A WINTER'S TALE, PART II

Author's Notes: And here's part II, before Christmas as promised. The poem quoted at the start was one of the prompts sent to me, thanks for the suggestion.

Warnings: Still none.

"I speak cold silent words a stone might speak
If it had words or consciousness,
Watching December moonlight on the mountain peak,
Relieved of mortal hungers, the whole mess
Of needs, desires, ambitions, wishes, hopes.
This stillness in me knows the sky's abyss,
Reflected by blank snow along bare slopes,
If it had words or consciousness,
Would echo what a thinking stone might say
To praise oblivion words can't possess
As inorganic muteness goes its way.
There's no serenity without the thought serene,
Owl-flight without spread wings, honed eyes, hooked beak,
Absence without the meaning absence means.
To rescue bleakness from the bleak,
I speak cold silent words a stone might speak."
- Robert Pack, 'Stone Thoughts'.

Tired, irritable and unhappy, Severus reluctantly showed his face in the staff room sometime after breakfast on Christmas Day, ignoring everyone present and making a beeline for the coffee pot kept standing permanently in the corner; his shoulders were tight with tension at the feel of eyes on his back, but nobody was stupid enough to speak to him until he'd made his coffee and taken the first long gulp – they knew him better than that, at least. Once he was vaguely on the same planet as the rest of them, a couple of people wished him a very cautious 'Merry Christmas'; trying not to scowl too obviously, he muttered something that sounded like 'likewise' before taking a single glance around the room and heading for the door.

"One moment, Severus," Minerva called after him.

"What?"

"Did the present from whoever drew your name fulfil the requirements? I've been checking with everyone just to make sure there were no misunderstandings."

At least the obvious curiosity in her voice meant she didn't know what he'd given Granger; there was at least that much to be thankful for. But... "It was fine," he said shortly without turning around, closing the door behind him before anyone could ask anything else and taking care to get out of sight of the staff room as soon as possible.

Back in the bleak peace of his own rooms, Severus drank his by now only lukewarm coffee in silence, brooding. The gift might well have been fine, had he actually received one, but his suspicions when he'd first reluctantly agreed to take part had been well founded and there was nothing – the only reason he'd gone to the staff room, apart from showing his face briefly as part of his orders to be social, was to see if anything had been left there after he'd checked his rooms and his office. Finishing his coffee, he closed his eyes and focused on the memory of that swift glance around before leaving.

He'd felt Granger's eyes on him from the second he opened the door, though she hadn't been one of the ones who'd tried to speak to him. He wouldn't have put it past Minerva to make sure she'd drawn his name in return, but the young woman was too focused on being a nice person to have snubbed him and if she somehow had done she would never have been able to hide her guilt over it. Not her, then. He called up the memory of his colleagues' faces one by one, remembering the expressions; happiness over the stupid celebration, mild surprise on seeing him mixed with polite disinterest that was at least a step up from open dislike, faint curiosity... and one person who'd been ever so slightly uncomfortable. Ah. Nodding gloomily to himself, he slunk off to one of his various laboratories to invent some work to keep him occupied, wondering vaguely why he even cared after so many years.

As far as Severus was concerned, any agreement he'd been coerced into didn't apply during the holidays now he had no observation missions in mind, and he spent most of the next week holed up in the dungeons and brooding. Working, as well – his productivity tended to increase when he was sulking – but mostly brooding. If his note had made any difference in Granger's attitude towards him, he couldn't see it, but they didn't sit close to one another at meals and he hadn't seen her apart from that; everything else seemed to be business as usual as well.

There was a staff party on New Year's Eve, and an Order party, and more general parties in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. He'd elected to shun them all by putting his name down as duty staff member for the night, and was peacefully working in his office instead, filling out a substantial stack of forms as part of an application for a research grant and trying not to flinch when fireworks went off in the distance. He had done more or less the same every year for the past six years, but in lieu of recent events he wasn't terribly surprised when Minerva knocked on his door. At least she wasn't drunk yet, since it was only half past ten, but he could still do without it.

"What do you want?" he asked without looking up from the list he was compiling of his past research projects.

"To talk to you, obviously," she retorted. "Look, Severus... about what happened at Christmas..."

"And what might that have been?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I do. You decided to be the only staff member who didn't follow your irritating rules and elected to give me nothing despite all your platitudes about the spirit of the season." He looked up, his lip curling. "Yes, of course I know it was you. Give me some credit."

After a pause to regroup – this conversation clearly wasn't going the way she had intended it – Minerva said quietly, "You didn't say anything at the time."

"No," he agreed, looking back at his list and trying to remember exactly when he'd published that paper comparing the uses of various catalysts in gaseous potions. It must have been quite an early one, since frankly it was dull as dishwater.

"Why not?"

"I learned when I was twelve not to waste my breath pointing out anything a Gryffindor did to me," he replied shortly. '83, perhaps? He'd been in no fit state to publish anything before then, but he was sure the first paper to be accepted had been that one detailing ways to adapt Wound-Cleaning Potion depending on the type and age of the wound... Yes, it had been. The catalyst article had been '84. He wrote it down and glanced up irritably. "Was there anything else?"

"Don't you want to know why I did it?"

"Not particularly." He put the completed page on the pile of forms he'd already finished and looked at the next section. Please outline your proposed area of research and explain what the grant would be used for. This would need more thought; he picked up some blank parchment to make notes on. "Are you still here?"

She was starting to sound irritated now, he noted with a certain satisfaction; it was always amusing to fluster people who had so clearly planned a conversation in advance by deviating from the script. "I want you to know it wasn't personal..."

"If you say so."

"Will you just listen, Severus? It wasn't personal. It's not because I hate you, or anything of the sort, regardless of what I'm sure you've been thinking."

Lifting his head, he gave her his best contemptuous sneer. Of course it wasn't. "Really."

"Really," she repeated. "Please, just listen to me. I drew your name by accident, or luck – the draw was fair. And I tried so hard to think of something, anything, that you'd want. I asked some of the others, and Albus' portrait..."

"I'm sure that went well," he muttered without looking up from his paperwork. As if Dumbledore had ever known a damned thing about him. The entire war would have progressed rather differently if he had. "So when you couldn't think of anything, you gave up and decided it wasn't worth bothering with?"

"No," she snapped, before sighing. "Well, partly, yes. But not because I thought it wasn't worth it. Look, Severus, I'm really trying here. I am extremely sorry, and I'm ashamed that I don't seem to know anything important about you even after knowing you and working with you for all these years. And I know it's hypocritical of me, after the hard time I gave you over this. In the end I thought it would be more insulting to get you something you didn't want than it would be not to give you anything. So I apologise for that, and if there is anything you do actually want then you can put it in your expenses, no questions asked."

Writing some meaningless scribble to maintain the pretence that he wasn't listening, Severus stared down at the parchment, glad that his lank hair was shielding his face. "I will never cease to be amazed at your powers of justification, Minerva. I truly believe there is nothing you can't convince yourself of, given enough time," he said. "The strangest part is that I think you actually believe it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled rather than defensive. She really didn't get it. It was almost sad.

"Nothing," he replied wearily. "Nothing at all. Go and enjoy your evening and let me get on with mine."

"No, Severus, what did you mean?"

"I meant that your apology doesn't mean a damned thing," he snapped, abandoning the attempt to control his temper. "If you'd apologised on the day, I might have believed you, or at least pretended to. But it's been a week, and you've clearly been drinking; you only ever apologise when alcohol loosens your conscience from whatever dark pit it's normally buried in. It's the same for all of you. That's why I would never accept it when you've tried to apologise before, because I know damned well you don't actually mean it. You're apologising because you think you should, not because you're sorry. I'd rather you ignored me the way you all used to; at least that was honest!"

Taking a deep breath, he reached for his Occlumency exercises again. If he truly let go now and vented all the pent-up anger that had been festering since his teens, he was likely to kill someone, and he'd committed more than enough murder for a dozen lifetimes. The silence that filled his office now was hot and angry and uncomfortable, and Minerva couldn't look him in the eyes.

"You're right," she said at last, sighing. "Of course you're right. Well, mostly – we are all genuinely sorry, but it's hardly surprising you don't believe it, and you're right that all our apologies have been far too late to do any good. Would you honestly prefer we all pretended none of it had ever happened?"

"Yes," he hissed automatically. The true answer was no, but with a heavy modifier; if any of them could be honest with him, if they could admit their faults as well as his own and genuinely talk everything through, then part of him would have jumped at the chance to open up at last and stop having to repress everything and pretend he was normal. Since that wouldn't happen, by far the next best thing was to ignore it all; that would hurt him far less than the stupid half-truths and half-apologies.

"If that's truly what you want, Severus, then that's what we'll do," Minerva said quietly after a pause. Her Scottish accent had thickened, but for once not out of anger. "I'm trying to fix this the only way I know how. The Muggles say 'better late than never' but that doesn't seem to be the case here. I've noticed your efforts since our talk last term and I'm grateful that you're trying; for now I suppose we'll have to leave it at that. Perhaps someday you'll believe our apologies."

Because it's always my fault, even now? He bit his tongue and kept silent. The truly sad part was that Minerva hadn't meant it that way and clearly had no idea what she'd just said. He had long ago had to accept that the people around him never saw the world the way he did; from her point of view, his employer was doing everything in her power to make amends, and he knew she saw nothing wrong with her attempts and didn't understand why it wasn't working. It wasn't worth the energy needed to continue fighting about it; it wasn't as if he particularly cared about the outcome anyway.

"Perhaps," he conceded, swallowing bitterness. He just wanted everything to get back to normal – there was no way to make amends, so the sooner everyone accepted that and stopped trying and went back to the everyday mundane working life of the school, the better. "Now go away."

"I'm going. Have a good evening."

Over the next week or so, things eased a little, at least as far as Severus was concerned. Evidently Minerva had discussed what had happened with the rest of his colleagues, and they were all making a conscious effort to leave him in peace and stop trying so hard; not quite what he wanted, but by far the best alternative, and it meant he could start to relax more around them now he wasn't waiting in dread for someone else to try and begin that conversation again. After another month or two, he calculated, the awkwardness should fade and things could go back to the way they had been for most of his teaching career and he could become part of the background once more.

The clock struck four times, and Severus looked up from his book and his thoughts and blinked at it; he hadn't realised it was so late. Or so early, depending on how you looked at it. Standing and stretching, he spared a moment to be grateful that it was still the holidays for another day or two; he wasn't a young man any more and while it was still possible for him to teach on virtually no sleep, it took more of a toll than it once had. Rubbing his eyes, he pulled his robes on; a quick walk around the castle to check everything was quiet, and then he supposed he had better get some sleep.

To his surprise, there was an envelope on the floor as he left his rooms; someone had clearly tried to push it under his door, and obviously had been thwarted by his protective spells. Frowning, he Summoned it with an impatient gesture; anything from outside Hogwarts would have come by owl, and although the Slytherins were mostly back from their holidays by now none of them would have left him a note outside his private rooms. There was a box on the wall in a hidden recess just down the corridor from his office designed for their use if they needed to contact him and he wasn't in. He couldn't think of anything his colleagues might have written to him about; the envelope was blank, though it felt like there was quite a length of parchment folded up inside.

Probably not a birthday card, then, he goaded himself with a grim half-smile as he stuck the mystery letter in his pocket and left his rooms. It had been many years since his birthday had been acknowledged by anyone; he was reasonably sure none of his acquaintances knew when it was, which suited him well enough. Truthfully, he'd forgotten it himself once or twice.

There was always a curious sort of stillness to the night in Hogwarts. Contrary to popular belief, the ghosts weren't very active at night; they liked company and liked being around life, even the ones like the Baron, and you didn't see them often when the hallways were empty. The portraits were still and dormant as well, and it was possible to feel as though he was the only living thing in the building on quiet nights like this. Despite that, there was an organic quality to the silence, a faint awareness coming from the castle itself; he'd become far more aware of it since becoming Headmaster. It felt like an acknowledgement, almost – when he'd returned to teaching six years ago the castle had welcomed him back, even if the inhabitants had not.

Severus walked noiselessly through the corridors. He could have navigated the castle blindfolded and in his sleep; after all, he'd been here for over thirty years out of forty six – forty seven, he corrected himself dryly, as of a few hours ago. The school had never really felt like home, not for long at least, but it was the closest he had and it was inevitable that he'd ended up back here once everything was done. Because really, where else was he going to go? He might never have felt completely safe here, but the castle was familiar, and he doubted he could adapt to life outside it now.

A cursory survey of the obvious places was enough to persuade him that nobody else was out and wandering around; he wasn't really in the mood for a prolonged hunt anyway and at this time of the morning he wouldn't find anything. He headed outside instead, despite the snow; he was used to the cold, and there was an atmosphere when it was snowing somewhere remote that you never found anywhere else.

The sun wouldn't rise for hours yet, and clouds hid the moon, and the castle behind him was dark, but there was light coming from somewhere, presumably the stars; the snow seemed to glow as Severus picked his way through it away from the building and towards the trees. Once he was far enough away from the castle, he stopped and stood still, and as the crunch of his footsteps ceased he listened to the silence. If he held his breath, he could hear the faint whisper of falling snowflakes, and when he breathed again he could feel the cold winter air passing through his nose and down his throat to his chest. The scars on his neck ached, but distantly, and it was easy to ignore.

He treated himself to a cigarette, since it was his birthday; he had been half-heartedly trying to quit for a few years, going through the motions, but truthfully he'd never smoked heavily and saw no reason to actually give up. Once he'd finished it he was about to go inside and go to bed when he remembered the letter and fished it out of his pocket, gripping his lit wand between his crooked teeth so he could see it, though it would probably make more sense to just go inside and read it in his rooms. Opening the envelope, he recognised Granger's writing and frowned, unrolling the flattened parchment; this rivalled any of her most verbose essays as a student. What on earth had she sent him? There was no form of address; she simply launched into the letter.

I've been arguing with myself for weeks about this. I'm still not sure if I'm actually going to give it to you or not. I must have sat down to write it a dozen times and just stared at the parchment.

And I'm already rambling. I thought a letter would be easier than trying to talk to you, but it's not helping.

Where to start? I suppose with Christmas, since that's what made me start planning this, as I'm sure you can guess. I realised you'd drawn my name because as soon as you read your bit of parchment you glared at Minerva and then at me, and I haven't seen you look that annoyed with me since I was a teenager. I'm just glad I didn't get your name in return because I wouldn't have known where to start.

I wasn't sure if you'd actually give me anything or not. I know Minerva ordered you to take part, but I can't see that stopping you if you really decided not to. If you did, I was fairly sure it would actually be something I wanted – you can be petty sometimes, but not over something like that, I don't think. But I definitely wasn't expecting your note.

I hoped by now I'd have thought of what to say, but apparently not. I'm still not entirely sure what you meant by it. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if you'd done it just to confuse me; you've always been pretty good at that. It's just that I really can't think of anything you need to apologise to me for.

I still remember all the stupid spiteful little things, of course, but most of them didn't hurt me, and I forgot about the ones that did years ago. The war made it all redundant. As I recall I tried to tell you that, not long after you came back to teaching, but I'm sure we both remember how that turned out. I'd like to think you were apologising for that, because even by your very high standards you were really vicious, but it was understandable in the circumstances and I don't think you need to say sorry for it.

I think you might have been trying to apologise for the war, that's all that really makes sense to me. I've read a bit about psychology over the years, trying to help myself get over it all, and I'm sure you won't appreciate hearing this but I've often thought you had a few unresolved issues – and I'm sure there are more that I don't know about. I'm sorry, I don't mean any offence, of course, I just can't think of how else to say it. I always had a sense that you blamed yourself for various things even more than the people around you did.

If you're still reading this and haven't set fire to it or thrown it away, I'll be surprised. I'm rambling again. I'd like to edit this and rewrite it into something that's not a stupid mess, but if I do that I know I won't have the courage to actually give it to you. I just wanted to thank you for your apology and tell you that it's not necessary.

I also wanted to apologise to you, since I don't think last time really counts; you didn't even let me finish the sentence. I know the whole point was that nobody knew which side you were on, I know that's what being a double agent means, and I know I was never in a position to see much of the whole picture, but part of me still feels that I should have worked it out, or at least realised that a few things didn't add up. It might be irrational, it probably is, but I still feel that way, so I'm sorry for misjudging you so terribly.

And I'm sorry for knowing more than I should, as well. I know that's one of the reasons why you hate us all. I don't like trying to pin the blame on other people, but this really wasn't my fault; I didn't know what Harry was showing me until it was too late. Needless to say, I've never discussed it with him or anyone else, and I'd have preferred not to know because it's none of my business.

Part of me wants to keep apologising for all the things I've done over the years, but I'm not going to do that. You know why I did them already and I think those reasons were good enough at the time and with the information I had available. I'm prepared to let the past lie if you are. The last thing I want to apologise for is the Shack, but I don't think you'll keep reading this (assuming you read this far anyway) if I bring that up. Regardless, we should have gone back for what we thought was your body sooner than we did. I'm not apologising for leaving you there in the first place, because you were definitely not breathing when we left, but if you'd been found sooner your neck would probably be more healed than it is. Yes, I've seen the edges of the scars, and I've seen the way you reach up to try and ease it, and I can guess it's not quite right. So I'm sorry for that, too. You deserved better.

That's all I wanted to say, really. That I'm grateful for your apology but I don't think it was necessary, and that I'm sorry as well. Perhaps we can start again, in the New Year? Or at least not feel quite so uneasy around each other?

Hermione Granger.

PS: happy birthday. I looked it up.

Very slowly, Severus lowered the letter and extinguished his wand, automatically putting it back inside his robes as he stared out into the darkness towards the castle. There seemed to be quite a lot happening inside his head right now, and he wanted to wait until the storm settled and he had some idea what the hell he was feeling about what he'd just read. An old reflex made him feel angry as he glanced down at the crumpled parchment, because his first impulse was to assume that it was some sort of joke at his expense, but he was older now and hopefully wiser and the more rational part of his brain knew it couldn't be. A small part of him he tried not to acknowledge was feeling far more emotional than he was comfortable with, but old Occlumency mechanisms could deal with that. Mostly he just felt completely bewildered, much as he had done in his younger days when he'd first started to understand that his life wasn't normal and that other people lived in a very different world.

The actual letter was... well, nice, he supposed, which was presumably why it made him uncomfortable since 'nice' wasn't a concept he encountered very often. She'd put a lot of thought into writing it, and had obviously been nervous about it – he could practically pick out the spots where she'd been biting her lip as she wrote and could picture it clearly. He wasn't sure why she'd bothered since she clearly hadn't thought he would read it, but she was apparently one of the few Gryffindors with an actual conscience. There was nothing particularly patronising, no veiled insults, no passive aggression or attempted emotional manipulation that he could see; in fact the whole tone of the letter was more mature and thoughtful than he would have expected prior to his surveillance a few weeks ago. Granger seemed to have grown up when he wasn't looking and become far less insufferably irritating. She'd picked out and apologised for the things she needed to apologise for, and acknowledged the past mistakes that didn't need an apology, without trying to force matters.

How was he supposed to respond, though? She didn't sound as though she expected anything, and ignoring it definitely sounded good, but hell, she'd been dead right about his unresolved issues and he was practically a poster child for repression. Besides... Severus frowned down at the parchment again, thinking. Those last lines sounded almost like an overture of friendship, as far as he could tell. That was suspicious and irritating, but underneath that, he was almost interested. It would be good to have someone to talk to occasionally, and he'd already seen that she was nearly as isolated as he was. He didn't have to commit to anything, but part of him would like to see how far this would go.

So what next? Writing back was pathetic, and he dismissed the idea as soon as he'd thought of it. They lived and worked in the same building; communicating in writing was just sad. Equally he wasn't prepared to sit and talk about it; Hell would freeze over before he sat and discussed his feelings or his history with anyone. But there should be some sort of acknowledgement, at least – if this was going to change things, then he felt it was probably up to him to take the next step. Except he had no bloody clue what that should be. Other people were extremely confusing sometimes.

Belatedly he realised that it was by now gone five in the morning, and it was still snowing, and he was absolutely freezing and so stiff with cold that he could barely move. This had not been his smartest decision, no matter how pretty and peaceful the snow was. Right now his next step needed to be getting inside, taking a shower, having a hot drink and then going to bed for a few hours. He could worry about the rest later.

Almost a week later Severus was still none the wiser about what he should do now. He'd re-read the letter so many times it was starting to tear where it had been folded, but he hadn't said anything to her about it. Term had started again and everyone was busy, which had given him an excuse to ignore the entire situation, but that couldn't continue indefinitely. Well, no, it could, which was the problem; he didn't want it to. He wasn't exactly spoiled for choice where friends were concerned, and he couldn't really afford to disregard the only positive overture he'd had for almost a decade – besides, it would be nice to have someone occasionally on his side, since if he was going to become 'part of the team' then it was inevitable he'd clash with people a lot.

Lacking any sort of concrete plan, he decided reluctantly that he'd have to improvise, and at the next staff meeting he took the seat next to Granger. They didn't look at one another, but he could sense her tension and she was obviously nervous of his reaction, which perversely made him feel a bit better – at least he wasn't the only one confused. Once Minerva started talking – these meetings could last for hours when she got going – he leaned a little closer to his companion and murmured, "That was an interesting essay you sent me, Granger. Complete with summary of your conclusions. I half expected a reference list." He hadn't actually planned to mock her for it, but in a way it had been quite funny, and so quintessentially her.

She was smiling when he glanced sideways at her. "I know. It was pretty stupid, wasn't it? I'm still surprised I managed to write anything at all. And that you read it. Are you going to return it covered in red ink?"

He snorted quietly, relaxing; this didn't seem anywhere near as awkward as he had feared. "I can if you like."

"No thanks. You're not... angry?"

"Why would I be?"

"You've never needed a reason to be angry before," she pointed out. Her tone wasn't angry or accusatory or mocking; it was the simple truth.

Severus shrugged. "True," he conceded. "But no, I'm not angry about it. Out of interest, just how long were you debating with yourself about it?"

"Um. Technically, several years, honestly. Since you refused to let me say any of it in person. But most recently, since Christmas. Your note was a real shock."

"To me as well as to you," he admitted. "It was rather a last-minute decision."

"I meant what I said, you know. It wasn't necessary."

"It was for me."

She nodded but didn't respond, apparently listening to Minerva. Severus tuned back in to the meeting briefly to find that his employer was busy talking about the Quidditch pitch training schedule, and promptly zoned out again; he couldn't be less interested, and nor could Granger, for all that she was appearing to be absorbed in it. He was proved right a moment later when she whispered, "She planned it, didn't she?"

"Planned what?"

"All of this."

He bit his tongue to stop himself laughing aloud. "Of course she didn't," he whispered back. "Do you honestly think she's that perceptive, Granger? She made sure I drew your name because she wanted to annoy me and because she thought I wouldn't be able to come up with anything to give you. That's as much thought as she put into this. None of our esteemed colleagues are remotely intuitive, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Hermione, not Granger, please," she corrected him softly. "What makes you say that, anyway?"

"In six years of ignoring me none of them have realised they've been doing the same to you," Severus told her quietly, leaning back in his chair and pretending to pay attention once more as the other Heads of House began to give their opinions. Raising his voice, he drawled, "I really don't care," when asked, and settled down to being ignored again as the conversation moved on.

Finally Hermione whispered, sounding uncertain, "They don't ignore me."

"Yes, they do," he replied. "And you know it, and you don't want to admit it. I noticed a long time ago, but I only really paid attention before Christmas." Glancing sideways, he noted her expression. "It's not personal, Granger. Hermione. They don't realise they're doing it. Besides, you should be grateful; if they did pay more attention you'd be sucked into the endless black hole that passes for conversation, and your brains would start to bleed out of your ears after the first hour. Wouldn't you prefer to sit and read and pretend they're not there the way you usually do?"

For a horrified moment he thought the little choked sound was a sob, but when he glanced over again her brown eyes were dancing as she hid a smile behind her hand, and he relaxed, feeling vaguely pleased with himself. "We've been talking for ten minutes and you're already being a bad influence," she scolded in a whisper.

"I'm being the voice of reason," he retorted. "You agree with me, stop pretending that you don't. You're not really interested in being friends with any of them and you're not really upset about it; you just think you ought to be." Frankly the same thing applied to the brainless Boy Wonder and his equally brainless sidekick, but he held his tongue on that score, not willing to jeopardise this just yet by insulting everyone in her life.

"I should have known talking to you was a bad idea," she murmured, but he was relieved to see she was still smiling. "Stop it."

His lips twitching as he restrained a smile of his own, Severus did as he was told, settling down to wander into his own thoughts and ignoring the drone of the meeting going on around him. This promised to be fun, if nothing else.

The problem with this sort of short story is that I never really know when or how to end it. This could have been continued further, but I honestly didn't have much else to say when I got to this point. In hindsight I probably could have made this an unusually long one-shot instead of a two-parter, but never mind.

Both PTL and CTS have been nominated to the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards on Livejournal, and voting is open until December 31st. See Part I for details on how to vote. I appreciate it, I really do, and I look forward to seeing how I did.

A Very Happy Holidays to everyone, and I shall see you all sometime in the new year with my next full-length fic. No promises about when, though, life's been a bit mad recently. Updates on my profile as always so you can track my progress, and hopefully it won't be too long.

Loten