Chapter 18: Anxious Interrogations and Quidditch Prep

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks had passed, and I still hadn't managed to speak to Dumbledore about the attacks, or anything else, really. And it wasn't as if I wasn't trying — maybe not as much as I should have, but I was trying, at least. It didn't help that he hadn't called me in to speak with him on the matter, either. While I was trying to work up the nerve to speak with the Headmaster myself, quite a few more things began to happen.

Mrs. Weasley got back to me without much issue, sending an overstuffed package full of some of Bill and Charlie's old sweaters, as well as sending word to her other children to get them to help me out. Percy was the least helpful, of course, instead choosing to lecture me on the importance of being prepared for the climate of the school; I couldn't exactly argue with him, and I could have sworn he almost smiled when I admitted he was right. At least I was warmer.

Across the school, however, things weren't going quite so easily. News of Colin's petrification spread fast, and plenty of students were freaking out about the situation. First years and muggleborns alike traveled in groups of no less than five or six, crowding the halls and clogging up the staircases with every rotation. Even I wasn't totally uninvolved, usually sticking with either Max and Tammy or the twins when I went anywhere within the school grounds. I'd even started carrying an old compact mirror in my pocket, just in case.

Some students, of course, saw all of this paranoia as an opportunity for profit. Various "charms" and other protection items began circulating through the castle, much to McGonagall's chagrin; anything from rock crystals to newt tails was shined or boiled or braided into strands of twine, and sold to the naive populous as if it would protect them from whatever they thought was attacking the school. Fred and George thought it was funny, at least, sometimes braiding some of the less-disgusting options into Lee's dreads and occasionally my own pink curls. Somehow, it was more fun than it sounded.

Between all of this, of course, was quidditch practice. Both inspired and concerned by the events at the Gryffindor/Slytherin game, Heidi began running practice drills and the occasional friendly match to try and get us where she wanted us to be, and while it served as a good distraction from the chaos of our lives, the lack of proper rest and study time was starting to drag down on all of us. Anthony even called her "Wood" by accident, once, he had become so tired; she didn't even notice.

"We're gonna be too tired to play, at this rate…" I mumbled Friday morning, chewing slowly on my toast.

"The game's tomorrow," Tammy murmured back, "so we just need to make sure to get some actual sleep tonight." She was leaning on her hand, elbows resting on the table edge, half a piece of bacon slipping out of her mouth and back onto her plate as she talked. Max didn't say anything, having fallen back asleep in her oatmeal upon arriving; at least her nose was to the side, so she could breathe. I reached over beside her to the (blissfully warm) pitcher of coffee, pouring myself some in a mug with some cream and about three full spoonfuls of sugar before stirring and trying to drink it. I'd never liked the stuff, and no amount of sweetener or creamer would get rid of the awful taste to me, but right then I was too tired to care. Suddenly, two large forms dropped down on the seats on either side of me, shocking me so thoroughly that I nearly dropped my mug.

"So, Rosie-Posie, ready for the big game?" George's voice echoed far too loudly in my ear. I groaned loudly, putting my mug back down so I could cover my ears, cowering sideways away from the noise and leaning against Fred.

"Aw, what's'a matter, Rose? Not quite ready to face the day?" Fred's voice was somehow even louder, reverberating off his chest and banging around in my skull. I pulled away sharply — or as sharply as I could, with my new headache — and grabbed my mug again in both hands, holding it in my lap so I could instead lay my forehead down on the table.

"Why are you both so loud?" I whined, "I've already got double Defense this morning, why are you tormenting me further?" They just laughed, squeezing in closer.

"Seems Macavoy has you lot running rampant, then?"

"Wood's got nothin' on her, this year, I swear," Max mumbled, half-muffled by the bowl of oatmeal she was laying in.

"I adore Heidi, I do," Tammy said, voice hazy with sleep, "But if she weren't graduating this year, I'd quit."

"Seconded," I said, slightly muffled from the table. I sipped my coffee under the table, gagging as the scrid taste hit my tongue. I sat up again, putting the mug on the table before pushing it a bit away from me.

"Why are you drinking that if you hate it?" George asked, picking it up and swirling the contents around a little.

"Because I really can't afford to get detention before the game tomorrow," I said, snatching it back and forcing myself to drink the rest of it in one gulp, "Especially if that detention involves licking envelopes from letters to a bunch of middle-aged women sending very inappropriate messages to a less-than competent pretty-boy." I shuddered at the thought, remembering details in cartoons growing up of adult women throwing bras on stage at rock concerts for their favorite players, some of whom weren't as single as those women might've hoped; it was a creepy thought, to say the least.

"When did you have detention with Lockhart to figure this out?" Tammy asked, her face too obviously tired to school it into suspicion or confusion.

"I didn't, I just figured that's what it would be," I said with a one-sided shrug, "He seems the type." Defense Against the Dark Arts hadn't gotten any more bearable as the year went on. Lockhart was still way too pretty for anyone's good, and I had to actively stop myself multiple times from falling under his charms. For the most part I tried to avoid him, keeping quiet during class and not speaking to him unless spoken to in the hallways. He, thankfully, hadn't seemed to take much interest in my presence — I figured he might like the idea of "helping the poor, underprivileged exchange student who got held back a whole year", but I guess either the spectacle of Harry Potter or the fear of angering Dumbledore had kept him at arm's length so far. It didn't change the fact that I wasn't learning hardly anything that I couldn't just teach myself, but at least I had that going for me.

"What chapter were we supposed to read?" Tammy mumbled, pulling out her copy of Wanderings with Werewolves from her satchel beside her. She thumbed through the pages a bit, squinting. "Was it the part about the villagers thanking him for saving their lives? Or the part where he aids an old, Armenian guy find a new home with the villagers after the werewolves are gone?" I rolled my eyes.

"How about the part where he didn't actually do any of this crap, so why bother reading it?" I mumbled, pouring myself another cup with even more sugar and cream this time. Tammy didn't seem to hear me, thankfully, and no one else acknowledged it, so I simply forced myself to choke down the entire mug; something told me I was going to need it.

I ended up being right, in the worst possible way.

Sitting through DADA was always a bit of a chore, as I hated that I wasn't actually learning anything of value but had to pay attention and take notes anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart certainly didn't make it any less painful, either; he was theatrical and boastful in a way I'm not even sure existed when the books and movies came out. He had the flair and pizzaz of a stereotypical gay man in a very hetero rom-com, but somehow with the charm and adoration of George Clooney. He shouldn't have been possible, from a logical standpoint, and yet twice a week, without fail, he performed his posturing dance in front of us and expected us to learn from it.

At least he was easy on the eyes.

Today, however, was one of the days where he included his captive audience in his charade, pulling a few of my classmates up to the front to help him "act out" one or two of the scenes from his book. I had been lucky enough, so far, to avoid being called up; he didn't seem to notice me too often, at least not any more than anyone else, and I had been beyond thankful for that. But unfortunately, my luck had to run out sometime, which meant today, I was squeezed between a flustered Marietta Edgecombe and an equally-unlucky Anthony, playing up the role of thankful villagers as we sang praises to Lockhart's "greatness".

I'd rather have taken a bludger to the face, all things considered, but at least that day I was too tired to properly care.

Class dismissed shortly after returning to our seats, and as I was packing up to go, I heard the 6-foot-1 peacock briefly clear his throat behind me.

"Miss McIntosh," he said, "A moment, if you would." I sighed, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I watched Tammy and Max head out of the room without me.

Why talk to me? I wondered, Did he realize I know that he's a fraud? How'd he find out? What's gonna happen when he erases my memory?! Panic began to set in. I walked past the remaining students as they left, feeling much more awkward and terrified with each step until I was trying desperately not to fidget as I stood in front of Lockhart, the door closing behind the last of my classmates. I flinched as I heard it click far behind me.

"...Yes, professor?" I asked. My weight shifted from one foot to the other, nails on one hand digging into the strap on my shoulder while the other hand twitched at my side, trying not to let it form into a fist.

"Forgive me," he said, leaning back on his desk a bit as he stared wistfully at his own, large portrait of himself, "I merely wanted to discuss your… lack of enthusiasm today, in class." I stopped fidgeting, my anxiety easing a bit as I processed his words.

"...Excuse me?"

"Yes, in your readings of the villagers of Pialui, you sounded a little… I don't want to say 'disinterested', but your energy did fall a little flat, especially compared to Miss Edgecombe."

I blinked at him, the remaining nervous fear in my gut giving way to an almost numb sort of shock.

"I'd like very much next time for you to, oh I don't know, show me some passion! Read the words as if you lived the experience!"

...This man is nuckin' futs… He continued to speak, but the sound in my ears dropped to high-pitched whine in place of his voice. It felt like I might have gone into shock, though there wasn't too much to the man that could've shocked me at that point, so that couldn't possibly have been what happened. I stared at him blankly, unthinking as I waited for him to finish talking.

"...very important to do so, wouldn't you agree?" He flashed a winning smile at me, and for once I didn't feel anything towards it; I wondered, for a moment, if at last his little charm over me had finally vanished.

"Sorry, Professor," I replied, trying to sound sincere, though it came out more forced than I had intended, "I must just be tired from all the extra practices we've been doing for tomorrow's match."

"Ah yes, of course! Quidditch!" Lockhart exclaimed, suddenly much more enthusiastic. "A wonderful little game, and you are playing against my old house then, aren't you?" I nodded.

"Yes yes, Ravenclaw house," he continued, not bothering to wait for my reply, "The house of the wise and creative and knowledgeable. I remember those days well. I was a Seeker on the team, myself, back in the day, did you know that?" I just barely managed to not roll my eyes, interrupting him before he could continue on that train of thought.

"All due respect, Professor, am I free to go now? I'd like to use my break to look over my Potions essay with my friends one more time before we turn it in." He stopped and snapped his head towards me, hair falling into his face in a way reminiscent to how Kenneth Branagh portrayed Lockhart's more unhinged side at the end of the film.

Well someone's not used to being ignored, or interrupted at that… As soon as the thought passed through my head, he was back to his normal, supercilious self, pushing the hair in his eyes back into place and smiling too brightly.

"Of course, of course, so long as you remember what I said about your participation in class." I nodded again, putting on a slightly-too sarcastic expression of complacency.

"Oh yes, of course, Professor, I'll remember. See ya!" I waved curtly at the man, then turned on my heel and began almost power walking out of the classroom.

"Yes of course, Miss McIntosh. And I look forward to seeing your game tomorrow!" I waved again over my shoulder, not turning back once as I practically tore the door open and began sprinting as soon as I cleared the wooden frame.

"So wait, he called you back to discuss your acting abilities?" I elbowed the ginger beside me as his brother and Lee laughed at the thought, likely picturing my expression at being told to be more interested in the cockamamie lesson. The four of us sat huddled in a corner of the courtyard, trying to stay warm while they attempted to teach me to play gobstones.

"And then continued to talk about himself after I gave him some excuse for my 'disinterest'," I groaned, missing another shot and getting more ink sprayed onto my hands. "Honestly, he is the most cocksure piece of shit I've ever had the displeasure to meet in my entire life."

"Language there, McIntosh," Lee laughed again, causing me to throw the ball at him directly. It missed his head by a wide margin, and just narrowly avoided knocking some poor, shivering first year unconscious. I just shook it off, shoving my hands under my armpits to warm them up a bit.

"Are we done now? I'm covered in ink, it smells, and I'd like to clean up a bit before lunch." Fred rolled his eyes, standing up from his spot beside me as George began picking the pieces back up with his wand and shoving them into a bag. He offered me a hand, pulling me up and draping an arm over my shoulders.

"I suppose we can continue the lesson later," he mock sighed, grinning at me as Lee came up on my other side, throwing his own arm over my shoulders as well, "You're rubbish at this game, you know?"

"Well I suppose I can't be good at everything," I deadpanned. He scoffed at me, tugging my braid with a laugh, and led the four of us inside. We continued our banter all the way down to the basement, where the boys waited for me as I headed into the common room to shower and change quickly. I couldn't find any more black pants or thicker skirts I could wear, so I settled for a thinner, just above the knee skirt and some long dark socks with black boots.

"I'm gonna freeze in Herbology…" I whispered, but got dressed anyway and headed back up, grabbing and pulling on an old Weasley sweater on my way up. The other classes were dismissing by then, and Fred and George had gathered Harry and the others with them, while Lee loudly told the other students to stay away.

"Don't bother the Heir of Slytherin, gents! He'll petrify anyone who gets in his way!" They were all shouting, much to Harry's obvious annoyance. It seemed to be working, too, as many of their classmates were keeping a wide berth of the bespectacled wizard. I sighed.

Here we go…

"What in God's name are you three doing to that poor kid?" Six heads turned to look at me, and I could swear I almost saw relief flash across Harry's face. George stood behind him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him in my direction.

"Watch yourself, McIntosh!" He said in a false terrified tone, "the Heir of Slytherin may come after you next." I ignored the pang in my heart at the thought of the attacks, and focused instead of Harry's exasperated features, just barely masking what looked like genuine hurt. I frowned, coming up to them both to gently pull Harry away from my friend.

"Don't take it to heart, Harry," I said, fixing him with a gentle smile, "they're just trying to show everyone how ridiculous it is for people to think you were attacking anybody." Harry frowned, sending a glare at Fred and Lee, who seemed content to continue yelling obnoxious warnings down the hall.

"Well, it's not helping…"

"Well think of this way," I reasoned, nudging him to walk with me as I waved for Hermione and Ron to follow, "if you were the Heir of Slytherin, they'd likely be your next targets, right? And that's only if you stopped targeting Malfoy long enough to actually care to hurt either of them."

"That's only if Malfoy's not the one who opened the chamber..." Ron mumbled, obviously louder than he meant to, as Hermione swiftly elbowed him in the gut after he finished. I felt my eyebrow raise as I looked at them, ignoring the sounds of the twins and Lee chasing after us as they continued to ward off the other students.

"You three really think Malfoy's capable of something like this?" I asked as we reached the main staircase, "I mean, sure, he's a total jerkoff in need of some serious attitude adjustment, but honestly, you think he's smart enough to pull this off without getting caught?" The two younger boys were quiet for a moment, until Hermione piped up.

"He's our main suspect," she said, "mostly due to his obvious prejudice against Muggleborns and his father's former allegiances."

"But he's not the only one we're looking at," Harry added, hesitating slightly as his vibrant green eyes pointedly looked away from me. I felt my shoulders tense — I knew who they meant, of course, even though it wasn't entirely true — but I brushed it off quickly, smiling at the trio a bit wider than necessary.

"Well that's good, then," I said, ruffling Harry's hair, "Always have multiple options." We let the conversation die down from there, and as we reached the Great Hall, I grabbed onto the twins' arms (maybe a little roughly) and pulled them over to the Hufflepuff table with me, taking an empty stretch of the table up ourselves.

"Oi, what was that for?" George whined, rubbing his arm where I had grabbed him. I shook my head, filling up my plate food platters gradually appeared before us.

"I think that poor kid has enough on his plate without you two piling on with more stupid, obnoxious rumors," I said. I grabbed what looked like a grilled cheese and dipped it into my soup before taking a bite.

"Oh come off it, Rosie," Lee said, sitting down across from us, "Only a nutter would really think Potter was behind these attacks."

"Yeah, Rose," Fred added, dunking some of his own sandwich into my soup, "We're just trying to prove that to them."

"By being melodramatic about it?" The three boys shrugged, and I sighed. "Good motive, bad execution… And get your own soup, Fred! Geez!" The two of us fought over the bowl, trying to pull it onto each of our plates without spilling it everywhere.

"Miss McIntosh." A voice called immediately behind me, startling me enough to let go of the bowl, narrowly avoiding spilling its contents onto Fred. I turned around, ignoring Fred's victorious expression to see Professor McGonnagall behind me.

Uh-oh… I gulped. "Yes, professor?"

"When you are finished, Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you." Her voice gave no clues to her feelings on the matter, leaving me to speculate alone as she stared at me through her square frames.

"Um, alright," I hesitated, trying to suppress my worry, "I'll head right down in a second." That seemed to satisfy her, getting a curt nod from her as she turned and walked back to the faculty table. I slowly turned back to my lunch, using my fork to push food around on my plate as my thoughts began to spiral out of control.

Is this about the attacks? I swallowed a lump in my throat, pushing my plate further away from me as my appetite had disappeared.

"Why's Dumbledore wanna speak with you, y'think?" Lee asked, dreads nearly falling into his food as he tilted his head in confusion. George shrugged his shoulders, waving him off before I could answer.

"It's probably just routine check-in," he said, waving his spoon around a bit too much and splashing soup on the table.

"Yeah, no worries," Fred added, nudging my shoulder gently as he moved the soup bowl back between us, "He's probably just gonna make sure you're not losing your head over the transition." I huffed, feeling my shoulders slump a little more.

"You sure he's not gonna just send me home to avoid an international incident with this mess?" The boys didn't answer, taking slightly concerned glances between themselves for a while. I sighed after a moment, too anxious to wait any longer, and placed my utensils down.

"No use in waiting around to find out…" I said, standing up and turning to leave. "Wish me luck, guys."

"Rose," Fred caught my hand as I moved, turning me back to look at him; his face was stretched into a confident grin to match the others', though each had a hint of concern in their eyes. "You've got nothin' to worry about, yeah?"

"And if he tries to send you back, Dumbledore can go through us!" George laughed at the tough face Lee pulled as he attempted to flex his muscles — with nothing really showing for it, especially under the thick sweater and robes. I smiled at them, feeling lighter at how ready my friends were to cheer me up. Squeezing Fred's hand once more with a nod, I let go and continued out of the Great Hall, my anxiety not returning until after I felt the doors close behind me.

It took a good few minutes of navigating the halls to find the entrance to Dumbledore's office, but frankly, that wasn't entirely my fault. In the books, the entrance had been guarded by an ugly stone gargoyle that moved aside as the wall opened behind it, while the movies portrayed a statue of a large griffon that rose upwards to form a spiral staircase. Neither of those awaited me outside of Dumbledore's office, however.

A small, darker corridor led away from the main hallway some floors above the Great Hall, almost totally ignored by the other students nearby on their way to breakfast. Stepping through the hall, it felt as though the noise around me had died down to a faded whisper in the background, and it all came to a stop as I reached the end of the hall. There were no doors, just a few windows and one large, griffin-esque statue sticking part-way out of the wall in front of me.

This has to be it, I guess… I thought to myself, staring up at the hooves (may a hippogriff?) and beak sticking out of the stone. I waited there for a moment, just staring in silence, before I finally remembered.

I didn't know the password.

Fuck. I wracked my brain for a clue, something to remind me of the password Dumbledore was using at this point in the books. He usually uses candy as his passwords, right? What was it?

"Miss McIntosh?" I jumped at the voice, turning to see Professor Sprout standing behind me. How long was she there?

"Professor," I said, nodding as I willed my heart rate to return to normal. She smiled at me, gentle and kind but with worry hidden behind her eyes again.

"Let's go on in, shall we?" She said, quickly moving to stand beside me. She held her hand up to the statue's face, her voice clear and loud. "Lemon drop."

The statue blinked, then merged back into the wall, the bricks pulling aside to reveal a small staircase, the statue, now fully visible, seated beside it. Professor Sprout gave it a little pat on the head before turning back to me.

"After you now, dear." I nodded again, my nerves returning full force as I slowly began to climb the stairs. It wasn't nearly as long a trip as I would have liked, reaching the Headmaster's office after just a few short seconds. I hesitated at the large wooden doors, waiting until Professor Sprout was right behind me to try the brass knocker. I gripped it tightly — too tightly — in my fist, hitting it against the door three times before it opened on its own.

"Come in," the voice of Dumbledore drifted out to us, and after waiting a moment, I walked inside. The setup of the room matched the movies almost identically, save for a few small changes.

The raised platform behind the Headmaster's desk was much larger than I remembered, opening up to a wide window framed with mostly-closed glittering purple curtains, resembling stars in the night sky. The shelves of books went on seemingly for miles, and yet the walls around them were so covered in moving portraits that no one spot of stone could scarcely be seen. The sorting hat sat, not on a dusty shelf in the corner, but in an open glass case beside a crystal-like cabinet — which, I knew, housed the pensieve. Next to them both was a round, golden stack of shelves, each with seemingly hundreds of little glass vials stored within. A beautiful, fiery bird sat perched on a stand beside the desk, it's feathers flashing different shades of red and orange and gold in the flickering candlelight. Professor Dumbledore sat behind the desk, a large silver quill in hand as he looked up to set his gaze on us. He smiled gently, eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses even from that distance.

"Ah, yes, Miss McIntosh," he said, waving a hand towards the front of his desk, "please have a seat." A chair lifted itself from beside the fireplace in the corner, moving through the air before landing softly to face the professor head on. I moved slowly, feeling my fingers twitch at my sides as I reached the chair and sat down, hesitantly looking Dumbledore in the eyes.

"You…" I started, clearing my throat a little before trying again, "You wanted to see me, Professor?" Dumbledore chuckled lightly at that, then looked up again to face Professor Sprout, who had stayed near the door.

"Thank you, Pomona," he said, nodding in her direction, "That will be all." With that, my head of house smiled at me once more before leaving the room, closing the door behind her quietly. The click of the door latch echoed slightly inthe room, drowned out mostly by the crackle of flames in the fireplace. I turned back to face Dumbledore, trying desperately not to let my nerves show on my face. He just sat there for a while longer, smiling at me a bit before finally speaking.

"How has Hogwarts been treating you so far, Miss McIntosh?" I looked at him, startled. What?

"Um…" I said, trying to process the question, "It's been fine, I guess?" He nodded, moving his hand to write another line on the parchment in front of him.

"Has everything been to your expectations?" He asked again, and the anxiety in my gut slowly gave way to confusion. Why isn't he asking about the attacks?

"Yeah, it's been great," I answered, rushing the end a bit, "Sir, what is this about, exactly?" Dumbledore didn't answer right away, continuing to write. He looked up to me again, the twinkle in his eyes more pronounced than before.

"This is merely a check-in for exchange students, Miss McIntosh, nothing to worry about," He spoke almost dismissively, as if waving the feeling of confusion away with his words alone. I nodded slowly, watching him carefully as he stood from his desk and walked over to pet Fawkes.

"How about your classmates," he asked, not looking away from the phoenix, "Any issues you would like to discuss?" Thoughts danced through my head at his question, jumping from Ginny to Willow to Colin in rapid succession. My new friend is possessed by Voldemort's diary, which I stole from Ginny who got it from Lucius Malfoy. Willow's the one opening the chamber under his influence, when before it was Ginny doing the same thing. I've kept this a secret for weeks because I figured I had everything under control, instead of just telling you and letting you fix my mistake.

"Willow…" I started, feeling my throat close up a bit as I spoke, "...Isn't feeling well, I think." Dumbledore tilted his head a little, muttering a little "Oh?" sound. "I'm not sure she's talked to Madame Pomfrey about it yet, though..." Well, it was a start. Dumbledore nodded again, turning back to face me again.

"Have you spoken with Miss Jones as of late?" I shook my head.

"No sir, she hasn't been speaking with any of us."

"That is a shame." He moved around next to my chair again, hands folded in front of him as he looked down at me. "Finally, is there anything you wish to tell me? Anything at all?"

Is there anything you wish to tell me? Those words echoed in my head over and over, the faces of Harry and Tom Riddle flashing behind my eyelids with each blink. This was it. This was my chance to tell him everything that was going on…

...But I couldn't. I was here for a reason, I knew. I had the ability to save lives in the upcoming war. If I caved now and let Dumbledore handle everything I messed up, how would I ever be able to manage it myself when he was gone?

How would I ever justify any other decision I tried to make if I let myself quit so miserably now, at the first sign of failure?

"...No sir," I responded finally, "Nothing comes to mind at the moment." He stood there for a moment, no emotion showing on his face. He eventually nodded again, moving back to his seat behind the desk. He picked up his quill again, writing once more on to the parchment before him.

"Thank you, Miss McIntosh," he said faintly, gesturing towards the door again, "That will be all." I hesitated a bit before getting up from the chair. Turning to the door, I started to make my way out of the office again. Questions rang in my head with each step — Was that all he would ask me? Didn't he know what I was doing? Why isn't he trying to ask about what I know?

"Oh, Miss McIntosh?" His voice stopped me just as I reached the door, my hand resting on the handle. I turned around.

"Yes, sir?"

"I look forward to seeing your first Quidditch match tomorrow." His smile was bright and sincere this time, though it did little to ease my conscience. I smiled back at him, however, hiding my unease as best I could.

"Can't wait, Professor," I said, before opening the door and heading back down the staircase and into the hall.

A/N: Hello again! I've finally updated! Okay, so for the record, I'm gonna start drafting up each chapter for each of the remaining books in the series so I can have a cohesive line of thought to follow more easily when writing, so that I'm not constantly flipping back and forth between my notes, the books, and the movies to figure out where I'm going with something.

Anyways, I hope every one of you is taking care of yourselves and your loved ones in this trying time. Be safe out there, and I'll see you all next time.

- Lunarity2013