Chapter Six of 'Forgive Those Who Trespass'- Slurry

[lomonaaeren]

Thanks again for all the reviews!

Chapter Six—Slurry

Harry didn’t like trusting Malfoy. He hated it even more when the corridors beyond the room with the Pensieve proved to split into a twisting, weaving mess. He halted and closed his eyes, trying to recall the memory of the pattern Malfoy had drawn on the wooden table, but he only remembered stray flashes of straight lines and gentle curves, nothing that would form connections and show him the way out. He opened his eyes with a hiss of frustration and turned to face Malfoy.

Malfoy wore a very faint smile, as if he were enjoying the attention and trust Harry was forced to lavish on him but didn’t like to say so. He caught Harry’s eye and then glanced demurely away, his mouth twitching.

“Yes, very funny,” Harry said. “I suppose that you do remember the way through this maze, Malfoy, and you’re not lying?”

The other man snapped a glare at him. At first Harry thought it was because he’d been called a liar, and then Malfoy lifted a hand and repeated the rib-slapping gesture he’d used earlier when they lay close together.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Harry pushed a hand against his forehead and ran it up through his hair. “Why does it matter so much what I call you, Malfoy or Draco?”

Malfoy folded his arms and glared. Harry could read the retort in his eyes: if it didn’t matter what Harry called him, then Harry could bear the burden and name him Draco without causing any difficulty.

“Fine,” Harry said, but he scowled, so that Malfoy would know how much he resented this. “Draco. You know the way through the maze, don’t you?”

Malfoy nodded and brushed past him. Harry flinched when he felt a brief touch from the sponge-like flesh along the man’s sides. At least Malfoy was walking more easily now than he had yesterday, or what felt like yesterday, thanks to good food and good rest.

I hate this, Harry thought, trailing behind him. I want to despise him, but I can’t when I see how much he’s suffered. And then I want to pity him, but I can’t because I don’t have any idea what he might have done to people more deserving of that pity. And I can’t ask him for details because of the inadequacies of the communication sphere.

The best they could hope for at the moment, Harry thought, was to find another Pensieve. Hopefully it would have more memories this time, and they would be less confusing. And then he could finally decide which Draco was just a creation of his imagination, the victim or the torturer, and treat him accordingly, while banishing the false one.

He walked on a few more steps, frowning fiercely to himself, before something occurred to him.

You just called him Draco in your mind. With no prompting.

Harry shuddered and shook his head violently. That was not a good sign, and not because he particularly cared what name he gave the git. Auror Rosethorn, their instructor in Psychology, had told them that Aurors couldn’t afford to become too intimate with those they chased down and held, even if they thought the criminal had been wrongfully accused. And on the list of signs she’d given the trainees that indicated they were becoming too invested in the fates of individuals instead of in justice was the calling of a suspect by his or her first name.

I’ve got to retain my emotional distance, Harry lectured himself as he marched after Malfoy. Malfoy, Malfoy, it was definitely Malfoy in private, no matter what he had to call him aloud. I can’t afford to act like he’s my friend, especially after this.

Because the corridors around them were simply plain stone and Malfoy was moving through them with no sign of hesitation, Harry busied himself with two things: casting spells that would detect traps and magical creatures, and making up a list of questions that he wanted to ask the bastard the next time they stopped walking.

*

Harry had long since lost track of where they were in the maze, and admitted to himself that he couldn’t have found his way back on his own. Hermione would have been sure to scold him for that, but of course, she would have been taking notes on the route as they went. Her memory was excellent.

See, that’s yet another of the many reasons that I need to rescue her, so that she can do my thinking for me, Harry told the small section of his mind that had succumbed to pessimism and tended to swing into despair whenever he wasn’t watching it. I can’t get along without her. And I can’t get along without Ron, either.

The thought of life without his friends, much less the reactions of all their friends and family that he would have to face if he went back up without them, made him shudder. There was—there was no point to living that life. He would find Ron and Hermione down here and rescue or avenge them.

Or die trying, maybe.

But dying along the way was a better alternative than trying to live without them.

The loss of his friends as traveling companions, as research partners, as comrades-in-arms, as themselves, was especially acute when he contrasted them with Malfoy. Until he found out the truth—and Malfoy had no particular reason to tell him the truth about anything—he wouldn’t know how to treat the man. He would always be uneasy, flickering back and forth between two attitudes, certain he was being too hard one moment and too soft the next.

Ron and Hermione balanced him, he thought. They had solid ground of their own to stand on, very different but complementary pieces. They showed him what it should look like. Without them, he swayed back and forth with any thought that struck him, or with any emotion, any fear.

Maybe he could have built some solid ground of his own if he had stayed with Ginny. He had worked hard on it, at least. But this, this thing, this knowledge that he was gay, had reared up and hit him in the chest instead. He’d gone back to floundering.

Go away, he thought at his sexual orientation, or preference, or choice, whatever the hell it ought to be called. He was no good with terminology, either. Go away, and leave me alone. Then I can make a marriage, have a family, and be on steady terms with something in life other than Ron and Hermione and my Auror training.

He stopped abruptly. Malfoy had come to a halt in front of him, one hand lifted commandingly for silence. Harry controlled the impulse to complain that he had proceeded in silence and listened instead, carefully positioning his wand so that it pointed around Malfoy’s body into the tunnel beyond.

Nothing audible. But when Harry had concentrated for some time, trying to subdue even his breathing and heartbeat to the push of the silence, he made out a faint, compelling tingle of magic. His mouth tightened. There was something powerful up ahead. An artifact, perhaps, or a cursed room. Harry knew of nothing else it could be.

Malfoy fell back towards him and leaned his face as close to Harry’s as possible—quite unnecessarily, Harry thought, since it wasn’t like anything would hear his voice. I remember this place, he mouthed in exaggeration. Danger.

Harry gave him an exasperated look.

We can’t bypass it, Malfoy continued calmly, and then had to repeat that when Harry shook his head, not understanding the first time. We’ll have to go across it. Be careful.

Harry nodded. “What kind of danger?” he whispered, his words more breath than sound.

Malfoy made an open-palmed shrug, less impressive than it should have been, given his shorter fingers. Harry nodded again and moved ahead, then paused when he saw Malfoy’s incredulous look.

“Are there any more turns of the maze between here and there?” he asked.

Malfoy shook his head.

“Well, then. I’m the only one who has a wand. I should have thought it was simple enough, even for the likes of you, Draco.”

He received a scowl in return, but it was a thoughtful one. Harry rolled his eyes and turned away, irritated with himself for bothering to read nuances in his enemy’s face. Maybe he could say it was a tool for keeping them both alive, but it also felt uncomfortably like that intimacy he was trying to keep away from.

Malfoy’s hand reached out and rested on his elbow, an odd, cool shape, the stumps of his fingers barely able to cover the bone. Harry took the hint and moved slowly enough that the other man could keep the touch intact.

His body ran with small shivers, the same kind that had plagued him last night when he lay down with Malfoy in his arms. Harry told himself that now was not the time, and lifted the globe of light in front of him as the walls of the tunnel abruptly opened up and drew back.

The room in front of him was immense, and the floor was oddly patterned. Harry frowned down at it for a moment before he recognized the pattern. He controlled the impulse to laugh. Apparently, the universe liked irony; he’d had to cross a huge chessboard to get to the Philosopher’s Stone in his first year, and now here was another one in front of him.

But without chess-pieces, he noticed, as he took another, longer look. The only light came from soft, subdued white globules that hung from the ceiling, so high above Harry had no idea what they were made of. The floor beneath him gleamed, solid enough when he conjured a small stone ball and rolled it across the tiles. Of course, that didn’t prevent some of it from being illusion, but a spell to discern glamours provided no results.

“I don’t like this,” Harry hissed to no one.

Malfoy’s hand squeezed his elbow, proving that he wasn’t alone in more than one sense.

Harry finally decided, reluctantly, that they had no other choice but to go forwards. As Malfoy had said, the tunnel’s walls spread out to become the room’s, and there was no way for them to bypass it. Of course, perhaps there was another way in the maze that they could use, but if Harry turned back now, he might as well admit that he didn’t trust Malfoy to lead him through at all. And with his luck, he would just get lost and stand there futilely banging his head against the rock until Malfoy came to rescue him.

The image was an unpleasant one. Harry liked to be the rescuer, not the person in distress.

He glanced back at Malfoy, wondering if any other memories of the place had come to the git, but he only shook his head. Harry stared ahead, licked his lips, and then began the walk across the smooth chessboard.

It was surprisingly unpleasant to step on, given that it was solid and his spells hadn’t revealed any hidden death-traps. Perhaps it was simply Harry’s paranoia talking, but he didn’t like the smoothness of the dark squares, or the grainy nature of the pale ones. More than once, the pale ones shifted under his feet, though they never slid away. They seemed to be made of particles of something packed solid. Harry shuddered with the thoughts of what the something could be, and quickened his steps.

He and Malfoy reached the halfway point. It was only there that Harry noticed Malfoy was timing his steps carefully, so that they never fell far behind Harry’s strides. Harry frowned at him, but Malfoy only offered a hands-wide gesture and a shake of his head. He felt he should do it, Harry translated, but he didn’t really know why.

Something grabbed his foot.

The next moment, pain like nothing Harry had ever known flared through his body, from his foot up. He screamed and fell to one knee, trying desperately to get his wand in position, turn his body to protect Malfoy, and see what was happening all at once.

When he glanced down, he saw a dead-white tendril, barbed and edged with transparent hooks, curling out of the floor and into his foot. The barbs were sunken into his skin, pulsing and quivering, yanking on his bones. Harry had time to notice that much before the pain flared again and he tipped his head back, screaming.

Malfoy clutched at him, probably demanding reassurances soundlessly, but Harry couldn’t give them, and he couldn’t move.

And then the—

The pain was gone, and so were the bones of his foot.

Harry stared down, dazed with disgust and horror to the point where he could only watch. The hooks were no longer translucent, but bulging and rippling with some thick and pasty concoction. They were also still buried in his foot, and from that and the way they quivered, Harry thought he knew what had happened. This creature had somehow melted his foot bones, transforming them into a kind of slurry, and was drinking them.

Rage provided the spark that fear had made impossible. Harry aimed his wand at the tendril and intoned the Cutting Curse.

The spell struck the tendril, but didn’t slice straight through, as Harry had thought it would. Instead, the tendril chipped and scattered. Harry stared, sick, and finally realized what it must be made of: bone itself. The tendril withdrew into the floor, its barbs flailing and spilling the liquid remains of what had been his own bones a few moments before in every direction.

Malfoy made a loud flapping noise with his arms, and Harry whipped his head around. More tendrils were emerging from the floor, white legs that hauled more and more legs up behind them. Harry couldn’t see any heads to the creatures, whatever they were. There were only endless, jointed, flapping legs, like the limbs of spiders, and the angles and the barbs that protruded from them, aiming straight at Harry and Malfoy.

Harry dulled his own fear again. This was a situation for a hero. He knew what he needed to do.

First, he cast a spell that Transfigured the slopping, pudding-like mass of his foot—a pouch of flesh without bones to anchor it, in a jelly-like casing—into a block of light wood, which would slow him down much less when he attempted to walk. Then he seized Malfoy around the waist, cast a Feather-Lightening Charm on him, held his wand out, and shouted, “Adlevo meum!”

The spell curled around him with a sharp snap, hauling him off the ground so fast that Harry experienced a rush of dizzy disorientation for a moment. But he wasn’t on his broom, and he knew how to control this spell—one of the first ordinary spells, outside the realm of those countercurses and charms specific to Defense Against the Dark Arts, that he had proven good at during his Auror training. He stuck out his legs to slow his momentum, all the time clutching Malfoy with one hand and his wand with the other. They turned in a gentle circle, raised fully twenty feet above the crawling creatures.

Harry stared down at them. They had oriented on him and Malfoy, and the nearest bone limbs were raised in greedy desire, the barbs on them flexing and curling like tiny arms. Harry waited, tensely, to see if they were about to climb on top of each other and attempt to reach him and Malfoy that way, but they didn’t seem to be that bright.

He wondered for a moment why his spell to detect magical creatures hadn’t found them, and then made a face at himself. He’d only checked this room. The creatures had been waiting in a room below.

And, too, they might not exactly fit the spell’s definition of “creature.”

“Draco,” he asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the nearest stamping and circling spider-things, “can I kill them?”

Malfoy, scared and shaken though he must be—especially if these were the creatures that had drunk his bones out of his chest—still managed to summon the communication sphere and hit the facet that signified immortality of body.

“I thought so,” Harry said sourly.

He thought it through, his eyes narrowed. The creatures hadn’t ventured beyond their room into the maze, which could be a sign that they were bound to remain here. On the other hand, they could obviously sense food; the one that had attacked him had probably done so because the bones of his foot had finally come close enough to trigger its appetite. He and Malfoy might leave the room by the doorway that Harry could see on the far side, only to draw the things after with the promise of a free meal.

“Can they get through stone?” he asked Malfoy.

A helpless shrug.

“Damn,” Harry said, and forbore to say that Malfoy was being extremely useless right now. He hadn’t thought of a plan, either.

Except…

“Do you know a spell that will enable me to find out what something is made of?” he asked.

For that suggestion, he received a stare that suggested he was mad and a touch on the bones of Malfoy’s wrist.

“Yes, I know they’re made of bone,” Harry said patiently. With commendable patience, really, considering the circumstances. “I was talking about the floor. I want to see if it’s stone. If it is, then they can eat through stone, and trying to conjure a stone barrier in their way when we get out of here won’t work.”

Once again, he got a look that needed no translation: I am impressed, Potter. Then Malfoy mouthed the incantation at him, over and over again, with Harry softly repeating it until Malfoy nodded enthusiastically.

Harry aimed his wand at a patch of clear floor immediately beneath them, which the spider-things kept shoving each other out of, and yelled, “Discribo!”

The beam of blue light the spell produced shot straight down, hit both a black and a white square, and bounced back to him. Harry blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of knowledge.

The black material was the remains of flesh, the white of bone marrow. Harry swallowed, a bit sick. He and Malfoy had literally been walking across the mangled layers of the creatures’ last meals.

Then he forbade himself to feel sick. The important thing was that it seemed as though the creatures couldn’t digest stone. And he and Malfoy, if they got out of here, could hide behind a conjured barrier that should fill the mouth of the next tunnel.

If they got out of here. The main drawback of the Self-Lifting Charm was the same as that of weightlessness: there was no way to go anywhere unless one had a solid obstacle to push against. Harry and Malfoy were hanging in midair far from the walls and the floor, and Harry was not about to descend long enough to push off from one of the bone creatures.

He conjured another stone ball and dropped it into the middle of the bone creatures while he tried to come up with a plan. For a moment, they scrambled madly after it, but then pulled back when they realized that it wasn’t bone. The stone ball rolled away unmolested. Harry nodded. His plan to block the corridor with a stone wall ought to work, then—and a good thing, too, since he doubted that he could conjure a bulk of wood or any other material dense and weighty enough to fulfill the same purpose.

Auror Gillyflower is always telling me that I need to be more diverse in my spellwork. And now I can see why.

“All right, Draco,” he said, once again catching himself just in time and substituting the right name. “We’ll have to sort of swim and sort of fly to the other doorway. But we’ll have to work together and push off each other’s bodies, since otherwise there’s no way that we can pick up speed. Do you understand?”

Malfoy blinked, and then touched his chest.

“We’ll be as careful of that as we can,” Harry said. “But feel free to shove against me all you like. Think of it as a return to one of your favorite pastimes,” he added, knowing Malfoy might find strength from humor. “After all, what would you have given in school to be able to hit me as hard as you could?”

Malfoy’s face shut down and became unreadable. He raised a hand and laid it against Harry’s chest, over his heart. Harry braced himself for a shove, but Malfoy just left his palm there, staring at him, his face still absolutely expressionless.

Harry was the one who turned his head away, his cheeks flaming for no apparent reason, and said gruffly, “All right. Kick against me, now.”

Malfoy did as he suggested, and at the same moment, Harry kicked away from him, retaining only a hold on the other wizard’s wrist. They spun apart like a couple of dancers, and half-tumbled, half-floated towards the far doorway. Harry spent a moment wondering whether he would lose hold of his satchel, but in the end the weight stopped dragging at him, and it swung back into line.

Harry braced his heels against Malfoy’s legs and pushed, and Malfoy gave a little jerk as that propelled them forwards a few feet. Next, Harry pulled Malfoy hard in against him, angling himself so that Malfoy’s delicate chest and lower body were aimed away from him, and they drifted towards the door again, clasped together like—

Like lovers, Harry thought, and then banished the comparison. He was working hard enough as it was, physically, without dealing with the consequences of a thought like that.

Little by little, yanking and tugging and angling and plunging like fish, they managed to attain the doorway. Harry lowered his head to Malfoy’s and spoke quietly, just in case the bone creatures, who had followed them in a hungry crowd across the floor, could understand English. “This part is going to be tricky. Go limp and trust me for a minute, then be ready to run the moment your feet hit the floor. All right?”

Malfoy blinked at him, then nodded. Harry smiled.

Then he canceled the Self-Lifting Charm and dropped them both like stone balls.

Malfoy was probably crying out, but he still had the Feather-Light Charm on him, and he did nothing but bounce softly when he hit the floor. Harry dropped into a crouch, spinning around on his knees and haunches, shoving Malfoy away from him and pointing his wand towards the bone-creatures in the same moment. He heard Malfoy gain his feet and start running away. He smiled briefly. For some things, you do want a Slytherin. A Gryffindor would have stood there and argued or tried to help.

He watched the hooks and barbs coming for his arms with a clear, cool head that he never had anywhere else but the middle of life-threatening danger, and then conjured a stone wall right in front of himself.

The sudden displacement of air threw him back down the corridor. Harry heard the wooden lump that had taken the place of his foot clack as it hit the walls, and he rolled back upright hastily, to make sure that the stone wall was big and broad enough to cover the entire mouth of the tunnel.

It was. Then Harry waited for any barbs or tendrils to come curling through, as the bone creatures tried to overthrow the wall to follow their prey.

Nothing happened.

Except a sudden hug from behind him, Malfoy’s arms curling around him as if he would never let go.

When Harry looked up, Malfoy’s eyes were tightly shut, and the rest of his face wore an expression of such gratitude that Harry had to glance away. He would have to move soon, to make what arrangements he could about his foot and to ask Malfoy questions, but for right now, he thought both of them would have found words too awkward.

Chapter 7.

Comments

[ura-hd.livejournal.com]

I hope Harry's foot can be restored.

Very creative story. Cannot wait for more!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Essentially, it's the same thing that happened to him (though more painful) when Lockhart removed his bones from his arm in second year, so Skele-Gro should take care of it, when he can get some.

And thank you!

[ura-hd.livejournal.com]

oh, good!

[dysonrules.livejournal.com]

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!! Nastiest creatures EVER! This place is creepier than hell!

Awesome.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

The combination of these two remarks fills me with great glee. :)

[thrnbrooke.livejournal.com]

I soooo need more!!! Just what in the world were those unspeakables thinking?

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

They relied too much on the pursuit of knowledge and not enough on limits.

[gilith-ramaloce.livejournal.com]

Interesting idea Harry had to turn his foot into a block of wood. That wouldn't have been my first solution. Kudos for creativity!

As much as I find it painful, I'm enjoying Harry's immaturity in this story compared to your others. The fact that he thinks he has to seperate the two personalities and have Draco be so black and white is painful. Keep up the good work!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

He was desperate. And he knew he could Transfigure things into wood, but maybe not into anything else!

Thank you! I'm really enjoying this chance to write a Harry who's silly and immature in many ways, but understandably so.

[damedbx.livejournal.com]

WOW! OMG!!! Those things sent chills through my spine. It literally sent me on edge. I like the developing trust that these two are getting to here. it seems that the further they go, they more feelings they have! great chapter!! I SO *squeed* when i saw the update on my flist!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

The sheer amount of feelings that Harry has- and that Draco presumably also has, though Harry doesn't know as much about them- make me have to be careful with this story sometime. It won't do to get caught up in too much feeling when they're in such a dangerous situation.

[damedbx.livejournal.com]

too true!

[neji-chan.livejournal.com]

Creepy bone eating floor-creature, cool. I can't wait to see what more you come up with.

I'm glad Draco is not some useless burden. He not only knows they way around but helps Harry with useful spells. In that regard he's taking Hermione's job, she's always been the one with the most magical knowledge. I like how they work together and how Harry can read Draco more easily now.

See, that’s yet another of the many reasons that I need to rescue her, so that she can do my thinking for me, Harry told the small section of his mind that had succumbed to pessimism and tended to swing into despair whenever he wasn’t watching it. I can’t get along without her. And I can’t get along without Ron, either That's interesting. His friends are the most important thing in his life, that's true, but he's always rely on them a little too much. They won't always be there, more now that he's the only one to become am Auror. As terrible as this situation is, it's a chance for him to learn how to think, judge and act on his own. Define who he is. That includes his sexual orientation, which I see, had come to play again ::waves at Harry's sexual issues::

And then he could finally decide which Draco was just a creation of his imagination, the victim or the torturer, and treat him accordingly, while banishing the false one. Good Draco, bad Draco, no middle ::sigh:: I hope the memories reveal both Dracos are the same, seeing Harry deal with that, something real, will be very interesting.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I never meant for Draco to be someone who only had to be rescued. If nothing else, as he's getting his memories back, he should be more and more useful.

Harry's problem with being on his own is that he thinks he always makes mistakes when he is, and that he only achieves his victories with help. So he'd rather trust to Ron and Hermione's support, since they don't mind giving it. Since neither of them have that much reference for a gay Harry, that means ignoring his sexual orientation, too.

Chapter 7 is going to give Harry a looooot of problems.

[firedraygon97.livejournal.com]

Wonderful chapter name. Oh wow, sucking bone slurry is just an awesome image. I'm looking forward to what other creatures you've dreamed up to appear. Great work with this!!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you! These are my favorites so far, I think.

[disarming-smile.livejournal.com]

Scary and with disgusting images - just the way I like it :D

>>For a moment, they scrambled madly after it, but then pulled back when they realized that it wasn’t bone.<< That made a hilarious picture!

Draco touching Harry's chest was such a touching moment; just like that hug. Wonderfully done.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

Harry is very uncomfortable with the forced intimacy he's sharing with Draco. Draco, of course, wants more. :)

[shukuun.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is so original and creative. =) I love all of these obstacles that Harry and Draco have to go through. ^^

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[darkestnight12.livejournal.com]

o_O Harry lost his foot! -_- You're very skilled at descriptions, but in this case, I think it's kind of disturbing... ^_^;;

*shudders violently* That bone eating thing monster is so gross...argh! *rubs head to try to disrupt an overactive imagination*

:D Harry and Draco = luff~! <3! Harry just needs to understand that. I think Draco already does. *smirks*

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Well, it's meant to be. :)

Draco understands much better than Harry that they need to depend on each other. Of course, Draco also has a much better idea than Harry of what he was doing in the Department of Mysteries.

[vwalk.livejournal.com]

As you can see I'm still with you on this fic. It continues to be brilliant. The flesh/marrow floor room was inspired. How on earth do you come up with these ideas?
I'm glad that Draco is contributing in some ways to his own rescue. I hope he wasn't instrumental in creating all of the horrors we've witnessed so far (and I'm sure there are many more to come). I'm glad that Harry has decided to at least give him a small measure of benefit of the doubt for now; while he decides if he's victim or torturer.
I do wish that Harry had more faith in himself though. He relies on Hermione and Ron for so much that he shortchanges his own abilities. Perhaps this 'journey' will help him to discover his own ability to think and reason. Granted Hermione is an intellect, however (and I'm trying not to impose other Hermiones on this one when we really don't know a lot about this one yet) sometimes I get tired of 'know-it-all-Hermione-who-tells-Harry-what-to-think-say-and-do. I'm trying to read at least one more chapter before I have to sign off.

[ldydark1.livejournal.com]

Macabe, ghoulish, but intriguing. I am hooked. Its 1132 pm NY time and I have been up since 335 am. I have to sleep. I just put you under my favorites. I'll be continuing to read tomorrow. I cling to hope that Harrys foot will be restored, as well as a whole and well Draco. Like the dancers analogy. Very vivid, descriptive writing. I cringe in parts, but plow on. Ok. I am rambling, off to sleep....

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much for reading this far! I hope you had a good night's sleep.

I can say that I think the ending of the story will be satisfactory. Not purely happy, because it can't be, but it doesn't just turn the characters into victims.

[grey-hunter.livejournal.com]

Yay for the levitation spell!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

And man, I totally didn't think of that. Clearly, I am not Hermione.

[heathen-wolf.livejournal.com]

I would never, ever want to play a game of DnD with you as DM.

Then again, it would be a grand challenge...brilliant story!

[cmwinters.livejournal.com]

I have dreams occasionally about flying, and it usually is sort of like swimming through the air, so I liked this part. :)