potter, do recognize that as of 21 September 1990, wizards of the Light are at war against the Dark Lord Voldemort. It is for this reason that we have provided so long a list of alternate guardians for our son. As all of the wizards listed do in some way contribute to the war effort, we recognize that it is possible, however remotely, that none of them are capable of caring for our son. In the event that everyone on our list is deceased or incapable, we stipulate that custody of our son be passed to his closest possible relation in the Evans family.

(NOTE 6: We do make one exception. Under no circumstances, Hellfire and brimstone included, ought Harry James Potter to be sent to live under the care of Mrs. Petunia Hazel Evans Dursley, or indeed any member of the Dursley family. Mrs. Dursley suffers from an acute phobia of all things magical and ought not to be trusted with any magical child -- certainly not our own.)

If the entire Evans family is somehow completely deceased and/or incapable, we, James Simon Potter and Lily Ash Evans Potter, do stipulate that Harry be placed with a progressive wizarding family with mixed blood, or with a muggle family with a muggle-born wizarding child. We consider exposure to both wizarding and muggle culture to be a necessary part of Harry's upbringing.

(NOTE 7: We must deny Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore the custody of our son Harry James Potter, excepting dire circumstances. [NOTE 7-A: Here Lily Ash Evans Potter defines 'dire' as 'beyond Hellfire and brimstone -- i.e., an immediate Apocalypse'.] While we do recognize Albus to be a powerful Lord of Light and a most effective leader in fighting the forces of Darkness, we find no significant reason for Albus to be involved in placing Harry in an appropriate home. [NOTE 7-B: Here James Simon Potter adds that also, Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore is a manipulative, if well-intentioned, old man who can't see the trees for the forest.] )

END
(for now...)

Obviously I know absolutely no legalese, and beg pardon from those of you who do.

I've got more of this scribbled away somewhere -- provisos for child support, access to Harry's trust fund, etc., and also one last bit about the prophecy, but I thought the custody issue was the most interesting bit.

I cannot imagine that Lily Potter at the very least would be so lacking in common sense as to neglect to write a serious will. Honestly.

I more than likely will not use all of that blather in the actual fic, but I had it in my head and it's part of how I'll write some of the other characters so I wanted to set it down properly. I hope it didn't bore you out of your skulls.

... Anyway, that's it for tonight, but expect more soon in the way of actual story-snippets because I am officially on vacation! In England, no less. I'm staying with some family friends in Birmingham, but I want to make it into London of course, and if I do I'll go to King's Cross and visit Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and think of all you lot. *g*

I got impatient...

2006-05-23T03:10:47Z

... and you know what happens when I get impatient: I post sooner than I told you I would.

If you'd rather read the story chapter-by-chapter, or catch up or something, I have posted at Twisting the Hellmouth, HPFandom, Skyehawke, and FFN. The usual.

Cheers, all. And definitely get back to me about the animagus thing.

Guessing game.

2006-05-22T02:08:59Z

Mkay, I'm stalling while y'all read and tell me what you think.

I have Harry's animagus form! (You won't be seeing it for a while, I don't think, but it will come. Oh yes, it will come.) Also I have Willow's, and, just to amuse myself and not because I'm going to go crazy and find a way to use them all (probably), I have Buffy's, Xander's, Giles', Cordelia's, Jenny's, Amy's, Devon's, and Oz's. Oh, and Faith's, but I'm very doubtful about what I've chosen, so...

Anyway. If it tickles your fancy, try a guess! Or make a case for a form you think makes sense. Neither Willow's form nor Harry's is magical. If you guess right, you'll get a cookie, and if you make a profound suggestion that changes my mind, we'll come up with something interesting to add to the story in your honor. And of course you'll get credit where it's due.

Thoughts?

One Whole Star, 3/?, complete on your say-so.

2006-05-21T05:02:27Z

Well, I don't know about you, but I've been waiting for-bloody-ever. I'm so glad I sucked it up and kept working on this properly.

I would regale you with tales of my soul-searching and whatnot, but actually most of it isn't very interesting, so without further ado, I give you Chapter Three.

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, dim light was streaking through the shafts of the blinds on his window and falling over his new red blanket. Harry had never slept anywhere with a window like this by his bed before; at home, he’d hardly gotten any light from the hallway in his cupboard, and even at the orphanage the windows in the dormitory had been high up on the wall, remote, and very dirty. He knew what blinds were, though. He’d cleaned all of them in 4 Privet Drive twice a week for Aunt Petunia. Now he blinked the sleep from his eyes, released his stranglehold on Big Bear, and pulled the string that controlled the blinds. They folded up the window just as they should and the sunlight swept into the room, claiming every corner.

Harry peered out over the windowsill. All he’d seen of California so far was the sky above the tarmac at the airport – he’d fallen asleep there and Willow had brought him here. He thought vaguely of palm trees, but didn’t know exactly what they looked like.

The yard below his bedroom window didn’t differ in any significant way from the ones back in England, so far as Harry could tell. There was green grass and brown dirt and white metal patio furniture. The trees had leaves, and the ivy draped over the trellis alongside the house looked like ivy ought. There were squirrels and birds. The clouds in the sky were shaped like clouds.

Before his disappointment became too acute, Harry remembered something California had that England did not: Willow.

She had been incredibly kind to him yesterday and last night. Once, when Harry had been sick at school and had slept in the infirmary, the nurse had felt his forehead and been kind to him; and yesterday Ashlee, a stewardess on Harry’s airplane, had brought Harry juice and a book and an extra blanket. Neither of them compared to Willow, though, and all of the other adults Harry knew weren’t like that at all. Some of them had smiled at him and patted him on the head after the Dursleys had died and he’d been shunted from hospital to Social Services to the orphanage, but they hadn’t meant it. Harry could tell.

Willow meant it.

Last night, Harry had woken up and been afraid. He hadn’t been able to remember where he was, and he’d just had a horrible dream full of green light and screaming, and there were shadows everywhere. He hadn’t been able not to cry, just a little bit, and Willow had heard him almost right away. At home, when Harry had woken Aunt Petunia up, she’d told him to stop being a nuisance and a baby and to let decent folk sleep. When he’d woken Uncle Vernon up, Harry had been told to shut his face or Vernon would shut it for him.

Harry had also heard Aunt Petunia comfort Dudley when he woke up shrieking for toys or sweets. Harry had disliked the noise she made but wanted something like that for himself all the same. Willow had done it, but better. She’d been calm, not panicky like Aunt Petunia, and soft and quiet. She’d sat right here next to him and hugged him and tucked him in and given him her teddy bear and sung to him.

Too many good things were happening. Harry had never had so many good things at once at home.

Soft footsteps padded down the corridor and paused at Harry’s bedroom door. “Harry, honey?” Willow said, not loudly. “Are you up?” Three knocks on the door, and then a click as the doorknob turned and Willow peered into the room. “Rise and shine!”

The moment Willow’s calm gaze met Harry’s she smiled. Utterly helpless, Harry smiled back. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” Willow said, stepping inside. She was dressed already, in pink denim shorts and a blue shirt that didn’t suit her at all. Her damp red hair was tossed over one slender shoulder. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, close enough that he could see that her arms and her long pale legs were freckled. “It’s almost ten – I thought you might like some breakfast.” Harry nodded dumbly. “Okay. Would you like to come down to the kitchen with me, see what we can scare up?”

Harry nodded again and sat up, knocking Big Bear to the floor. He tensed, but Willow didn’t seem to mind. Instead of calling him clumsy and careless, she picked Big Bear up by one arm and settled him on Harry’s other side, by the wall. “Did Big Bear work out all right for you last night? Any more bad dreams?” Harry shook his head. “Oh, good. I’m glad. C’mon, sweetie, let’s get you fed.”

* * *

For breakfast Harry had sweet, pulpy orange juice in a plastic cup; an egg scrambled with cottage cheese and a little cream; a slice of whole wheat toast, liberally buttered; a bowl of crunchy cold cereal drowned in fresh cold milk; and strawberries. It was the most pleasant meal he’d ever had, even better than last night’s dinner. Willow had turned off the air conditioning and opened the windows, flooding the kitchen with sunlight and fresh air. The radio played quietly. Willow sat across the table and squinted at the tiny print of the local newspaper. She was eating eggs, too, spooning them on top of her bagel and cream cheese. Occasionally she sipped from a mug that was more milk than coffee.

At home Aunt Petunia would have woken Harry at six-thirty so that he would have breakfast ready by the time Dudley and Uncle Vernon came downstairs. Dudley’s breakfasts had always been enormous; Harry was typically given a dry slice of bread, though on the days Aunt Petunia was in a good mood she’d let him toast it. Harry had never had a breakfast like this before, and he was surprised at how much he was able to eat.

Willow looked up halfway through her bagel. “So, kiddo,” she said, “what would you like to do today?”

Harry had no idea how to answer such a question. “I dunno,” he said hesitantly. “What do you want to do?”

“Well,” Willow said, quirking an eyebrow at him, “I thought maybe we could walk into town, let you look around. If the weather stays fine we could go to a playground, if you want, and if it doesn’t, we could swing by the public library and get you a card. On our way home I’d like to stop by the supermarket so you can pick out some things you’d like to eat. We can call a car to take us home if we’re too tired to walk back. How’s that sound?”

It sounded like fun. On the few occasions Aunt Petunia had taken Harry on an outing, he’d had to trail along behind her, carrying her shopping bags. They certainly never went to a playground – frivolities like that weren’t for freaks like him, after all. “But those are all kid things to do,” said Harry. “Don’t you want to do some grown-up things?”

“Oh, honey, I’m not a grown-up,” Willow said, amused. “And a nice relaxed day out sounds like fun to me. The only boring errand I want to do can wait a day or two.”

Harry tilted his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “What’s your grown-up errand?” Uncle Vernon would have told Harry off for being too nosy for his own good, but Willow seemed to like it when he asked questions.

“My grown-up errand…” Willow began, and hesitated. “Harry… I noticed that most of your clothing is pretty worn-out,” she said delicately. “If you’d like, I can take you to get some new clothes and shoes and stuff. Sunnydale’s got a pretty decent mall – we could start there.”

Harry stared. “You want to buy me new clothes?”

Willow blushed. “Well, yes. New everything, really; you didn’t bring much with you.”

Harry ignored this last; he’d brought everything he owned. “But you don’t need to buy me new clothes,” he said. “We could buy them at Goodwill or something.”

“Is that where your Aunt Petunia bought you clothes, Harry?” Willow asked softly.

“Only sometimes,” said Harry. “My cousin Dudley’s old clothes fit me just fine.” He’d heard that a lot over the years.

“And did your Aunt Petunia buy your cousin clothes from Goodwill?” Willow asked.

“No,” said Harry. “Dudley needed new clothes.”

“Hm,” said Willow noncommittally. “Harry, let me ask you something. And I want you to answer honestly, okay? Say what you think, not what you think I want to hear. Can you do that for me?” Harry nodded, not a little apprehensive. “All right,” Willow said. “Harry, would you rather have clothes from Goodwill? Or do you want some new things?”

Oh. Harry looked down ashamedly, feeling his face heat. Aunt Petunia had called Harry greedy when he asked for things, so eventually he’d learned not to ask. And anyway, he should know by now that nice new clothes were for good boys, not for freeloading orphans who forgot who their betters were. But…Oh, to be like other boys, with shoes that fit and pants that didn’t fall down and shirts without holes in them –

Say what you think, not what you think I want to hear.

Nearly whispering, hardly believing he dared, Harry said, “I want some new things.”

Movement at his side made him jump in his seat, but then a large, gentle hand was on his shoulder and Willow was next to him. “Hey, love,” she said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You did good. Remember what I said last night, that I want to help you when you need it?” Nod. “Well, this is like that, okay? I can’t always know what you want, so I need you to tell me.”

“But what if I want something bad?” Harry asked.

“Then I’ll say no,” Willow said. Harry could hear her smile. “But that’s all. Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll work it out.”

* * *

Before they left the house, Willow pinned a small piece of paper with her address and phone number to the inside of Harry’s pants pocket. “Just in case,” she said with a wink. Then she took his hand and led him outside.

6305 Westminster Place was lovely. A dignified grey with white trim, it had a large sturdy porch along the front and right side, and a cobblestone walk to the street down the center of its expansive green lawn. It looked very, very big, and all the other houses nearby did, too. It reminded Harry of some of the neighborhoods Aunt Petunia had had to drive through to take Harry and Dudley to school.

Before he lost his nerve, Harry asked, “Willow? Are you rich?”

Willow laughed. “What a question!” she said, not unkindly. “And – no, I don’t think we are, exactly. There are people in this town with much, much more money than we have; they’re definitely rich. I think the politically correct term for what we are is ‘upper middle-class’.” Harry didn’t know what ‘politically correct’ meant, but he thought he understood the rest. “What that means, Harry,” Willow continued, “is that we don’t have to worry. We can’t buy a private airplane, but we can have a nice house and a nice car.” (Said car was parked in the drive on the left side of the house.) “And some nice clothes. …Shall we?”

They did.

The walk into town was short, and as there wasn’t all that much town to see, the tour was brief. They stopped at the public library, where Harry painstakingly filled out a form that got him his very own library card. Then Willow called for a cab at a payphone, and while they waited she bought a cup of fresh lemonade and a giant cookie, which they shared, at a nearby café.

At the mall, Willow steered Harry straight into a bright, crowded clothing store. When a salesgirl asked them what they were looking for, Willow grinned toothily and said, “Everything.”

Harry was a little worried, because whenever Aunt Petunia had bought herself clothes she’d try on everything – everything – first. Harry thought it was entirely tedious, and it took ages and ages. At this store, though, Harry and Willow were taken to a large dressing-room just for them. There the salesgirl briskly measured Harry up, down and sideways, nodded, and trotted off. She came back with nondescript jeans and a shirt, “Just to check the size,” and trotted off again. This time she was gone for much longer, and she came back with a huge pile of clothes.

“Since we know your size, Harry, you won’t have to try these on if you don’t want,” said Willow. “Just pick out what you like.”

They started with T-shirts – sleeveless, short-sleeved, and long-sleeved – and continued on through polo shirts, dress shirts, jackets, sweatshirts and sweaters. Harry picked the colors he liked, and got to nix the ones he didn’t. There were shirts with stripes. There were shirts with pockets. There were shirts with cartoon characters and superheroes. Willow and Harry looked at them all.

…And then they kept going. Shorts, jeans, cargo pants, khaki pants, dress slacks, swimsuits, sweatpants. Pajamas of all kinds, in matching sets. Bathrobes. Socks. Underwear. Belts and ties. Sandals and dress shoes and bright yellow rubber rain-boots and sneakers that lit up when he walked. Slippers and flip-flops and water shoes.

Harry only tried a few things on, but it still took upwards of three hours, including their break for lunch (they had pizza). A Spider-Man backpack and a digital watch later, all of Harry’s new things were bagged and stacked in a shopping cart.

“Tired?” said Willow. “Me too.” She called another cab. Harry fell asleep in her lap on the ride home.

Instead of unpacking immediately, Willow left all of the bags in the foyer and called Harry into the kitchen. They took a snack break slouched comfortably on the couch in the den, drinking apple juice and eating slices of red pepper and cheddar cheese.

“So,” said Willow, “did you have an okay time? Not too boring?”

“I had a great time!” Harry said, snuggling against Willow’s side. “And thank you very much for all of the nice things.”

“You’ve thanked me already,” Willow said. “And you’re very welcome. I’m glad it was a good day.”

“It was the best day ever,” said Harry.

* * *

Harry had always liked to paint.

He’d been very good at it, in the art classes in school at home. His teachers had told him he was talented, and he’d won prizes. When he’d brought them home, though, Aunt Petunia had thrown them in the trash. Not even the kitchen trash – she’d gone to the side door and put them directly into the garbage cans outside.

But now, Harry had his own easel, with lots of paper and pencils for sketching, and paints in a million colors, and a palette and brushes, too. Willow had told him specifically that all of the art supplies were just for him. There were crayons and markers also, arranged neatly in the drawers of Harry’s very own desk. Harry had been itching to use everything, especially the paints, since Willow had first shown them to him last night. Now, after his long wonderful first day in Sunnydale, Harry finally had his chance.

Once Harry had painted a picture for Aunt Petunia. It had been at the beginning of the school year, just after he’d turned five. It was a picture of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley all holding hands in front of 4 Privet Drive. It wasn’t exactly one of his best efforts – he’d only been five, after all – but he’d tried. It was a thank-you, for feeding and clothing and housing Harry for four years. Harry knew exactly how long he’d been imposing on the Dursleys’ hospitality; they reminded him every day. That picture had gone directly into the bin like all the others.

Harry could only hope that Willow would receive such a present a little more open-mindedly.

The painting was going to be of Willow, of course, and it was to thank her for everything: for the bedroom, for the easel, for the clothes, for the milk – for taking Harry in at all. It wasn’t much, and Aunt Petunia had always let Harry know that a silly picture couldn’t possibly reimburse the Dursleys for all they’d done for him, but there wasn’t very much else Harry could do.

Frowning, Harry wiggled a little on his Harry-sized stool in front of his easel, pulling at the neat collar of one of his new white T-shirts. Harry took out the palette first; he’d have to mix some colors carefully to make something like the color of Willow’s hair.

Red was first, of course. It was the most obvious. But Harry but a little bit of yellow to the side for later, just in case, and brought out the brown and gold, too. The gold even had sparkles in it. Harry grinned.

He didn’t need to sketch anything beforehand. When Willow worried over his scar, frowned at the newspaper over breakfast, split a cookie with him in town, Harry had memorized her face. He didn’t want to forget what Willow had been like once she was gone – for of course this couldn’t last. Sooner or later someone would realize Harry didn’t belong here and would move him. If he were lucky he’d go back to the orphanage he’d stayed at after the Dursleys had died. If not…he didn’t know what.

Shrugging this melancholy thought away, Harry picked up his brush and let it lead him.

Willow’s skin: very smooth and very pale, except for the slight tan on her forearms and the faint freckles on her nose. Willow’s eyes: not green and not brown but a shot of both, wide-set and thick-lashed, brows arched, looking at Harry like he was something special. Her chin, her nose, her cheekbones. Her tall thin body in those awful pink shorts and blue T-shirt. Her hands, a little too big for her, strong and capable but uncallused, one braced on a slender hip and one outstretched. Her smile, quirky, toothy and crooked to one side.

And her hair.

Harry had mixed the color first but saved the actual painting for last. He put down the red-brown first, filling in the space around her face. Some tossed back, some draped over her shoulder, like that. It fell almost to her elbows in a single glossy sheet. Harry bit his lip and tucked a tendril of hair behind one of Willow’s ears, reminding himself to add earrings, the little gold ones, later.

Next a little bit of yellow, just enough to tint and to show where the shadows were, and then a ripple of gold, just there, where the light would fall. Harry dipped his brush in water to blur the color a little. Then he took some more brown and darkened the sides of Willow’s part just enough to show it wasn’t straight but off to the side. Yes.

Harry loved Willow’s hair. It was soft and it smelled nice and Harry could rest his cheek against it when Willow hugged him. And last night, after Harry had admired it aloud, Willow had said, “Yes, it’s a lot like your mom’s was, isn’t it?” She’d given him a sad smile, and she’d sounded like she thought Harry ought to know this already. He hadn’t quite had the courage to correct her. Aunt Petunia hadn’t kept any pictures of Harry’s parents, and would hardly speak Lily’s name, let alone Harry’s father’s. Harry had no idea what his mother had looked like, but he was comforted by the idea that she might have looked a little like Willow.

A touch of red – just a touch! – to her eyebrows, of brown to her lashes, and then Harry put the brush down.

Blinking, he stood, and took a few steps back to look at his easel. Was he done? How long had he been painting for? A glance to the neon numbers of the digital alarm clock by his bedside confirmed that it had been just over two hours. Harry pushed his bangs out of his face with paint-sticky fingers and squinted. His picture wasn’t, by any means, perfect. But it was nice, and maybe Willow would like it. Harry hoped she wouldn’t throw it out.

* * *

Harry trotted down the hall to the bathroom, peeking down the stairs as he went. There was a soft light coming from the sitting room off the front hall. Probably Willow was curled up in her armchair, reading. Harry would just wait for the paint to dry before bringing Willow her picture. He was glad to give her some time alone, anyway; Aunt Petunia had always said how glad she was to get him out of her sight when she had sent him outside or into his cupboard. Harry was happy to make himself scarce before Willow had to ask it of him.

After washing all of the paint out from under his fingernails, Harry chanced a look in the mirror and for a moment could not move a muscle. The new T-shirt – the new white T-shirt that Willow had bought just for him – was covered in paint.

There was red staining the hem at his hips. There was gold on his left sleeve and green on his shoulder. There were splatters of pink across his chest and blue at his collar.

Harry himself had green and red in his hair and gold on his face. That was easy enough to deal with. But what would he do about the shirt?

Aunt Petunia had been so angry whenever Harry had made Dudley’s hand-me-downs messy. Stains showed frivolity and a vile disrespect for how much the Dursleys had done for him by taking him in and feeding him and giving him clothes to wear. He was a dirty little freak and a clumsy little beggar and all he ever did was give Aunt Petunia more work to do (for though she’d given Harry a great many chores, she’d never trusted him with the laundry). It didn’t matter whether the stains were from paint in art class or grass from getting pushed down in the schoolyard or oil from his miserable attempts at cooking; they were all proof of his being a useless burden. He was usually sent straight to the cupboard. That he would miss the next meal or two was a given.

Being here with Willow was so disorienting. All of the rules were completely different if there were any at all. Willow had given him an easel and new clothes and as much as he wanted to eat every day. She’d taken him to get his own library card, and they were to go to the playground, for as long as Harry liked, tomorrow.

Willow never reacted like Harry expected her to. She always smiled at him as if she were pleased to see him. When she didn’t call him by name, it was never ‘freak’ or ‘boy’; it was ‘honey’ or ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’. Harry had been confused enough when he hadn’t done anything really reprehensible, but what would Willow do when she found out how bad he’d been? Was there a closet somewhere in the house that Harry would be able to fit into? Would Willow just yell, or would she slap him like Aunt Petunia had? Would she send him away?

For the umpteenth time Harry hoped that if he were sent away, Willow would send him back to the orphanage he’d stayed at in London. He didn’t think there was anywhere else in the world he could go.

Maybe he could get the stains out on his own. Doubtfully, Harry folded some sheets of toilet paper and wet them in the sink. He dabbed with this at the paint. All the water did was make it spread.

Harry bit back a cry of dismay and tried to think. He didn’t know the first thing about laundry. What had Aunt Petunia done to get stains out of everyone’s clothing? Was there special soap? Were you supposed to use hot water? Did you hope the stain dried so you could pick it off?

The laundry room was just off the kitchen on the way down the stairs to the basement. Would there be something there? There was a special deep sink just for laundry, and a clothesline.

Perhaps Willow didn’t have any special soap in her house. Harry couldn’t imagine Willow ever needing to get rid of a stain.

It was worth a try, at least. Biting his lip and clutching at the hem of his shirt, Harry made his way downstairs, freezing in place whenever he thought he heard a floorboard creak. He peeked into the living room on the way to the laundry. Willow was curled up in her chair, asleep, with her book splayed across her lap and her reading glasses slipping down her nose. That was good, at least; maybe she wouldn’t hear anything.

The laundry was small and white and warm, though the tile floor was cold on Harry’s bare feet. Here was the washing machine and here was the dryer. The sink was in the corner. All of the detergents were on a shelf high above Harry’s head. Harry doubted that there was any way for him to reach them; he would have climbed up on the washer or dryer, but both machines were taller than he was.

Harry hesitated and then pulled his shirt over his head. His best bet was the sink, and he had to stand on his tiptoes, his chest pressed to the cold porcelain, to see into it or to reach the faucet.

Cold water? Hot? When Harry had done the dishes for Aunt Petunia, she’d made him use water so hot it scalded his hands. It hurt, but it also worked. Hopefully, Harry stretched his arm across the sink and twisted the hot water on. The faucet screeched halfway around; Harry yelped and jumped back.

“Harry?”

He’d woken Willow.

She was at the laundry door before Harry could even turn off the water. “What are you doing? Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry!” Harry whispered, backing against the wall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” Willow said. She looked worried. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just going to turn off the water, all right? And now I’m just kneeling down so I can look at you. Can you tell me what’s wrong, honey?”

Utterly resigned to his fate, Harry held out the paint-stained T-shirt. Willow gently pried his fingers loose from the fabric, shook the shirt out, and held it up. “Oh, is that all?” She sounded relieved. “Look, it’s just paint. That should come out no problem. It’s no big. Harry, can you – can you look at me?” Harry tried, but he was too ashamed to lift his eyes to hers. Listlessly, he shook his head. “Oh, honey. Just – come here, please? Ssh, no, I just want to give you a hug, okay? I promise it’ll be all right. I’m not mad. I won’t h-hurt you.”

Somehow Harry managed to look up this time. Willow was smiling, but her lips trembled a little. She looked like she was about to cry. “I’m not mad,” she said again. “It’s just paint, love.” Harry collapsed into Willow’s open arms, burying his face in her shoulder. “We had such a good time today,” she was saying, as she rubbed his bare back. “I like you very, very much, Harry. I think we can be good friends. Don’t you think so?” Weakly, Harry nodded. “And friends don’t hurt each other, right? And friends forgive each other…

“Harry, you’re bound to make mistakes sometimes, or to disobey – everyone does, even grown-ups. Most mistakes don’t even matter, and for the ones that do… there is no mistake you could make that would make me hurt you. All right? And if anyone does hurt you, they are wrong, Harry. They’re wrong – it doesn’t matter what you’ve done. Your aunt and uncle were wrong to ever hurt you or make you afraid.” Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Harry’s waist, Willow cupped his chin with the other, gently turning his face up to meet her gaze. “Please tell me you hear me.”

Harry blinked the tears from his eyelashes. “I hear you.”

Willow stroked her thumb along his chin. “Do you believe me?”

Uncertain, Harry shrugged.

“Oh.” Willow sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment. “Do you – Could you think about it, a little?” Harry nodded. “Good,” Willow said. “That’s good, sweetheart.” She bent her head and pressed her warm smooth cheek to his. Harry pressed back, and clutched at her more tightly.

* * *

After a quiet but not uncomfortable dinner, Willow said, “So – do I get to see what you were painting?”

Harry, swallowing nervously, nodded.

“How about we take care of these dishes, and then we’ll get you ready for bed, and you can show me what you made?”

Dinner had been simple – canned turkey-barley soup, heated up on the stove – and the dishes were done in short order with Willow washing and Harry drying. His heart pounding in his throat, Harry led the way upstairs and into his bedroom. Carefully he picked the painting up from where he’d laid it on his bed to dry. “I – I did it – It’s for you,” he stuttered.

Willow accepted the painting with a smile. “That’s so sweet, Harry. Oh!” One hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Is this…This is me!” she exclaimed.

“I wanted to paint you,” Harry said.

“Harry,” Willow said breathlessly. “It’s wonderful. Goodness, you’re talented! It’s…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Her eyes were bright.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? I love it, Harry. Thank you.”

Harry, grinning helplessly, felt his cheeks heat. He barely managed a whispered “You’re welcome.”

* * *

finis

I hope you know I dusted off my old Watcher's Guide to look up Willow's canon address for you. I could have made it up, but did I? No I did not. (Forgive my feeling smug about that.)

Well. I'll be posting this around and about soon -- pending your approval, actually. What do you think? What can I fix? Large or small, I want to know. Did you feel a tug on your heartstrings? Because that's what I was going for. *g*

Some thoughts.

2006-02-12T08:24:31Z

I haven't a decent snippet kind of update for you at the moment, my pretties, for which I must apologize from the bottom of my heart (I've been in the middle of a lifestyle-choice-career-identity-crisis thing -- it's complicated. Good, but complicated), but do not lose hope. Particularly when it comes to "One Whole Star". That fic is like the default setting my brain returns to when there's nothing bright and shiny to distract it -- you know? I ponder and puzzle over this thing constantly. So it may be coming slowly, but it's definitely coming.

And that is part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Some spoilers: Harry is going to begin his magical education earlier than I expected at first: at this point, probably by the end of his first summer in Sunnydale. His first contact with the Wizarding community will not be with Hogwarts, but with American -- Southern-Californian -- Sunnydaleian wizards, who have a very different take on, well, everything, than J.K. Rowling's wizards.

Oh, and this is almost irrelevant because it's coming up so far in the future of this fic, but Severus Snape will be the first Hogwarts type of wizard Harry and Willow meet. And though I promise I won't make him into some crazy supervillain, it doesn't look like I'll be any more kind than I have to to Dumbledore.

To the actual point of this post, which is (yay!) reader participation. If you were a (possibly muggle-born) wizard, settling the first magical community on the Hellmouth, and keeping the peace (between muggles, wizards, magical creatures, the not-entirely-deceased, and demons) was a top, top, top priority for you...

... what kind of, well, Code of Ethics would you draw up for all your people and not-quite-people to secure as much cooperation as possible? I guess it's the same principle as the Ten Commandments. If it were up to you, what would be some rules you'd put down first?

Be as simple or as complicated as you like. Feel free to give me a long-winded explanation (I just love those). And I promise that any, erm, commandments used in the fic will be attributed to their true authors.

Here is my sloppy and unfinished Code of Ethics. Help me.

(These are in no particular order, jotted down in my lil' notebook on the fly -- the pretty language will come later.)

>> I will not pervert the power of a great Natural event (earthquake, hurricane) for my own gain. Nor will I do this work for others, or in any way coerce others to do this work for me.

>> Unless I am provoked by reasonable fear for my personal safety, I will not use my power in the presence of or against a non-practitioner (N.P.) to intimidate; to bully; to bribe; or to force an N.P. to do my will.

>> My magic is my responsibility.

>> I will remember that magic is not my right; nor is it a plaything or an accessory, but a privilege, an Art, and as much a part of myself as my blood.

>> For my own safety and others', I will practice my Art thoughtfully and with respect. I will always remember the First Law.

>> Though my magic may be a strength I possess which others do not, this strength is not the same as superiority. I know the dangers of hubris and will check it in myself and in those around me to the best of my ability.

*

...Yeah, so, that's all I got. I need anything and everything you might have. Your own ideas, ways I could better the ones I've got even down to, like, word choice -- let me have it. I beg you. This Code of Ethics is a detail -- that is, it won't be spawning monster-plots on its own, unless there's something it really should have told me like, forever ago -- but it's an important detail. I want to make clear distinctions between Hogwarts and Harry's Hellmouthian school, and this is a part of that.

Oh! The school will be called the Artisan Dextrartis Academy for the Study and Practice of Magics. (I came up with the name "Dextrartis" for a fic bunny that died, and I thought it was too good to waste entirely.)

And also -- the First Law of Magic is the same as the First Laws of Matter and Energy. Recite it with me, kids: Magic can be neither created nor destroyed. ^_^ I love it.

I need your opinions again.

2005-12-08T20:42:26Z

Okay, I just went back and re-read my last post on the stuff I plan to do about the Sorting process and um, yes, it was confusing. I think it's my inability to be concise that's part of the problem. Anyway.

If you would, because you love me, read it again? (Skip the lists of House assignments if you like, I know they probably only make it worse.) And just... tell me what you think of the idea of J.K. Rowling's Sorting in general. Does it make perfect sense? Do you think it could be better? Do you think it's very very silly?

I'm in the middle of rewriting the next part of Long Hot Beautiful Summer, which is frustrating -- I wrote it first maybe two years ago, and it's kind of like writing from scratch but worse when I take into account both spoilers and my own changes of ideas. I think hearing some of what other people think might help me out a little.

So: In the name of AUs, and crossovers, and in the name of Willow being both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin (a bit of everything, really), tell me what you think.

LHBS Brainstorming, 2/12

2005-12-02T03:31:31Z

Okay. I've been fiddling around with the second chapter of Long Hot Beautiful Summer for a bit, doing some rewriting, and I wanted to run an idea by you guys just to see how it'd be received. (I'm afraid I like this idea so much I won't change it even if you hate it, but I find I'd like to know what you think all the same, if that makes any sense.)

First off, to warm you up, I will say this: I think that the idea of the Sorting into Houses is just this side of ridiculous. It's a perfect way to divide kids into groups before they can even begin to figure it out for themselves. Like -- when I started middle school, I had a clean slate. People gave me about a month's grace period before they decided I was a huge nerdy loser... but at least I had a grace period. Going into Hogwarts, the only chance a kid has to make any kind of realistic impression on any of the peers they've not yet met is during the bloody train ride.

If you're Sorted into Gryffindor, everyone thinks you're a hero/good-guy type. If you're Sorted into Ravenclaw, everybody assumes you're smart but not very interesting. If you're Sorted into Hufflepuff, everybody assumes you're kind but also kind of slow. And if you're Sorted into Slytherin, everybody assumes you're THE HEART OF DARKEST EVIL.

Personally? I think every House has its good traits and its bad ones, and frankly if I were fighting in a war against Everything That Was Ever Bad About the World, I wouldn't want a Gryffindor leading me. Gryffindors are for heroic last stands and rushing in and storming places, not for planning things. I want a Slytherin in charge, because they actually have an instinct for self-preservation and they don't get embarrassed if a situation calls for Running Away, which situations sometimes do. They're pragmatic enough to realize that sometimes people die and sometimes you have to be the person who sends them into danger, but they're selfish and insular enough that they'll do their best to assure this whole death thing doesn't happen to their side too often.

(Just so we're perfectly clear -- I've always assumed I'm a Ravenclaw, and I've done a couple of those obsessive HP online Sorting games and it comes out that same every time.)

Being Sorted into a House allows very little room for growth. People change, you know. A child who starts out spoiled and a loner and a Slytherin may learn to care about other people and become a Hufflepuff. A Gryffindor who starts out charging in and defending other people may be betrayed by a friend and become a Slytherin. Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor, joined the (Slytherin) Dark Lord and betrayed his closest friends and their newborn baby, not to mention their entire cause; Harry, the quintessential Gryffindor, was initally Sorted into Slytherin before he made a big stink. On the other hand, Slytherin House, which is supposed to be for the clever and wily, boasts among its members Crabbe and Goyle. "Loyal" Hufflepuff has Ernie MacMillian and Justin Finch-Fletchley, both of whom were among the first to accuse Harry of being the Heir of Slytherin in his second year, and Ravenclaw, which is supposed to have the smart, dedicated, logical people, has Luna Lovegood. Are you following me here?

Dumbledore was first portrayed as a kind, grandfatherly, soft-and-huggy sort of man, but by now he's been shown to be smart, extremely powerful, and willing to do what he has to for his cause and to protect the people he cares about. We know he was Head of Gryffindor while he was Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, but we don't actually know what House he was in as a student. Honestly I think it could have been any of the four. Dumbledore is smart, cunning, and capable of knowingly making decisions that could harm others for the good of his cause -- that's Slytherin. He's an academic, having done work on alchemy and having discovered the 12 uses of dragon's blood -- that's Ravenclaw. He loves Hogwarts and is devoted to the Order of the Phoenix, and often appears more harmless than he actually is -- that's Hufflepuff.

So: for the next chapter of Long Hot Beautiful Summer, I propose the ReSorting.

Not for the students, as that would take forever and just confuse everyone -- both the characters in the books, the readers of the fic, and, well, me. No, I say the Professors be ReSorted before every school year, to find which House suits them best for the year and to give them a little bit of guidance -- a turn in the right direction. A Head of one House can easily be a member of another House, if that's the way they lean; I think the Sorting Hat picks Heads of House and Headmaster anyway. Here is the list of teachers, and their Houses, for the upcoming year, in alphabetical order, because I'm a Ravenclaw and that's what I do:

Binns - Ravenclaw.
Dumbledore - Slytherin.
Filch - Hufflepuff.
Firenze - Gryffindor.
Flitwick - Gryffindor.
Hagrid - Gryffindor.
Hooch - Slytherin.
Lupin - Hufflepuff.
Malfoy - Ravenclaw.
McGonagall - Gryffindor.
Pince - Ravenclaw.
Pomfrey - Slytherin.
Rosenberg - Slytherin.
Sinistra - Hufflepuff.
Snape - Gryffindor.
Sprout - Ravenclaw.
Tonks - Gryffindor.
Trelawney - Hufflepuff.
Vector - Ravenclaw.
Weasley - Hufflepuff.

Remember: Malfoy is "William Malfoy", aka Spike (I rather like the idea of his having been the only Malfoy not to have been in Slytherin. It's not all that far-fetched -- think of Cecily and Spike's trying to find something to rhyme with "effulgent"). Tonks is going to be T.A. in Transfiguration, and Charlie Weasley T.A. to Care of Magical Creatures and Flying.

Then we've got list #2. This is of the Heads of House and the Deputy Heads of House (something else new I'm experimenting with), and their primary and secondary Houses.

Dumbledore: Headmaster; Slytherin 1, Hufflepuff 2.
Flitwick - Head of Ravenclaw. Gryffindor 1, Ravenclaw 2.
Lupin - Head of Gryffindor. Hufflepuff 1, Gryffindor 2.
Malfoy - Deputy of Slytherin. Ravenclaw 1, Gryffindor 2.
McGonagall - Deputy Headmistress. Gryffindor 1, Hufflepuff 2.
Rosenberg - Deputy of Gryffindor. Slytherin 1, Gryffindor 2.
Snape - Head of Slytherin. Gryffindor 1, Slytherin 2.
Sprout - Head of Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw 1, Hufflepuff 2.
Tonks - Deputy of Hufflepuff. Gryffindor 1, Hufflepuff 2.
Weasley - Deputy of Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff 1, Gryffindor 2.

As you can probably tell, I've put a crazy amount of thought into this. For example, take Dumbledore -- this year he needs to be leader of the Order first, which takes Slytherin cunning, and utterly loyal to his cause, which is Hufflepuff. I've got similar reasoning for all of these House assignments.

So... am I absolutely crazy? Would you buy it if I packaged it up all pretty? Is it arrogant of me to say I really like all this insanity? Is it too confusing (give it a day to gestate and then tell me if it still twists your brain in knots)? Is there some detail I should give up on, or something to add, or some stuff that's irrelevant? Tell me all.

Cheers.

Opinion post.

2005-11-29T19:12:15Z

So I realize what we have here is a collection of Harry Potter fans and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans and some of you crazy insane people like me who are bonkers about both.

But have we any market for Gundam Wing? I've got this BtVS/GW crossover I turn over once in a while, you see, that I'll probably finish when I'm like fifty or so (to clarify this timeline, I'm eighteen now). I'd like to have some people to bounce it off of, but I also realize that not that many people may be nuts about two such... unusual... shows at the same time.

The point of all this being, any takers? Would anyone be interested in my posting some of this pet project of mine? Or should I just hoard it and cackle over it and coax it into a monster and then use it to take over the world when I'm fifty?

One Whole Star, 2/?, complete

2005-11-28T20:39:00Z

This last bit of Chapter Two picks up after Harry's bath.

qp db qp db qp

Late that night, long after she'd put Harry to bed and after she'd gone to bed
herself, Willow was roused from a restless doze by a noise.

At first she couldn't think what it was; she'd been alone in this house at night
for years. Willow lay still and stared up at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint the
noise and where it had come from. A whimper, a sniffle, both close by.

It took a moment to click. Harry!

Willow threw off her covers and fell out of bed, banging her knee painfully
against the floor. With a muffled curse she was up again and stumbling
towards her bedroom door, visions of Harry awake and alone in the dark for
hours haunting her. The air conditioning coming up from the vents in the
floor blew across her bare feet and made her shiver.

"Harry, honey?" Willow called softly as she reached the second bedroom.
"Are you awake?"

Rubbing her bruised knee with her hand, Willow peered into Harry's room,
squinting in the dim light from the bathroom down the hall. The small cozy
room looked eerie this late at night -- the child-sized easel loomed both tall
and crooked, the space underneath the desk was utterly black, and the
bookshelves were teeming with shadows. "Harry?"

Another sniffle and a little cough, and then the lump under the blankets
stirred. "W-Willow?"

"Hey," Willow said, crossing the room. She knelt by Harry's bed. "You okay,
love? I thought I heard something."

There was some more under-cover movement, and then one of Harry's small
hands pulled the blankets away from his face. He was frightened, the poor
thing, and had obviously been crying. "Hi," Harry said.

"Hi," Willow said.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Harry whispered.

"Oh, no," Willow began to say, and reached out to touch Harry's face.

He immediately scooted backward. "I'm sorry! I tried to be quiet."

"It's okay," Willow said, withdrawing her hand. Was Harry expecting to be
hit? Willow immediately pushed that thought to the back of her mind to be
mulled over later, because if she considered it now she might cry, and this
was definitely not the time for her to have hysterics. "It's okay, sweetie."
Take a deep breath, Willow. "I'm not gonna hurt you. It's okay."

Harry's wide eyes didn't look distrustful so much as simply disbelieving.
"Sorry," he whispered again, sounding helpless.

"The last thing I want is to scare you," Willow said. "All I want is to make
sure you're okay." She waited for Harry's hesitant nod and then added, "Can
I give you a hug? Is that all right?" Another tiny nod. Slowly, Willow reached
out again. Harry didn't move away this time, but he squeezed his eyes shut
as though bracing himself for something. As gently as she could, Willow
stroked a thick lock of black hair away from Harry's face. "It's okay. I've got
you." Another stroke and a pass of her thumb over Harry's cheek. "You're
okay."

After a few minutes of being petted while Willow murmured reassurances,
Harry started to relax a little. His fingers loosened their death-grip on his
blanket and he opened his eyes cautiously, eventually finding Willow's steady
gaze in the dark.

"I'm gonna give you that hug now, okay?" Willow whispered.

"Okay," Harry whispered back.

Willow leaned against the bed, staying as even with Harry as she could, and
slid an arm around him to rub circles on his poor bony back. "I've got you." A
squeeze so gentle it almost wasn't there and a kiss to the tip of Harry's nose.
"I've got you." Harry let loose a deep, shuddering breath and moved forward
again, close enough to curl up in the curve of Willow's arm. "We're okay."

"Sorry," Harry said again, into her neck.

"Oh, Harry." Willow sighed. "You don't have anything to be sorry for,
sweetie."

"Big boys don't cry," he said stubbornly.

Willow concentrated on keeping her touch gentle, but inside she was ready to
scream. What kind of people had these Dursleys been, to have raised a child
to be more afraid of his guardians than he was of his own nightmares? Who
taught little boys not to reach out when they were frightened? How could she
make her own scared, proud little boy understand that he had nothing to
fear, nor anything to be ashamed of?

"It's all right for big boys to cry when they really need to," Willow began
hesitantly. "Everybody's got to cry sometime."

"'S not what Uncle Vernon says," Harry said.

"Well not even Uncle Vernon could have been right all the time," Willow said.

Harry made a startled sound.

"Look, Harry," Willow said, rolling her words over her in her mind
deliberately, "I'm taking care of you now, right? We don't have to do what
your aunt and uncle would think we ought to, because it's up to us now. We'll
figure out what's best for you together. And I need you to know that if you're
ever scared or hurt, the first thing you should do is yell for me, okay?"

"You want me to yell?" Harry said. He sounded as if he thought he'd heard
her wrong.

"I want you to yell," Willow said. "That's one of the things I'm here for -- to
come as quickly as I can when you need me." She paused. Harry shifted a
little closer, and Willow took the opportunity to pull the blankets up around
his thin shoulders. "You shouldn't have to be all alone in the dark, love. If
you have a bad dream, or if you wake up and get scared, you can yell for me
and I'll come. Or you can come to my room and get in bed with me. I won't
be mad, okay? I promise. I won't yell at you, or... or hit you." Harry
shuddered at this. "I'll be happy to see you. That's what I want. I want to be
as good to you as I possibly can. Tell me you'll try and let me be good to
you?" Harry nodded slowly. "Oh, honey. That's good."

Willow wanted to tell Harry, very badly, about all the other things he
shouldn't be afraid to ask or to do, and everything she wanted to give him
and to help him with, but it was too late -- or early -- to get so complicated.
She'd tell him everything eventually, a little bit at a time so he would
understand.

"Oh, I should have remembered!" Willow exclaimed suddenly as she combed
her fingers through Harry's uncontrollable hair. "You've got a night-light!
That might help a little. Here, hon, let go for just a second and I'll turn it on
for you." Harry loosed his grip on Willow's sleeve and let her unwrap her
arms from around his shoulders. The night-light was plugged in a few feet
away from the bed; Willow crawled to it and turned it on.

The night-light was a plastic sphere tinted with a faint blue. It cast a steady
light over Harry's bed, overtaking the shadows on the shelves nearby and
chasing away the darkness lurking around the desk and dresser. "Is that any
better?" Willow asked. She sat lightly next to Harry, touching his cheek
affectionately. Harry let her and, when she stopped, scooted to her side and
hopefully rested his tousled head in her lap. Willow smiled.

"It's not so big anymore," Harry observed after a moment. He sounded
relieved.

"What's not so big?"

"The -- my room. In the dark it was really big and I could see lots of places
for things to hide."

"What kind of things, Harry?"

Harry looked away. "Monsters and things."

"Hey, it's all right. We've started to take care of them, haven't we? Monsters
don't like to come after boys who have family to help them, so you're not
very appetizing monster-food, are you?" Willow asked in her most cheerful
voice.

This perked Harry up a little. "Because I've got you?"

He sounded so hesitant when he said it! Willow promised herself that one
day, she'd get little Harry Potter to take her for granted. "Because you've got
me. And the rest of the monsters who are nervy enough to come after the
two of us, well, that's what your night-light is for."

"Nowhere for them to hide now!" Harry said.

"Nowhere at all," agreed Willow. She started petting Harry's impossible hair
again, combing it back away from the scar on his forehead. Harry gazed up
at her with affection and offered a shy smile. Willow smiled back and had to
remind herself, again, not to indulge in hysterics. Harry was the sweetest boy
in the world with the sweetest little smile, so trusting despite his relatives'
attempts to squash the sweet right out of him. How could anybody not see
what Willow saw? How could anybody not fall in love with Harry Potter?

This was too distressing to keep thinking about. "Hey, honey. Do you think
you could try to sleep?"

Harry nodded.

"Is it all right if I keep you company til you fall asleep? Just in case you get
scared again?"

Another, more eager, nod. Harry was a very expressive nodder.

"Okay. Here, let me tuck you in again. Would you like a teddy bear to hold
on to, or something?" When Harry hesitated, Willow added, "I still sleep with
my old favorite bear, you know. He's very comforting. You can have him, if
you want. I think he'd like you." Pause. "Should I go get him for you?"

"Yes, please."

"All right. I'll be right back."

Big Bear was a large, formerly white teddy bear that Willow had had since
she was three. She'd stopped appreciating exactly how big he was since
she'd started growing up, but she was reminded of the reason for his name
when she handed him to Harry and it was readily apparent that he and Harry
were almost the same size.

Harry threw a skinny arm around Big Bear's potbelly and smiled. "He's soft,"
he said.

"His name is Big Bear," Willow said. "He's always been very good company.
Monsters don't like him much."

"Thank you, Willow."

He was a seven-year-old boy with a terrible childhood, woken up with
nightmares in the middle of the night in a strange new place, and still he
remembered his manners. Willow beamed. "You're very welcome, Harry.
Now, curl up with Big Bear, and we'll get you back to sleep, okay? And you'll
have better dreams this time."

"Okay."

"What usually helps you sleep? It's a little late for a story, but I could try a
song."

Willow should have predicted the words before Harry said them. "I've never
had a bedtime song." The look on his face said he doubted the effectiveness
of such a thing.

"We could give it a try," Willow said. "Songs might turn out to be just right.
Let me think for a second."

Harry was too grown-up for the standard songs like "All the Pretty Little
Horses" and "Hush Little Baby". Willow contemplated some of the quieter pop
songs she knew but thought Harry might find them boring; most of the folk
songs she knew weren't quite right either.

Then -- "Oh! I've got it." Willow tilted her head at Harry, who blinked up at
her sleepily from where he rested Big Bear's plump stomach. "Here you go:

There was a boy -- a very strange, enchanted boy.
They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea;
A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he.

And then one day, one magic day, he passed my way,
And as we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me:
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.' "

Willow sang it twice, soft and slow, in her rough low voice. She'd never win
any awards, but she did well enough with what she had.

Harry certainly seemed to think so. He was fast asleep halfway through the
second time.

Willow regarded her little boy fondly for a while, and then unfolded herself
from her seat on the floor next to Harry's bed and returned to her own room,
lost in thought.

It took her a long time to get to sleep.

qp db qp db qp

FIN CHAPTER TWO
Posted November 28, 2005

Please believe me when I say I did not anticipate it taking two months for me
to write 4,000 words. I like my chapters fairly substantial -- between 3,000
and 5,000 words if possible. My deepest apologies to those of you who were
waiting and, possibly, cursing my name. There's just no getting me going
when I'm just not feeling a chapter (I mean, I've gotten going when I didn't
feel it and the results were not pretty), and it took me a surprisingly long
time for me to be happy with the last scene. I hope it didn't disappoint.

Many happy returns of the day to
aerinoutlander, AJ, Amry, angrymonkey, anonymous (all six of you),
areaiofthemoon, Ashira, azulkan2, banner, BloodPhoenix, bythewayside,
camliawaite, Carol, Carolyn, CommodoreNorrington'sGirl, CrossingFandom,
Curg, cutieme012, dancegirlem24, darcellie, DarkTopaz, DeeRose,
dharkcharlotte, Doe Dagga Dee, DolphinChick22, DonSample, Dracomigha,
dreamer, DreamWeaver, etakyma, evil_calico, Ezmerelda, fandom_whore,
game-overgal, halric, halleem264, Hermione-Tonks, jjeeff185, Karie, Katie,
Kryslo, Kyra2, Lady Azar de Tameran, lassyd, lckybr, Len (twistiedoodle),
Lissa May, Lucinda, MaeveTyrNamid, merna_of_quills, moooleeesssaaa,
mudder08, musicianatheart, NancyPotterBlackLupin, NoLifeKing, Paca
(apacalypse), Packed Mule, pippin, psykco, pyrbennu, Rachel,
ravenstormfire, rayolis, SamDragon, Sandi, Saphrine, Shadow Crystal Mage,
slaygirl190, sparrownightmare, Spots on a Pony, SusanAnthony, The Female
Nerd, tonksnala, twisteddagger, Vogrin, WhiteWolf, and wolfawaken.

If you'd prefer to read the whole thing all the way through, it's up at SkyeHawke, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fanfiction.Net. (FFN has all of the html trappings, like bold and italics.)

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think. And also let me add, I am so sorry it's been so long. October was a lot more... hectic than I thought it would be. It was hard to, um, get in the groove. As it were.

Anyway, hopefully this is a cracking of the writer's block.

One Whole Star, 3/?, random bit

2005-10-06T02:48:28Z

All right. Here's another draft-a-tilla. It's only a thousand words long, and I'll add more and edit it later (hopefully with the assistance of your very helpful and very welcome comments), but here's what I've got so far.

Scenario: After Harry and Willow have been shopping, and to the library, and to the playground, Harry tries to find a way to say thank you.

* * *

Harry had always liked to paint.

He'd been very good at it, in the art classes in school at home. His teachers had told him he was talented, and he'd won prizes. When he'd brought them home, though, Aunt Petunia had thrown them in the trash. Not even the kitchen trash - she'd gone to the side door and put them directly into the garbage cans outside.

But now, Harry had his own easel, with lots of paper and pencils for sketching, and paints in a million colors, and a palette and brushes, too. Willow had told him specifically that all of the art supplies were just for him. There were crayons and markers also, arranged neatly in the drawers of Harry's very own desk. Harry had been itching to use everything, especially the paints, since Willow had first shown them to him the night she'd brought him to Sunnydale. Now, several days later, after they'd gone shopping for food and new clothes (clothes that fit perfectly!), Harry finally had his chance.

Once Harry had painted a picture for Aunt Petunia. It had been at the beginning of the school year, just after he'd turned five. It was a picture of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley all holding hands in front of 4 Privet Drive. It wasn't exactly one of his best efforts - he'd only been five, after all - but he'd tried. It was a thank-you, for feeding and clothing and housing Harry for four years. Harry knew exactly how long he'd been imposing on the Dursleys' hospitality; they reminded him every day. That picture had gone directly into the bin like all the others.

Harry could only hope that Willow would receive such a present a little more open-mindedly.

The painting was going to be of Willow, of course, and it was to thank her for everything: for the bedroom, for the easel, for the clothes, for the milk - for taking Harry in at all. It wasn't much, and Aunt Petunia had always let Harry know that a silly picture couldn't possibly reimburse the Dursleys for all they'd done for him, but there wasn't very much else Harry could do.

Frowning, Harry wiggled a little on his Harry-sized stool in front of his easel, pulling at the neat collar of one of his new white T-shirts. Harry took out the palette first; he'd have to mix some colors carefully to make something like the color of Willow's hair.

Red was first, of course. It was the most obvious. But Harry but a little bit of yellow to the side for later, just in case, and brought out the brown and gold, too. The gold even had sparkles in it. Harry grinned.

He didn't need to sketch anything beforehand. When Willow had hugged him, worried over his scar, borrowed books for him at the library, Harry had memorized her face. He didn't want to forget what Willow had been like once she was gone - for of course this couldn't last. Sooner or later someone would realize Harry didn't belong here and would move him. If he were lucky he'd go back to the orphanage he'd stayed at after the Dursleys had died. If not… he didn't know what.

Shrugging this melancholy thought away, Harry picked up his brush and let it lead him.

Willow's skin: very smooth and very pale, except for the slight tan on her arms from the day they'd gone to the playground. Willow's eyes: not green and not brown but a shot of both, wide-set and thick-lashed, brows arched, looking at Harry like he was something special. Her chin, her nose, her cheekbones. Her tall thin body in a pastel pink T-shirt and jeans. Her hands, a little too big for her, strong and capable but uncallused, one braced on a slender hip and one outstretched. Her smile, quirky, toothy and crooked to one side.

And her hair.

Harry had mixed the color first but saved the actual painting for last. He put down the red-brown first, filling in the space around her face. Some tossed back, some draped over her shoulder, like that. It fell almost to her elbows in a single glossy sheet. Harry bit his lip and tucked a tendril of hair behind one of Willow's ears, reminding himself to add earrings, the little gold ones, later.

Next a little bit of yellow, just enough to tint and to show where the shadows were, and then a ripple of gold, just there, where the light would fall. Harry dipped his brush in water to blur the color a little. Then he took some more brown and darkened the sides of Willow's part just enough to show it wasn't straight but off to the side. Yes.

Harry loved Willow's hair. It was soft and it smelled nice and Harry could rest his cheek against it when Willow hugged him. And once, after Harry had admired it aloud, Willow had said, “Yes, it's a lot like your mom's was, isn't it?” She'd given him a sad smile, and she'd sounded like she thought Harry ought to know this. He hadn't quite had the courage to correct her. Aunt Petunia hadn't kept any pictures of Harry's parents, and would hardly speak Lily's name, let alone Harry's father's. Harry had no idea what his mother had looked like, but he was comforted by the idea that she might have looked a little like Willow.

A touch of red - just a touch! - to her eyebrows, of brown to her lashes, and then Harry put the brush down.

Blinking, he stood, and took a few steps back to look at his easel. Was he done? How long had he been painting for? A glance to the neon numbers of the digital alarm clock by his bedside confirmed that it had been several hours. Harry pushed his bangs out of his face with paint-sticky fingers and squinted. His picture wasn't, by any means, perfect. But it was nice, and maybe Willow would like it. Harry hoped she wouldn't throw it out.

* * *

FIN SNIPPET

* * *

All right, I know it's a bit jerky and parts are awkward, but I want your opinions anyway, good and bad. Which parts didn't quite... work for you? I'm not entirely comfortable with this yet. Maybe it'll click better for me once I write Willow's reaction (I'll give that to you soon, don't worry). Do you like the idea of Harry as an artiste? -- He'll still play Quidditch when he gets to Hogwarts, by the way, it's not an either/or. In case that was an issue.

So, thoughts?

Another question.

2005-10-01T21:30:03Z

If there are any other crossover-friendly automated archives anyone frequents, I'd like to know about them... I want to try posting in a few new places.

Links, anyone?

LHBS, 2/12, snippet

2005-09-30T03:00:02Z

So I posted a different version of this a few weeks ago: Order members come to 4 Privet Drive to escort Harry away. This is on a different time scale -- it's at the beginning of the summer, and they're going to Hogwarts, not 12 Grimmauld Place, and the people coming for Harry are different. Also it's a completely different ending to the scene, with a little bit of Willow and Harry coming to an understanding. It's continued from the end of this scene, by the way.

It's a snippet, you said you liked snippets, and I needed to get this typed up anyway. This is closer to the version I think I'll probably use, although I'm not sure I'm going to have extra Scooby members join the cast quite so soon (though I do think that Buffy and Harry would get along splendidly, don't you?).

Feedback, as always, is appreciated. Thoughts on characterization? Grammar? Where the hell you think I'm going with this? Bring 'em on. Think how much power you must have! *g*

* * *

“I'll, um, go get them, then,” Harry said. “We saw the kitchen light on and thought there might be burglars. They're waiting outside.”

“And they sent you in?” Rosenberg said, sounding appalled.

Harry stiffened. “I'm not a baby.”

Rosenberg raised her eyebrows, as though her objection had been to something else altogether. “I can see you're not a baby,” she said patiently. “The fact remains that you could have been shot. If we were burglars. Which we're not. Oh! That rhymed.”

“Yes it did, love,” Tonks said. “Go ahead, Harry. More tea, anyone?”

*

Harry led the pack of hesitating Dursleys into the house. Vernon followed first, motioning for Petunia and Dudley to stay behind him as though he suspected Harry of leading them into an ambush. Harry rolled his eyes and brought them to the kitchen.

Vernon stopped, appalled and rapidly turning purple, in the kitchen doorway. “What is the meaning of this, boy?” he gurgled.

“Vernon?” Petunia said. “What's wrong?”

To Harry's surprise it was Rosenberg, not Tonks, who stepped forward. “Mr. Dursley, I presume?” she said, and extended her hand. Vernon shook it before he realized what he was doing. “I'm Professor Willow D. Rosenberg; my colleagues and I are here as representatives of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

At this, Vernon attempted a token protest, but Rosenberg gave him a haughty look and Wilkins a threatening one, and he subsided. Rosenberg's attitude was utterly altered from the easy amiability with which she'd greeted Harry. Now she somehow radiated superiority and cold professionalism. The other women, despite their formal dress, somehow gave the impression of being the barely-restrained members of a street gang. Vernon Dursley didn't stand a chance.

“Please, Mr. Dursley,” said Rosenberg. “Oh! Mrs. Dursley, I didn't see you standing there. Professor Rosenberg. Hogwarts.” Petunia shook the proffered hand, looking oddly relieved. Harry supposed, reflecting on the Dursleys' unpleasant experiences with wizarding folk, that Rosenberg must be reassuringly normal given her air of bored condescension.

“Let me introduce my colleagues: Officer Nymphadora Tonks, Ms. Faith Wilkins, Ms. Buffy Summers and Miss Dawn Summers. We're here to discuss Harry's summer accommodations with you, as several issues have arisen that necessitate Harry's spending some of his holiday at Hogwarts.”

“But - ” began Petunia.

“Mrs. Dursley,” Rosenberg continued, “Officer Tonks, I'm sure, will be happy to explain everything to you. You'll excuse me - I'll need to help Harry pack. Officer Tonks?” Tonks stood with remarkable composure, looking for all the world like an Auror and a grown-up. Harry could only stare. “Harry, shall we?” said Rosenberg, and swept past the Dursleys to stand at the foot of the stairs.

“Mr. Dursley? Mrs. Dursley? Oh, and Dudley. If you would…?” Tonks said. The Dursleys filed doubtfully into their kitchen.

Harry looked up at Rosenberg, whose shoulders abruptly sagged. “Thank goodness that's done with,” Rosenberg said with a conspiratorial smile. Harry wasn't sure he liked it. “Now, Harry, why don't you show me where your room is?”

“Upstairs,” Harry said. “But most of my school things are locked up.”

“Locked up?”

Harry steered her to the cupboard under the stairs, which now sported both a deadbolt and a padlock.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rosenberg said. Hitching up her trousers a little bit, she knelt by the cupboard and tapped the locks with a finger. “Open up, please,” she said, and the locks did.

Harry gaped.

Rosenberg pulled the cupboard door open and peered into the gloom, sneexing at the dust. “Come out, please, Harry's stuff,” she said, and Harry's trunk levitated a few inches off the floor and floated obligingly to the stairs. “All right,” Rosenberg started to add, but stopped suddenly. “Harry? There's a bed in here.”

If one were going to be particular it wasn't, strictly, a bed. It was the flattened mattress of the child-sized bed Dudley had grown out of when he was six, a ruined dog pillow that Aunt Marge had once left behind, and a threadbare blanket. The fact that his old bedding was still in the cupboard under the stairs made Harry nervous; it meant the Dursleys might be planning for him to use it again.

Rosenberg was looking up at Harry blankly. “Yeah,” Harry said. “That's a bed.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Rosenberg said. She licked her lips, stood, and slammed the cupboard door shut, turning away as the locks snapped themselves back into place. “Your bedroom?”

Harry started up the stairs. “Follow us to Harry's room, please,” Rosenberg said to the trunk, and climbed up after him.

In the smallest bedroom, Harry was quite sure that Rosenberg didn't miss a single detail. Though she kept her expressive face carefully neutral and her thoughts to herself, her sharp eyes darted everywhere: from the padlocks and deadbolts and chains on the door to the catflap - and to the hook to keep the catflap shut; from the bare closet and the ugly old clothes on the floor to the lumpy mattress and the single ancient sheet; and certainly from the Harry-shaped dents in the wall above the bed and the warped wire of Hedwig's cage to the new high-security prison bars in the window.

Then Rosenberg turned her hazel gaze to Harry, who had the sudden conviction, both frightening and comforting, that Rosenberg knew everything. When she narrowed her eyes and sent a death-glare at the window-bars - and when one of them rattled, bent out of shape, and fell to the floor with a clatter - Harry was sure that Rosenberg would do something about it, too.

“Well,” Rosenberg said at last. Harry nearly jumped. “Clothes?” (doubtfully.) “Books? Snacks? Things I should look away for?”

The majority of Harry's school supplies were in his trunk, though he'd managed to get some of his books out before it had been locked away. He told Rosenberg as much and she nodded. “Open up, please,” she said to the trunk, which was hovering loyally at her ankles. “Harry's schoolbooks, if you'd be so kind.”

Books lifted themselves off of the dresser and from underneath the clothes on the floor. “Um,” said Harry, looking dubiously at said clothes.

“If it helps,” Rosenberg said with tact, “I have a guarantee from Dumbledore that we'll be able to take you on a day trip to London soon. To shop.”

“No way!” Harry exclaimed. “How?”

“Obviously you'll have a big escort and some wild protection spells,” Rosenberg said. “But, I mean, come on. You're a teenaged boy and a put-upon hero to boot. 'Safe' or not, it's ridiculous to keep you locked up all summer.”

“It was always too dangerous before,” Harry said, generously ignoring the 'hero' comment.

“Oh, it's still dangerous,” Rosenberg said smugly. “But you didn't have me before, did you?”

*

The Dursleys were quite happy to see Harry go, although, “it's a shame we've got to take you back so soon,” Vernon said regretfully.

“Mr. Dursley!” Wilkins snapped, and looked murderous. Vernon whimpered and ducked into the sitting room, into which Dudley had long since retreated.

Petunia was left facing five admittedly scary women and Harry by herself. She looked abandoned, and very thin.

“Now, Mrs. Dursley,” Tonks said. “Petunia, if I may. You understand the import of adhering to the conditions of our arrangement? For your family's safety as well as Harry's, Harry must spend a month's time in your household.”

“I understand perfectly, Officer,” Petunia said coolly, and then at the other woman's look amended, “Tonks.”

“Excellent!” said Tonks, sounding like herself again. “Well then, we'd better be off, hadn't we? All ready, Harry?”

Harry nodded, looking down at his trunk. It was floating next to him on Rosenberg's command and, if he wasn't mistaken, leaning rather affectionately on his leg. Petunia eyed the floating trunk nervously. “Harry,” she said, not moving.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” Harry said.

Petunia looked as if she wanted to say something but didn't quite know what or how. She settled for a subdued “Goodbye, then.”

“Bye,” said Harry.

*

FIN SNIPPET

*

Also I'm rather considering bringing Harry's trunk completely to life and letting the Luggage from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series have a bit of a cameo. Do any of you guys know of the Luggage? Do you like it as much as I do? Or would it not fit here?