TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Friday,Part 2 of 2. "The Awakening"

“What is it Severus, we can discuss anything you know.” She said reluctantly, as she listened to his strong, rapid heartbeat and lightly caressed his ribs with her thumb.
“Yes, except this will no doubt change the way you think of me. I believe it likely that you may choose to even… leave me because of it.”
The veritaserum made it impossible for him to lessen his responses; their conversation would be delivered tonight with raw honesty and devoid of the safety net of obliquity or the truth in varying degrees.
“Severus. I can’t imagine anything you could possibly tell me would cause me to leave you. You know me better that that, I love you more that life itself. You saw it. You are starting to worry me now.” She was becoming extremely uncomfortable with the dialogue.

Gwenevere, first I want to tell you that when… I am killed by the curse in a fortnight, I will have no regrets and that I have gladly paid the ultimate price to have loved you and to have received your love in return.” He said earnestly, resolved to die.
A cruel depiction of Gwenevere in Professor Parker’s arms flashed through his mind as a probable future scenario. Gwenevere’s breathing became labored and her heart pounded in her chest. Tears burned in her eyes. The word “when” clanged recklessly around in her mind.

“No Severus please, promise me that you will never leave me. You won’t!” She cried.
No Gwenevere, I cannot promise that.” He said quietly.
“Why?” She squeaked, she already knew the answer as the tears burned her cheeks.
“Because it is not possible for me to lie to you tonight, and I will never lie to you in future. Never. You need to face the truth and prepare for the inevitable. I have already seen the prophecy Gwenevere.” He cleared his raspy voice.
“Severus, please don’t say those words, you can’t…you cannot do this to us. I will not let you go. My life won’t be worth living without you.” Gwenevere was crying harder now, but she felt more resolute than ever before.
“Gwenevere, please don’t…” he pleaded as he held her tightly.
He braced his swelling emotions with everything he had available to him as he waited patiently for her next words to come. Her flowing pain was becoming more than he thought he could bear. Her rich voice sounded like the beautiful elegiac couplets of angels to him as she quietly cried. His heart suddenly felt alone, it burned and ached like dry ice and arthritis.

“Severus, I have prepared for the inevitable actually.” Her voice grew calm and she spoke in measured determination. “If.
If something dreaded happens…in a fortnight, I want you to know that you will not leave here alone Severus. Do you understand what I am saying to you? I will do whatever it takes to leave here with you.
You must promise me that you will make a fast acting mortiserum for me to take in the event that we do not succeed in breaking the curse. I will take the potion immediately upon your death and we will leave here together, as it should be. Most of my personal affairs are already in order except for some changes I would like to make since joining the Hogwarts staff.”
She looked into his eyes with the aid of the red glow that continued to consume them. Impassioned panic shone through the tears. He began to slowly shake his head in confused disbelief.

The tragic irony was tangible. He had carried out dangerous orders for the dark lord or for the Ministry of Magic and The Order of the Phoenix without worry or fear. He didn’t care if he died because nobody cared that he lived.
Even as a young boy, he learned that he was unplanned, unwanted and unloved and his parents had never let him forget it for a moment. Now that someone loved him and cared about his life more than her own, he was destined to die. It was of course, the natural conclusion for the realization of his second divination.

“Gwenevere, you would die for me? I cannot allow it. No.” His voice was a mere whisper, choked out by emotion as horror streaked across his eyes.
“Yes Severs, if you refuse to help me, I will do it alone. You know that I have the ability, but it will not be fast and I will suffer considerably if you don’t help me by including ingredients that only you possess in your private stores. I will do what is necessary to follow you. If the curse takes you, then it takes us both.” Her tone was flat in the interim before the next wave of sentiment.
“PROMISE ME DAMN IT!” she insisted.
He had not known that she felt this way, he had purposely cut short their legilimency session, and so this new revelation was a shock to him. She had obviously held this plan for some time, this was not a passing whim spurred by the heat of the moment. The veritaserum would not have allowed such statements if not rooted in solid irrefutable truth.
“Yes…I promise, Gwenevere.” He knew she meant every word of what she had said. The only thought worse than mixing a mortiserum with Gwenevere in mind was the thought of her killing herself with a weak substitute and suffering in agony to he same end. He could mix a death potion so strong that she would be stone dead before she hit the floor.

He held her while she cried out all she had to give, knowing that they probably couldn’t break the curse in the end. It would be the most difficult potion of his life: the desired act of killing his lover.
How she must have felt when her father left, then her mother, and then her grandparents, she had no wizarding relatives left in the world. She had literally shut down her emotions until a chance meeting with him. They were yen and yang.

“I want you to know that you have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, you steady me, you are a comfort to me, I have never known such kindness before. If I’d had you instead of just your fleeting image when I was fifteen, well things would not have turned out the way they have…” he began.
Gwenevere’s body wracked occasionally with dry sobs, as she listened to his deep base tones and was soothed by them. Snape slowly stroked her hair.
“When you are ready, Severus, tell me your past. I am ready to listen.” She quietly said as she lay there with him, holding him tightly and dabbing her eyes with the sheets.

“It started when I was a child, a curiosity really. From lack of proper supervision perhaps, a way to combat boredom and the fact that it was completely accepted in our home.
Then it became a way in which to fight back, to become a force to be reckoned with and to command respect. I studied the dark arts with a passion; ferociously learning everything there was to know about them. I became frighteningly proficient.
I was not socially gifted and somewhere along the way my abilities attracted the attention of those on the dark side. Since I was bored and probably craved attention and approval on some level, I let them bring me in too close. I thrived on it at first, I was moving up in the ranks at a devastating pace.
I immersed myself into their philosophy and practices. I followed any and all of their orders with enthusiasm and I was fully aware of what I was doing. I was not naive.
However, as time progressed, I began to question certain aspects. I knew too much to be released. I couldn’t escape… without being killed. I was young and impetuous when the whole thing began, I didn’t begin to realize how deadly dangerous and wrong it was until it was much too late.” Severus stopped talking, uneasy to continue.

“What changed your mind?” She asked quietly.
“The Headmaster. I was on staff here only because he had been the one who was willing to give me a chance at a respectable profession. I don’t know what he saw in me, nevertheless as you know, when he looks at you, he sees through to the soul. I could no longer look him in the eye knowing what I did whilst away from Hogwarts. I had to decide where my loyalties lie."
“Severus, continue when you are ready, I am still listening.”
She was holding him very tightly, in the dark. She kissed his hair and slowly drew her fingers through it.

“ I decided to go to Professor Dumbledore with the truth, and he gave me the help that I needed. We developed a plan in which I would work within the organization as an informant and go underground to help seek out and apprehend the most dangerous criminals the society had to offer.
They were killers Gwenevere, and I was almost killed myself many times but I was able to bring many of them to justice. I helped catch those responsible for killing your father, years after the fact. They were tried, convicted and sent to the dementors for punishment.”

Gwenevere lay motionless while her brain tried to absorb what Severus had just explained to her. Her brain’s high-speed interspike interval relationship within its neurons went into uncontrolled overdrive as she instinctively tried to react with denial as a protection against her brains inability to logically process her worst fear and hate forcibly colliding with her deepest trust and love.
As synapses depolarized in her brain, spatial and temporal postsynaptic cells reached their firing limits. Like trying to stop a slow bullet from entering between the eyes, the sickening realization materialized to her horror despite her efforts to prevent it. Gwenevere’s brain was experiencing a phase three melt down.

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Friday, part 1 of 2

Gwenevere and Severus took the stairs two at a time, almost trampling Madam Claire midway between the landings as they reached the second floor. They went to his quarters tonight. Gwenevere kissed him and slowly pushed him backward toward the dark bedroom. She was intent on taking his mind away from his preoccupation.

He set his wand on the table and quickly removed his coat, belt and shoes before Gwenevere took hold of his hand and hastily pulled him onto of the bed next to her. They kissed passionately as various articles of clothing rained down to the floor at intervals dependent on the number and complexity of the buttons.

Severus was torn between his desire to make love to her and his obligation to tell her the truth as planned. The desire was clearly winning the battle as it sped out of control like a runaway train down a mountain. When Gwenevere kissed him like that, it was hopeless to try and fight a force more powerful than nature, and he was in no condition to stop now.

“Gwenevere…I have something important to tell you tonight.” He managed, as sensation fizzed along every nerve ending he never knew he had.

“Yes I know Severus… but it can wait…I can not. Your love is a requirement tonight. She said.
She slid his white shirt from his shoulders while Severus was still dislocating golden links from starched French cuffs.

“How much chocolate… have you had recently… Gwenevere?” he asked haltingly in-between devouring kisses.
The cufflinks sounded with a clatter as he awkwardly thrust his fist vaguely in the general direction of the nightstand.

“Quite a bit these last two days…I confess…” His lips brushed lightly against her throat.

She pulled him down upon her and closed her eyes as he let out a low sigh of gratification. His mind grappled with trying to slow down as his body raged like a house afire with its own urgent demand.

I have missed you terribly…” She continued, her adventurous hands moving slowly along his back. He kissed along her collarbones as his well-trained hand reached for tiny hooks.

“Not nearly as much as I’ve missed you, my love…”Another soft groan escaped him. “Heavenly… perfection,” he whispered, as he lost himself in her loving arms one more time.

They drank in affections like nectar from the gods in an effort to quell an unquenchable thirst as each caress, each sigh, and each kiss generated an unearthly craving for more. He pressed on in his purpose to express what words could not and made love to her exquisitely slow despite the overwhelming urgency to hasten. They savored every sensation to its fullest degree as if their time was running out at an alarming rate. Neither of them wanted it to ever end.
The room glowed red, and the curse smoldered.

In the quiet aftermath, they lay very still, like causalities of the crusades; unable to move as they recovered from the emotional release of hyper-produced pheromones unique to the charm they were laboring under. Finally, Severus turned onto his back and Gwenevere rested her head on his heart as he embraced her and whispered his reflective devotions to her. To his contentment, she expressed reciprocal sentiment.

“Severus, what was it you wanted to tell me tonight?” She asked him as he absently played upon her flesh with his fingers in no particular manner. She basked in the loving sanctuary of his arms feeling like all the world’s dangers, were held at bay by them.

“There’s something in my past Gwenevere, something you need to know about before we can be married.”

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Thursday

The day advanced quickly for both Severus and Gwenevere as they each anticipated tonight’s truth potion lab for different reasons. Gwenevere couldn’t wait to master the difficult formula as a precursor to the real thing next week and Severus dreaded the outcome of telling Gwenevere that he had once been willingly involved with the assassins who murdered her father. No one knew what would happen after tonight, but one thing was for certain…nothing would ever be the same again.

Gwenevere dressed in black tonight and hurried to the dungeons at just before four to have tea with her beloved. She arrived at his office and Severus closed and locked the door behind her. He looked into her eyes with sadness that Gwenevere found disconcerting.

“What is it Severus? What’s wrong today?” she knew something was terribly wrong.
“I have missed you, that’s all.” He said, a simile flickered on his lips but didn’t reach his eyes. She kissed him, but his kiss felt different to her somehow…as though it were the last time he ever would.

Whilst having tea, Severus continued to be distant and forlorn although he made a very convincing attempt to mask it with politeness. Gwenevere was concerned, it was not that Severus didn’t have a good reason to be uneasy, but there was something else there, something new had entered in.
she indirectly asked him about the questions he had planned to ask tonight for the purpose of testing the lab results. He handed her the parchment and as she read, her eyes widened and she involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand. She politely cleared her throat.

“Severus,” She had to be careful there, it was his class after all and the students were not children. “These questions, while very good, are of rather a delicate nature and the students may not wish to answer them truthfully.” She said, looking at him kindly.
“Gwenevere, that is the purpose of any veritaserum, to cause one to divulge that which they would normally wish to conceal at all costs.” He said with silken apathy.
“Yes dearest, however, those are usually criminals, and these are students. If the questions are too difficult or revealing, the students will waste time trying to dodge them, and that will hinder progress.”
Snape set his mug down and sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms to consider her point carefully, as Gwenevere seldom interfered with his decisions.
“Very well, it makes no difference to me, as long as the potion is properly tested.” He said.

She stood up and walked over to his side of the table, leaning down and speaking from behind his chair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his hair before quietly speaking to him.
“Might I suggest that you let them formulate their own sets of questions, that way there is more potential for individual insight? In any case, veritaserum will be very interesting tonight, don’t you agree?”
Her voice was like a potent aphrodisiacal philter delivered intravenously into his jugular. He closed his eyes and felt his pulse pounding in his ears and elsewhere, such as his chest, as she pressed her lips to his temple and ran her fingers through his hair to clear a lock from his eyes.
“You will do the right thing tonight, my love. You always do.” She purred.

After tea, Gwenevere and Severus entered the dungeon to start laboratory setup procedures. When she was finished, Severus lighted the flame under the cauldron. Gwenevere listened carefully as he discussed in infinitesimal detail some of the particulars concerning the Wizengamot/Azkaban veritaserum for next week. His low silky voice was patient and kind like a mentor and his instructions were drawn from the deep well of unrestrained skill and unlimited knowledge of the topic.
Severus was able to be so patient because his words and thoughts were being completely understood and appreciated. Until Gwenevere, he lived a life completely devoid of anyone who took an active interest or bothered to try and understand him or his work, as if they ever could. Losing Gwenevere, or any part of her trust would be more devastating to him than a thousand curses.
Other students were arriving now and setting up for lab. Severus was marking down attendance in a distinctly subdued manner. Boots leaped up upon his desk and attempted to lick him on the cheek, but Severus in response, simply put down his quill and helped Boots to the floor.
Severus stood and was ready to give laboratory commencement announcements.

“Class, before we start the potion tonight, I would like each of you write down several questions to ask your lab mate before starting the potion. You will then ask each other the same questions whilst under the influence, and then make note the difference in the responses.” A dull murmur ensued as the students reacted to the instructions.
“Silence…” all were hushed to strictest silence.
“I will explain the difference between the formula we are using tonight as opposed to the powerful veritaserum truth potions in use today in the Wizengamot, Magical Law Enforcement and Punishment Facilities. Our formula fails to include a mixture of heavily regulated ingredients that, according to wizarding law, can only be obtained by one who is in possession of a Potions fifth level rating. This type of regulation is, of course the subject of your final research project, which you should all be working on. There are only four such justly qualified wizards practicing potions of that caliber in the world today.”

A timid hand found courage to signal at the back of the room.
“Yes, what is it?” Snape said irritably.
“Professor Snape, sir, where are the fifth level masters located in the world?
“Hong Kong, Asia. Cape Town, South Africa. Salem Massachusetts in the States, and London England.” He said with bland unpretentiousness. Gwenevere smiled and paid close attention to how he would respond if pressed further.
“Professor Snape, do you know the fifth level Master in London?” another student asked.
“Yes.” He said as his eyes fell upon Gwenevere for a moment. She smiled her subtle smile of knowing intelligence that he found so comforting at times.

“Silence…”
“As I was saying, the difference tonight is that you will have the ability to refuse to answer a question if you wish. The censoring mechanism in the brain will not be affected, however if you do choose to answer the question, you will answer with brutal honesty. I trust your questions will be creative and enlightening. Let us begin if there are no more questions, raise your hand if you need additional help.”

The truly subdued Professor Snape took his place opposite his beloved to begin the night’s potion making process. Gwenevere was unnerved by his demeanor and wanted nothing more than to take Severus in her arms and heal what ailed him tonight. Her heart bled for him, and her fiercely protective tigress instincts were honed to a deadly poisonous saber, ready to be aimed at the thing responsible for his tribulations.
The potion’s construction went flawlessly, at least for Gwenevere. She was able to use all of the information that Severus had given her before class and was confident that next week she would prove very useful to him. Severus spent much of the time assisting the students. He had the patience of a saint tonight…well actually, heaven’s devil. He gave instructions:

“Every one should be almost finished with the potion now, ask your questions first then administer the drug. Wait two minutes and ask the same questions again.”
He again sat opposite Gwenevere and gazed deeply in her eyes, which were as black as his tonight, like liquid onyx. She was the antithesis of a muggle tonight in her black flowing robes made of expensive material which made her look as though she had just stepped from the cover of Witch Fantasy, a popular publication, which also had the potential to be mildly risqué at times.
Her long dark hair was thick around her shoulders and her eyes were dark and fiery like black diamonds. She was heart- stopping gorgeous tonight and Severus found her more than distracting being a healthy red-blooded wizard of spirited male instincts.
He would need to be very careful not to touch her because the sparks would surely look like concentrated flairs tonight after being apart from her for two agonizingly long nights.

“Are we suppose to ask our questions now?” she said in a sexy voice, trying to cheer him up a bit.
“If you wish.” He said as a devilish grin formed in spite of his angst.
“Actually, I would prefer to wait for a more private setting.” She whispered, holding his gaze, lifting a brow.
“Cheers.” They both consumed the small amount of clear potion formula that Gwenevere had placed in the vials on the table. They waited two minutes as the effects took a stronghold of their ability fabricate even the most minuscule white lie.

Their fingers brushed together for a moment when they replaced the empty vials to the holder. Red sparks jetted upward in an impressive spray of light. The students couldn’t help but take notice as the sparks formed a glowing red plume overhead that popped quietly out of existence.
“Brilliant! Wow!”
“Professor Snape, are our potions supposed to spark like that, mine is not doing a thing.”
“Neither is ours.”
“Ours didn’t either, and we have already consumed them.”
“No, it’s all right. Continue with your questions.” Snape said as he waved his hand in dismissal.
“This could be most dangerous for us you know.” She joked.
“Lets hope not, Gwenevere.” He was not joking.

The rest of the students were was busy asking questions and snickering quietly at the answers as class time was quickly running out.
“What is your favorite food Severus?” She asked in a tone appropriate for the class environment.
“Beluga caviar.” He stated plainly. “Yours?” his brow arched a bit out of curiosity.
“Belgian milk chocolate.” She had the unmistakable look of lust in her eyes, was it for him or the chocolate? he wondered.
“Chocolate is not food.” He informed her.
“Yes it is. Food is a necessity, and so is chocolate. It has been considered an aphrodisiac since the time of the Aztecs.” Oh, so the lust was for the chocolate, he concluded.
“Which subject interests you most these days?” She asked him. His eyes glanced about the room to make sure the other students were all occupied with the testing.
“The in-depth study of the ideal female anatomy.” He purred. Gwenevere smiled a devilish grin.
“Next class begins shortly after eight tonight.” She mouthed. He shifted in his chair.
“What is you favorite activity Professor Collins?” he looked her in the eyes and she leant closer to him to answer.
“Actually, I adore it when you…”She said in a naughty whisper directed to his ears only.

For days, the air had been hot and smoky as wildfires raged miles away. White ash from the fires swirled in the Santa Ana winds and fell like snowflakes. But everyone in Santa Clarita had given thanks as the wind drove the fire west, away from them, as they offered a prayer for those in harm’s way.

Then, as the sun rose this morning, the wind shifted and pushed the flames in the opposite direction, turning a hazy grey sky as dark as night as smoke roiled down the canyon wall on a collision course with the Placerita Ranch.

Elizabeth, who owned the ranch, was one of Grace’s oldest friends and had given her shelter when Grace had decided to disappear from Hart’s world. A former Olympic rider, Elizabeth had built the Placerita into a highly regarded training stable. Now Grace and Elizabeth shared a quick glance of regret, and resolve, before Grace ran to the barns to help load horses in the trailers that had been lined up and loaded with essentials as a precaution. The ranch hands quickly started the carefully planned evacuation of animals and humans from the graceful old adobe that had witnessed so many of Southern California’s natural disasters. The flames were still miles away, but the ranch would not risk its beloved horses by waiting any longer. It was time to go.

The smell of smoke had made the horses edgy for the last several days. Now several panicked. Equine anxiety spreads quickly, and Grace and the ranch hands called on every ounce of strength to choke down their own fears and cajole the horses into trailers. They all worked feverishly in the dark, human and horse gasping for breath and blindly groping their way in the sooty air.

As the last horses were loaded, the canny barn cats dashed to trailers and jumped aboard. Grace locked the last trailer gate, then hopped into the cab. Elizabeth was at the wheel, her jaw set, refusing to look back after she had made sure every last human and animal was loaded. Their rig brought up the rear of a convoy of trailers that proceeded slowly out of the canyon through black swirling smoke, lights from the vehicle just ahead barely visible.

The convoy drove carefully, almost feeling its way through the dark, moving east according to plan, then wound its way south in heavy traffic. The sudden change in the fire’s path had surprised many people. Some of the drivers were as panicky as horses. SUVs crisscrossed freeway medians at crazy angles, looking for a shortcut to safety. Sedans followed, some of them bogging down in the sandy soil, the frightened occupants spilling out and running into the dark. But the Placerita convoy stayed together in a disciplined row and eventually rolled up to the gates of Pierce College, a small agricultural school out of the path of the fires in the San Fernando Valley that had opened its doors, and stables, to the equestrian community. The stables were full, but well-trained volunteers welcomed the Placerita horses. They tied up along a rail where a soft bed of straw and shavings had been prepared for the refugees. The air was still smoky here, with so many wildfires ringing the city, but much cleaner than the inferno they had left behind.

Elizabeth gathered the ranch hands and thanked them for their selfless dedication and for sticking to their detailed evacuation plan. She was a leader of the county’s Volunteer Equine Response Team, and had worked hard with the well-organized equestrian community to prepare for disasters like this. From her seat on a grassy area under a tree, Grace wiped her soot-streaked face with a ragged piece of old blanket, marveling at the composure of the Placerita group and wondering why most people did not have similar disaster plans for their families.

Elizabeth walked away from the ranch hands and joined Grace on the grass, collapsing in an exhausted heap. Grace did not know what to say. She could not speak of the uncertainty they had left behind. Elizabeth gave Grace a small, exhausted smile and said, “Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? Nothing like a crisis to get your priorities in order.” She paused, looking at the smoke clouds to the north, and continued, “I can’t tell you all the things that went through my head as we were packing up. Not exactly your life flashing before your eyes, but you think of all the choices you’ve made, ask yourself what you would have done differently. I didn’t think about any of the things I was leaving behind. I thought about people. Mistakes I’ve made about people. That kind of thing you can control. While this,” she gestured at the smoke, the refugee horses, the grimy volunteers, “is so far out of your control.”

Grace was silent. What reply could she make? She had been thinking the same thoughts. Asking the same questions. About Hart. She tried to smile. “Isn’t it a tad premature, thinking about fixing all our old mistakes? My priorities are a toothbrush and a place to sleep tonight.”

Back tomorrow.---M.A.

Brandon, gazing down at the note, considers his options in a matter of seconds. Where can she have gone? He can think of many places. In which of them should he look? How many could he hope to check during the remainder of the afternoon? Or then again, he could simply wait until tomorrow . . . no, that is right out. For her to have been upset enough to leave in this abrupt manner--Mary Anne who so loves her work that The Director has in the past had to order her not to remain on the set overnight—it positively goes against the order of nature for him to remain here and wait.

Smiling a little at his impetuous decision, Brandon leaves the cubicle. And Mary Anne is supposed to be the impulsive one. In the few minutes that it takes him to proceed to the call board and check to make certain that he is in no scenes this afternoon, Brandon makes his plan—the only plan he can think of. Not an original one, by any means, but one that has stood the test of time.

Then, to his own cubicle and into his coat. Through the corridors with purposeful strides that cause quite a number of techs, clerks, and set dressers to wonder just what’s on with Chris Brandon today—plus assorted swooning noises from a tour group of fans, one of whom leans against a wall to catch her breath and allow her blood pressure to steady. Brandon hears the murmur behind him of, “They had better give him an occupation, or he shall run mad--!” but ignores it. He has an occupation, all right.

A brief stop in the offices, to inform them that he is leaving for the afternoon and will return in the morning. And then, he must away.

******************************

Evening, outside Mary Anne’s flat:

Brandon, his arms filled with bags, climbs the wrought-iron steps to Mary Anne’s flat.

Perhaps she will not welcome his visit, or might count it as an intrusion; perhaps she had truly desired to be left alone until tomorrow. If so, and if she tells him this, he will leave with the best grace he can muster; nevertheless, he will try this first.

Then again, she may not even be home. Overnight at her favourite spa, perhaps, for some relaxation? Out of the city altogether? He shall soon see.

Then Brandon reaches the landing, and what he does see breathes a faint chill over him that has nothing to do with the cool of the night.

Mary Anne’s door, standing ever so slightly open.

Setting down his bags, Brandon edges nearer. Of course he has heard that you never, ever pass through an open door that is supposed to be shut and locked—and in flat defiance of that sensible precept, he pushes the door, sees it swing wider, and looks into the room.

The sofa. And the slim white arm dangling limply over the edge . . .

In a heartbeat Brandon is through the entrance and halfway across the room, when his attention is caught by a movement at the kitchen door . . .

Phil made the poster! Whoo-HOO!

Sandy, I think Alex looks... cute.... with a brush up his nose.

*peals of laughter*

Ann W
Dr. McCoy is Dr. Joanna McCoy, daughter of "Bones"....

Ann, As for Dr. McCoy, this is really MA's question since she invented her but I'll tackle it anyway. This Dr. McCoy is Joanna, Bones' ancestor after whom his daughter was presumably named.

I'm not sure quite where its leading, but it will be worth it just to see Sandy's face. ;)

Once Therese’s decision had been made, and she had been emphatic in her point, the room bustled into nervous motion. There were no more queries of “Are you certain?” or kind reminders of continued support, there were simply actions to be completed, and in many ways, this was far easier for everyone involved.

Dr. McCoy went to her kit, concocting the precise combination of vita-nutrients, supplements, and other medicinal potions that would provide her patient with the physical wherewithal to undertake the task before her. At other times when Therese had been approached with medical accoutrements, especially those in hypodermic form, she had resisted; her calm acceptance of the good doctor’s ministrations seemed all the more alarming to those gathered around her.

After McCoy had finished that task, Therese swung her legs over the side of the bed, Eamon immediately there to gently help her to her feet. She staggered for a brief moment, then straightened, determination radiating from her. “I need a shower,” she informed the gathering, and proceeded to walk to the luxurious facilities that had been provided. There was a brief moment of confusion as the guards sent to escort Devalera realized that they could not accompany him to Miss Gellert’s bath, which was obviously his intention. “There is no other exit,” he informed the gathered men, and at Scout’s affirmation, the door to that room was firmly closed.

Finally, Therese and Eamon were alone once again, and she fell into his arms, clinging to him tightly. No words were spoken, none were necessary, though the piercing agony of this situation was all too clearly writ within Dev’s hazel eyes. “There’s nothing I can say, Therese, I have failed you in every manner it is possible for a man to do so.”

She looked up at him, her large, dark eyes flashing. “You have made mistakes, Eamon, as have I, but you have never failed me, do you understand? The only reason I survived this, the only I am strong enough to be here to do what I must do, is because of you. Without you,” she gestured with her hands to indicate her hopelessness, “I have nothing. With you, I believe all things are possible.”

Eamon’s eyes closed, and he took in a deep breath as he struggled with the love and acceptance of the woman in his arms. “I do not deserve you, Therese,” he said softly, holding her close against him, “but I thank the heavens above that I have you.”

“Then let’s get this done and over with, shall we?” she asked, stepping back slowly from his embrace. “And don’t ever again doubt yourself where I’m concerned.” She stared deeply into his eyes, “Promise me.”

He nodded, tucking Therese’s head under his chin and enfolding her in his arms, and holding her there. “I promise,” he said softly.

Later, there was a loud, solid knock at the door, and Lt. Sifuentes crossed the floor in several long legged strides, before opening it to the Imperial Guardsman on the other side. “Miss Gellert’s presence has been called for,” he said firmly, in a voice that sounded much more a command than the voiced request. Scout stepped aside slightly, and indicated the pale, slight figure standing defiantly in the center of the room. “We’re ready,” he stated simply. The entire room, as if on cue, then turned their focus to the lone figure of Eamon Devalera, his fists clenching and unclenching in a steady, rhythmic manner. Therese, for the first time since she’d begun this course, balked, her position firm. “I’ll not go without him,” she said, her voice deceptively quiet. The guard nodded his head in acknowledgement of her words. “Her Majesty assumed as much; Mr. Devalera, you are to accompany us, though I might remind you that any unsuitable behaviour will result in your immediate and permanent removal for the duration of the trial.”

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Wednesday

The Madam regarded her with mysterious owlish eyes and a dreamy wondering gait as she slowly zigzagged in Gwenevere’s direction with her hand held out as if searching for invisible vibes. Her robes were scarlet with many flowing layers and brought with them a perfumed incense cloud.

“Professor Collins, I have seen something very significant yet disturbing in the crystal just now and I must relay it to you at once. It is no coincidence you are here at this time, you are quite gifted to hear the call and to come so quickly.” Her voice was hushed and raspy just as when they met in the library, the first time she spoke of the curse.

“Madam Trelawney…” she said.

“Hush child!’ Gwenevere flinched. “There is a wizard who is obsessed by your charms and shrouded in secrets, one of which is within your power to discover on this day. Danger and mystery surrounds him and he is closer to you than you think. He has revenge and possessiveness at the core of his black heart and the mark of evil is burned upon him. Beware! He will stop at nothing to keep you from all others. You must seek to elude him…if you can.”

“Who is it? What exactly did you see?” Gwenevere asked, as her mind whirled with confusion.

“Silence! I have nothing more! I saw only storm clouds of darkness and received only mental knowledge from my guides. You must heed the warning or suffer its ruination!” she warned and then turned and disappeared up the ladder to her classroom. Gwenevere stood speechless for a moment and sighed as she headed back to the second floor.

She strode purposefully down the corridor, and noticed a flash of magenta robes behind the large floor torch as she advanced toward it on the way to her quarters. She cocked her head and watched as Boots walked over and circled round him cautiously, his tail low and twitching.

“Come out from behind there please.” She said firmly.

“I can’t. I am stuck. Would you please help me Genevieve?” he whined. Gwenevere rolled her eyes upon the realization that it was McClane behind there.

“It’s Professor Collins.” She said flatly.

“Of course, Professor Collins. Please accept my sincerest apologies. My mistake.” He gushed. She advanced towards him and crossed her arms, straightening to her full height. She menaced over him and looked down.

“Professor McClane. Forgive me but… Didn’t I hear the Headmaster warn you to stay away from this area of the castle?” she said, raising a brow. Gwenevere was furious. McClane starred in horror at Gwenevere’s blue shark colored eyes and strained to control his panic. He wished like hell he could cross his legs, she was scarier than Snape.

“Yes, I…I was just going to try and apologize to you and Professor Snape for the way I behaved…before I took my leave for Durmstrang. Would you be so kind as to hand me my wand? Please.” He indicated with a nod where his wand was, still clutching the torch for balance.
Boots walked over and batted it with his paw. The wand rolled next to the wall and blended into its surroundings perfectly.

“How did it get way over there?” she asked suspiciously.

“Er…I dropped it and it went suddenly out of control and hexed me to this spot. I have been here ever since.” He lied.

“I am sorry Professor McClane, but I don’t believe you. Have you seen Professor Snape this morning then?” she narrowed her eyes on him, and then looked down at his feet.

“No! I promise you, I have not laid eyes on him for what seems like ages. If I can’t get my wand and get back to my quarters to pack up …which are on the forth floor by the way in case you ever, ever need anything at all and I would be more than pleased to accommodate…”

“Excuse me please Professor McClane. Whilst I certainly do not wish to delay your departure to Durmstrang, I question your honesty and motives for staying here. I must ask you why you did not simply remove your shoes and retrieve your wand. Just what are you playing at?” she snapped.

“Remove my…remove my shoes? That’s brilliant! Thank you Professor Collins!”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled in pure disgust. She turned on her heel and entered her quarters, throwing her unread mail in a basket on her desk. She paced the room nervously for a while, attempting to sort out Professors McClane and Parker and Madam Trelawney, deciding that the whole world had gone absolutely mad.
She remembered Severus saying that Madam Trelawney was fond of predicting doom upon everyone, yet he did receive a divination, which came true and she was correct about the curse as well. Gwenevere considered going to the dungeon between classes and talking to Severus about the warning, but decided that he had enough on his mind and she could not bring it upon herself to burden him more. It was best to keep this inside for now.
Once the decision was made, she opened potions books and gave the matter no more consideration at all.

**************************************

He had the morning free today; he had planned it that way of course. How clever of him actually, to create such a foolproof arrangement. He looked around the disheveled room for the bag to pack. He picked it up from the corner and noticed a large black spider crawling quickly away from the place where it had been hiding.
He moved to the bed and kicked at the sheets and blankets partially still attached to the mattress. They were hanging in a knotted, twisted heap off of the side and onto the filthy floor. The bedclothes had gotten that way so often now that he eventually stopped tucking them back in, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tidied them.

He had not allowed anyone in his room since…she started ruling his mind-- he couldn’t risk it. He threw the bag on the bed so that it could be packed. Nothing elaborate; he wouldn’t be staying long, just until the job was done. He needed an alibi and a place to conceal evidence.
He grabbed plenty of writing supplies, a map of the school, and some clothes. He tossed a key in the bag along with several beeswax candles and the pictures. He put his hands on his hips and scanned the room. ‘Disgusting’ he thought. Tomorrow, he would sort out the bed and shove everything else under it in case someone entered whilst he was …elsewhere.

They would pay for what they had done to him. ‘Who knows, she may even enjoy her “special” punishment, he certainly would enjoy executing it,’ he thought as he fell back into a chair, slowly massaging his forearm as he went into another one of his vivid, trance-like fantasies.

Therese being the notable exception. Hem, hem.

Renie, thank you for the kind words. I deeply feel the responsibility of the treating the Gruber men properly.

lee, I shall endeavour to answer some of your questions as soon as I can. I keep waiting for the dark mark scene in your story.

Clods, Isn't it time for another installment? This is waaaay too good for you to keep us hanging. ;-)

MA, I had to use your caption. It was beyond my control.

Barbara, I want to throttle your alter-ego. Really.

With an exasperated sigh Mistral flicked the covers off himself and neatly covered his bed partner. She uttered an enquiring ‘mrrp’ before falling immediately back to sleep. He glanced at the photograph on his nightstand before shifting his gaze out the window. It was open a crack and the curtain fluttered inward. The moon was on the wane, having been full two nights before. After another look at the clock confirming what he already knew, namely that it was what could only be described as morning by a technicality, or perhaps a baker, he swung his feet around and sat up on the side of the bed. He tucked his feet in his slippers. He stared down at the tops of his slippered feet and a smile played about his lips then fled. He stood. He bent to right the sheet and comforter and ruffled Annabelle’s fur then petted it smooth again. The cat did not chose to acknowledge this attention.

He did not leave the bedroom but paced up and down next to the bed as if hoping the physical action would tire him. Once he paused at the box which held the few items of jewelry, mostly cuff-links, that he possessed, and his hand reached toward it. But he only shook his head and increased the tempo of his walking. The legs chewed up the room in a few steps and did not seem to do anything to calm him. He left the bedroom and made for the living room. Once there he paused as if at a loss what to do next. A few quick steps brought him to the drinks cabinet where his hand hovered again, this time over the brandy bottle. Again the hand returned to his side empty. Now he paced this room, its lack of furnishings making it much more conducive to this activity. As his path took him near the kitchen where the dust bin resided a bit of newspaper protruding from its top caught his eye. The hand did not hover over this item but a scowl crossed his face.

HE WALKS AGAIN BY NIGHT!

Indeed he did, but not quite in the manner suggested by the caption to that photograph.

He was just considering whether he ought to make a visit to this particular rag sheet’s offices when the harsh sound of the telephone pierced through his thoughts. The sound of a ringing phone at half past three in the morning was never a welcome one. This time was no exception. He picked up the receiver, knowing who would be on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way.”

I am keeping mind that many Rickmanfans have little goblins and ghouls to take around, Friday next:

Happy Halloween!

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Tuesday

“I have never seen that owl before, does it belong to you Professor Collins?” Gwenevere flinched upon hearing the sudden voice behind her and turned round.

“ Professor Parker. I didn’t realize anyone was there.” She said.

“I arrived just now, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right, you look perplexed” he said, tentatively advancing until he stood closely beside her.

“Yes, I am fine. And I am a bit perplexed actually.” She said. She told him what had happened between the owls.

Professor Parker glanced at the owl, and then looked back at Gwenevere. The breeze caught her hair and was creating a bewitching effect with her black robes and incredible blue eyes. Parker was mesmerized by her beauty and sophistication. She was such a mysterious creature, seldom seen in the great hall and elsewhere. “The Lady.”

“Well, he looks fine to me, and he is obviously willing and able to serve your… needs.” He said, gazing at her hypnotically. Gwenevere was focused on the owl and hadn’t noticed his shift in bearing towards her.

“Right. I suppose I will hire him then. There seems to be no reason to…” she was saying. Parker finished her sentence.

“To refuse him?” She turned her head and bid her full attention to Parker. “You don’t wish to be the one responsible for breaking his heart do you? He is waiting patiently for your interest in him. He obviously fancies you.”

He closed the gap between them. His hand was poised on the countertop in such a way as to clearly invite her to take hold of it had she been interested and he was intent on maintaining the newly held eye contact. Gwenevere felt her temper recoil and prepare to strike a deadly blow if necessary, however, her outward appearance was deadly calm.

“Professor Parker, I question if we are both still discussing this owl?” she stated, lifting a brow as her eyes turned blue steel gray and decidedly icy. Parker regarded her for several moments.

“Yes, of course we are.” He said innocently and smiled as he pulled his hand away and stepped back a pace, giving her plenty of space.

“Good.” She pierced through his stare with hers. “We need to understand each other.” she said intensely, and turned to attach the roll of parchment and pay the owl, which was still waiting patiently, and with no signs of its former aggression.

“ Indeed. Well, I must be running along now, I’ve got a class to teach this afternoon. Professor Vector went into labor last night just after dinner you know. Good day to you then.” He said, grabbing his mail and backing towards the door, waiving.

“Good day.” Gwenevere said, as she compensated the owl and set it to flight.

She collected her mail and slowly walked out to the corridor. A voice sounded and caused her to abandon her perusal of the letters in her hand...

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Monday

Whilst Gwenevere and Severus were finishing tea, the excessively fanatical wizard rounded the corridor and crept toward her door, and then quickly ducked behind the floor torch when he heard Snape’s door open.
To his delight, he gawked as Gwenevere walked from Snape’s doorway and across the corridor. She was wearing a black exercise outfit, white trainers, and a white lightweight jacket. His exaggerated gape fixed upon her long legs as she paused to unlock her door before entering with a big gray cat.

‘I wonder what she could have borrowed from Snape this morning. Why couldn’t she have moved into the quarters across the corridor from me instead? I certainly wouldn’t mind starting out my day with a nice long visit from her, wearing that.’ he thought.

Snape stood and watched as Gwenevere's door closed tightly and locked. He surveyed the corridor and recalled noticing the large torch suddenly light. He reached for his wand and said “Attineo” while aiming in the direction of the torch. A small sound escaped out from behind the torch, but its maker did not.

McClane was instantly cemented to the stone floor. His feet were firmly set and they prevented him from fleeing as Snape strolled toward him.
“Accio wand!” Snape hissed, and McClane’s wand obediently flew from his magenta robes and up across the corridor, landing on the stone floor with a loud clatter. Snape stepped over the wand and moved closer toward McClane.

“Forgive me McClane but… Didn’t I hear the Headmaster warning you to stay away from this area of the castle?” Snape was now towering over McClane, slowly fingering his own wand like a baton.

“Sev…Severus, what are you going to do?” He stammered.

“Oh, I don’t know…lets see." Snape crossed his arms and pointedly rolled his eyes to the right to think, idly tapping his wand. McClane clutched the torch for balance.

“Severus, I beg of you…don’t do anything! I’ll stay away. I swear it! I’m leaving for Durmstrang this afternoon!” McClane hideously whined.
Snape stopped tapping and slowly turned his head toward McClane to ponder his plea.

“Very well McClane, as you wish. I shall do nothing.” He mocked with raised brows.

“Thank you Severus.” He said with a sigh of relief, until… “Severus, where are you going? Come back! I’m stuck here! He again pleaded.

“Yes, I am fully aware of that. I’m sure someone will soon come along and help you, not to worry.” Snape said, not bothering to turn around as he strolled further away.

“No Severus, they won’t. No one ever comes to this part of the castle. Not even Filch. Or even his cat. Please…I need help!” Snape stopped and turned around.

“Very well. I’ll call the Headmaster for you, How’s that?” He offered, and then turned again, continuing down the corridor, half listening to McClane’s insipid chatter. He wondered how long it would take the stupid git to discover that all he had to do was to remove his bloody shoes and retrieve his wand.

“No Sev, Severus, Severus! Please don’t tell the Headmaster! Oh…I need to go to the… loo.”
“ Bugger!”
“Accio wand. Accio Wand! ACCIO WAND!!! Finite Incantatum…Fin…FINITE INCANTATUM DAMN IT!! Accio wand…Acc…”

Gwenevere completed her bath and dressed quickly. She had planned to study for the lab tonight but first, she needed to send her mail out to Gringotts. She donned robes and jogged steps all the way to the top where the owlry was located. She entered through the arched door and searched the semi-open aviary.

The stiff breeze blew through her hair and jostled her robes. Miniature cyclones caused the straw and chaff on the floor beneath the owls to relocate and form tiny helixes near the exits. In a sheltered corner, the early morning sun shone brightly through the elaborate castle stonework cut out like tatting. A curtain of energized dust particles continuously migrated up, ascending upon the suns rays on a never-ending journey towards the sky.
Running water sounded in the background as a steady stream kept a bank of water vessels filled. The place was bustling with activity as many owls in all different sizes and colors sporadically returned from nocturnal hunting trips and were settling in to roost until which time they were needed.

Gwenevere stood at the counter where an owl perch bolted to rows of pigeonholes containing various writing supplies such as parchment, envelopes, wax, Hogwarts seals, cello tape, quills, and inks of different colors. On another wall, there were rows of slots listed in alphabetical order for incoming mail pick up by staff members.

Her prospectus was of medium size so she looked for a fair-sized owl to take the post. She called down a Great Horned Owl that looked fresh and was not yet sleeping. It flew over to her and she gently stroked its satiny black-brown breast feathers for a minute, as she talked softly to it. It was her practice to over check the owls before hiring them so that obvious health issues could be addressed should there be any.

This owl was in perfect form as far as she could see, as was usually the case. She was just about to fasten the parchment when suddenly a large white spangled owl came flying down from nowhere in a flurry of feathers and aggressively extended talons. Gwenevere instinctively threw out her forearm to keep its wingspan from hitting her. It screeched loudly as it chased the Great Horned owl away from Gwenevere and out through one of the exits.

The white owl returned and landed on the hire perch fully expecting to fly her mail. She looked down at its outstretched leg and wondered what to do in this rare situation. She had never known owls to display this sort of behavior before.

"So it's over, then?" Joya asked, gazing at me solemnly over Richard's head.

I'd made it back to the goldsmith's house in good time. Neither Lady Suzanne nor Lady Christina were awake yet and Bertha had been stationed by the door to let me in without waking any of the servants. I crept upstairs and slipped into Joya's bedroom. She was waiting for me patiently, with our daughter in her arms and a dagger on the bed beside her. I set the bar firmly in the door so that we would not be disturbed, sat down in the chair by the bed and told her everything about Leofric's grisly discovery. Then we listed what we knew, the first step to making a plan.

We knew that with Estrilda dead, there would be no more anonymous threatening notes to be found around that castle. That was something positive. And as well there would be no more attempts on Joya's and Marion's lives. After all, a woman could have arranged both the falling candleholder and the poisoned wine. The lady-in-waiting to the king's cousin could have come and gone as she pleased all over the castle without being questioned. And then scurried back to the Locksley's rooms without attracting much attention.

Also, there would be no "friend" who could give assistance to Will Scarlet. I didn't know what sort of help Estrilda could have provided but I doubted that it would have involved helping him to escape. The guards would not have allowed anyone near him without my express authority. But perhaps she'd smuggled notes to him or gotten notes from him to give to Locksley or someone else. We agreed that it would be a good idea to find out what servant had taken Scarlet his meals and whether he was trustworthy.

"Is it?" I answered Joya's question, kicking the bedpost in some annoyance.

Because of course the big question now was: who had murdered Estrilda? And why? It was impossible that she'd been thrown into the river from the turrets; the castle was downstream from where the body had been found. But had she been killed in the castle and smuggled out? Possible but I doubted it. There were plenty of nooks and crannies where a body could have been hidden without anyone finding it for hours, if not days. There was only one gatehouse open after dusk and the killer would have been taking the enormous risk of a cart or packhorse being searched by the guards. No, I was prepared to accept that she'd fled on foot. The guards wouldn't have stopped a woman leaving if she'd had a decent excuse. They were under instructions to investigate suspicious men.

Of course it was entirely possible that a thief had simply taken advantage of a well-dressed woman without protection walking in the night. She wouldn't have been the first victim to loose her life for the sake of a necklace or a brooch or a rosary. Perhaps she'd planned to make her escape by boat and had gone to the river to negotiate terms with a boatman. As Joya pointed out, she would have been agitated and not paying attention too much around her; a thief could easily have stalked her and caught up with her at the river.

The discussion didn't satisfy either of us but we had to get to the castle before the morning sun was well and truly up. Joya laid Richard in her cradle and threw on her travelling cloak as I waited impatiently, then we were off. It was disgracefully rude not to tell the Poitevin ladies personally about our plans but it was unavoidable. Joya informed me that we would have to make it up to them somehow and I agreed.

The security around the castle was tight and I counted no less then twelve guards standing on the walkway above our heads. It filled me with a deep sense of satisfaction. It was probably the most heavily defended castle north of Winchester and there was no enemy within the borders of the kingdom who successfully attack it. Once this marital alliance nonsense was cleared up and all the invited guests departed, I would determine the best way to take advantage of this strength. But other priorities came first.

The news that the mysterious letter-writer and would-be assassin had been found had obviously spread like wildfire amongst the servants. A crowd of them gathered in the great hall, the buzz of their talking filling the air like a swarm of bees. Leofric appeared in the doorway at the far end of the room, gesturing with one arm. As Joya and I strode into the hall, the crowd fell silent, watching us with great interest until we reached the doorway, then burst into noisy conversation again.

"We put her in here, sir." Leofric led the way down one of the smaller hallways in the rear of the castle. "Looks like some kind of chapel. Seemed appropriate, somehow."

"Yes, we stopped using it when the large church was built in town." I pushed through the door, still decorated with carved crucifixes and paschal lambs. "Has anyone been in here yet?"

"No sir. However, Lord and Lady Locksley," Leofric coughed diplomatically. "Are most anxious to find out what is happening. They know we're back. One of their servants was watching for us."

"I'm sure they are." I headed down the aisle to the front of the room. There was a trestle table occupying the space where an altar had previously been, and on it was the shrouded body of Estrilda, late wife of the sheriff of Yorkshire and admirer of Saracen cultural activities. Joya was already standing beside the table, staring down at the dead woman's face. I came up beside her and she glanced at me. I nodded and she threw back the shroud halfway, exposing the dead woman down to her waist. We examined the body. No jewelry was visible: no rings, no earrings or other ornaments. The gown was plain but of good fabric, with a good leather belt around the waste. Joya pointed to the far side and I reached over. There had been a pouch attached to the belt but all that remained were a pair of cut thongs.

"So it might have been robbery after all." Joya stated. She looked up at me again, a question in her eyes.

"Yes, it probably was." I let go of the leather straps and reached for the shroud to cover the body again. "We'll have to ask Marion if she was wearing earrings or rings. If they're missing, it would be conclusive proof."

"And yet -" Whatever Joya had been about to say was cut off by the sudden slamming of a heavy door. Voices came from the hallway - loud, angry, demanding voices - and they grew louder as the speakers made their way closer to the chapel. We turned and waited. It was not hard to figure out who was coming.

The voices reached an apex outside the chapel door. It burst open and Robin of Locksley erupted into the room with Marion right behind him. It was difficult to determine who was making what demand.

"What the bloody hell do you mean keeping us locked up like felons -"

"Where is my lady-in-waiting? That man outside said she was in the castle but wouldn't say -"

"- and when the king gets here don't think I won't have much to tell him about this outrageous -"

"- is she? What have you done with Estrilda?"

I waited until they stopped for breath. They glared at me, chests heaving from the verbal exertion. At the far end of the room, Leofric signaled to the guards to leave and then shut the door firmly, standing in front of it with one hand on his sword hilt. He caught my eye and nodded at me, reassuringly. I nodded back.

Locksley saw my gesture and jerked around to see what was happening behind him. Marion stepped forward and began to make demands again. I held up both hands for silence. "This cacophony will get us nowhere. Marion, to answer your question first, Estrilda is right here." I gestured to the table behind us.

Marion stared, her hand moving to cover her open mouth. Locksley came up behind her and held her carefully. Then he glared at me. "What did you do to her?"

I ignored the question; it wasn't worthy of a response. "My men retrieved her from the watery grave in which she was abandoned by some thief." I shook my head as Marion stepped forward to lift the shroud. "I warn you, she is not looking at her best this morning."

Of course, they had to see for themselves and I'll give Locksley credit, once he saw the corpse he was more willing to listen to the explanation that Joya gave him about the cut purse and the thief. Asked if Estrilda had worn any trinkets, Marion said that she had often worn a ring on her left hand but that she could not be sure she'd been wearing it the previous day.

Locksley took a final look and then dropped the cloth again. He turned his gaze on me. "What now?"

"Now we call the priests and arrange a funeral." I shrugged. "Neither of us wants or needs any distractions at this moment. The king will be here tomorrow or at the latest, the day after. There will be no more anonymous notes or murder attempts. I suggest we get back to planning how we are going to sort out this marital mess before -"

But it was destined to be a day for unfinished sentences. A cacophony of knocking broke out at the chapel door and caused Leofric to start violently. He pulled open the door far enough to accept a note, then shut it firmly and barred it again. Setting one hand on his sword again, he marched down the aisle and handed the note to me. I took it, cracked open the seal and read the contents. Then, just because it couldn't possibly be any worse the second time around, I read it again.

"Well?" Locksley demanded, ignoring the obligations of the guest to maintain a civil demeanour at all times.

"No, not well at all." I handed the note to Joya, who looked at it curiously. "It's from the king's chief clerk. King Richard and Count Godfrey of Anjou are less than ten miles away. They will be here in time for the midday meal."

Hmm. The Jane Eyre quote I was remembering merged with the balcony scene in "R&J" -- but you've come to expect that from me. :)

Another good JE quote, "In thought, I added, '... for such you are handsome enough, or rather, your sterness has a power beyond beauty.'"

Nice touch: a quote from Jane Eyre

Brandon turns to follow Mary Anne, but The Director steps into his path, blocking his way. “Wait, Brandon.”

“What do you mean, wait? She is very upset and—“

“And that is precisely why you should wait.”

Brandon gives him a look of I can’t wait to hear you explain this one. With an abstracted sigh, The Director runs one hand through his hair, pondering how to stall for time as Brandon casts impatient glances down the corridor. If it had been anyone else! Brandon’s amiability and steadiness of temper are legendary on this often-hectic set, but when the fires are kindled, well then—a simple extinguisher will not do.

“It’s because she’s upset that you need to wait a bit. Mary Anne is very proud—in the best sense,” The Director adds hastily. “She won’t thank anyone for walking in on her in the state she’s in, not even you. Perhaps especially not you. Give her a little time to calm herself, and then see her if you like.”

“How much time?” Elaborately patient, as if humouring a madman.

The Director rolls his eyes. “As if I would know! Go have a cup of tea, then come back. Maybe that will be enough. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure there aren’t any more of those things lying about.”

“Lying about.” Brandon’s expression is as grim as The Director has ever seen it. “I have seldom heard a more perfect description.”

“Yes, I thought I had all of them gathered up, and then while I’m conferring in my office one of the new mail clerks came and told me what he’d seen in the rack. If he’d only had the sense to pick it up when he saw it—“ A tired shake of the head, further disheveling the much-tried hair. “Well, he’s new. But then I got here just in time for . . . what you saw. I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been Mistral—“

There is a flicker of something in Brandon’s eyes at the mention of Mistral, but he replies smoothly, “Of course, we can’t have him going to any more offices and terrorizing any more photographers.”

“Brandon, how did you know—“

A thin smile. “It is a dark secret, and so naturally the whole set knows.” (homage)

“Naturally. And one more thing: whatever this is between you and Mary Anne, get it settled. We can’t have you two all out of sorts, not with her Trial scenes and all that we have lined up. I trust I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good.” There is an awkward pause before The Director stands aside to let Brandon move past him—which Brandon promptly does, ready to stride down that corridor to Mary Anne’s cube, and damnation to all advice to the contrary.

“Brandon.”

A halt. Brandon does not fully turn, but looks over his shoulder. “Sir?”

“I meant what I said to her, you know—about being sorry she had to see that. I am always sorry to see any of my people dragged into something like this. Especially someone like her. For all her mischief—“ A slight grin, there and gone. “—she’s a sensible woman. That’s why I think she’ll get this sorted if we give her a bit of time. But she feels everything, you know. Takes things hard, twice as hard as most, I believe.”

“I believe you are right.”

“Good. Then take my advice on this—and on one other thing. Don’t you go trying to do what Mistral did.”

A sardonic smile from Brandon. “Did you think I would burst into their offices and challenge someone to a duel?”

”I thought you might.”

That expression on Brandon’s face—The Director can feel the skin crinkling on the back of his neck. That wry grin of self-mockery, and the banked flames of the eyes . . .

“Well, it would be in character for me, would it not?”

“It would be in character for The Colonel. As for you, go and drink your tea or whatever. Then let me know how it goes. And Brandon . . . the best of luck.”

A nod, and Brandon strides away down the corridor.

*****************************

Half an hour later, he is standing outside Mary Anne’s cubicle.

A good cup of tea, wasted. Yes, he had gone to the café and taken a cup, forcing himself not to hurry; thankfully, the café is mostly deserted at this hour. Too late for lunch and too early for afternoon tea. Much too early for dinner. He had caught himself glancing about, checking for stray copies of the guilty tabloid, and had indulged a few private imaginings as to what might be done with the photographer if that individual were ever to cross his path.

But now . . .

Brandon taps lightly at the door of Mary Anne’s cube.

No answer.

Unbidden, a passage from one of Mary Anne’s favourite novels rises in his mind. . . . not one movement have I heard, nor one sob: five minutes more of that deathlike hush, and I should have forced the lock . . .

Brandon shakes off the chill of that thought. Another knock, and when there is no reply to his soft call of “Mary Anne?” he pushes open the door.

Mary Anne is not in her cubicle. At least, he does not see her. Behind the folding screen, perhaps?

Brandon moves further into the room. “Mary Anne?”

Silence.

And then, there on the desk. Weighted with the dish of violets.

Back tomorrow.--- M.A.

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Friday

In the mostly deserted great hall, Snape picked listlessly at his dinner until a folded note, which had been anchored under his water goblet caught his attention. He read the child-like writing with some difficulty and then abruptly stood up.
He strode unseeing past Professor Vector who was nine months pregnant and trying to flag him down so that she could obtain a potion to relieve indigestion, as Madam Pomfrey was unavailable for all except the direst of emergencies. She started to follow him but quickly gave up as he charged out to the corridor and into the entrance hall, crossing to the winding stairs leading to the dungeons.

He descended steps rapidly then rounded the corner and stormed into the Slytherin common room to angrily reprimand the students and empower the prefects to recruit reformation amongst the ranks. Numerous complaints from house elves prompted Snape to lecture on the value of keeping order and organization within the dormitories. He threatened them with punitive punishment, which consisted of scouring every lavatory in the castle without the use of magic if he didn’t see vast improvement in the excessively slovenly Slytherin situation. He surveyed his houseguests afterward and was satisfied with the results; their terror-stricken faces should prove promising results. The prefects were ordered to inspect the dormitories on a twice-daily basis and report any incident of noncompliance directly to him. He gave them one last sneer and then turned and stormed out.

After returning to the second floor, he settled behind his desk in the den with an ample four fingers of brandy to compose the questions for Friday’s veritaserum lab.
‘Lets see, most embarrassing memory…contagious or annoying health conditions… family secrets…one’s weight is always good…describe the first…phobias…fears…fantasies…and lest we forget…’
A sadistic smile curled upon his lips as he gleefully penned, and the black ink of ten nightmarishly personal, undoubtedly squeamish questions slowly bled into the parchment.

Gwenevere finished the conspectus for Gringotts case just before suppertime. There was a rap on the door and her heart quickened at the thought that it may be Severus. She opened the door and Dobby was standing there with her dinner tray. She smiled warmly and took the tray. He lighted the fireplace for her whilst they had a brief chat in Spanish concerning general Hogwarts news. On his way out, he noticed a half box of imported chocolates, which were sitting on the table in the living room near the fire. Gwenevere smiled and gave the remainder of the box to him on his way out.

She picked absently at her food, though it was delicious, she just wasn’t in the mood to eat tonight. Boots had hovered close by all day and she could swear he missed Severus as well. After eating, she indulged him in a long walk around the pond.

When she arrived back to her quarters, the sun was setting brightly over the Quidditch pitch. She poured Crown Royal in a crystal glass and sipped it while staring out of the cathedral window in her office, toward the occident. The sun was a blaze of fiery orange and red in a blue-green streaked sky. She watched as the crepuscular rays of the sinking sun beamed out in enormous shafts from behind large backlit cumulus and cirrus clouds. She admired the majesty of the flamboyant sky until it faded to almost black, tentatively listening for Severus to knock on her door, yet not actually expecting him to do so.

She finished her brandy and readied herself for bed. After finishing her book, she blew out the candle and lay awake stroking Boots for a while, thinking of Severus. She recalled what she had discovered today and questions nagged at her mind as she eventually drifted off to sleep. Why was he suddenly insecure about their future together, why did he question the strength of her love for him?

**************************************

When she awoke Friday morning, she remembered having bizarre dreams about Severus. He was in some sort of danger and there was nothing she could do to help him. She tried to remember more of the dream as she readied herself for her morning run. The weather was fine today as promised by last night’s red-orange sunset, and she found her stride quickly. As her footsteps pounded the shock absorbing surface, the constant rhythm lulled her into deep thought. She could remember no more detail of the dream, however, she sensed a need to see him this morning just to ease her mind.

She slowed to cool down phase and noticed the Gryffindor team’s consistently lackluster practice session, recalling Professor Parker’s prediction that they would win the cup this year. She slowed to a walk, checked the time and turned to go home. As she left, she heard the Gryffindors shouting at one another as they set their brooms in motion finally.

Gwenevere strode through the corridor on the second floor and met Dobby at her door. He had the tea tray and a message from Sir Nicholas stating that he was ‘tied up’ at the moment and had not received any new news. She watched as Dobby turned the corner out of sight and noticed that the sugar bowl was on the tray and there were two cups. Boots was sitting patiently at Severus’s door as if expecting to go in.
She smiled and walked over to him and then lifted her hand to knock, the door opened before she had the chance revealing a welcoming, but intensely somber dark wizard. His eyes appeared haunted and shadowy. Gwenevere scanned the corridor before entering.
Severus had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing a dark green dressing gown.

“Gwenevere, come in.” He said, as he took the tray from her and set it on the Chippendale desk by the door.

“Are you in a hurry this morning? If so, I won’t stay long.” She said, watching him as he closed the door.

“No, I have some time.” He said, kissing her hello. Gwenevere ran her fingers through his wet hair and breathed in the scent of Vinolia soap as he pulled the zipper down a bit on her jacket and slid his hands inside and around her trim waist.

“Come back to the bedroom, I need to dress.” He said as he turned and started to walk. Gwenevere stopped and turned toward the cupboard where there was also a basin and water goblets.

“I will join you in a moment, I would like to get some water if it’s all right.” She said.

“Of course, help yourself.” He said and continued to his room.

Gwenevere chose a goblet and filled it with water before walking back towards the bedroom. As she passed through the corridor, the mares in the painting all came trotting over to the foreground of the canvas to greet her. Their forever summer coats glistened in the bright sunshine. They lined up at the fence and pricked their ears with interest until the lead mare had had enough of a look and pinned her ears causing the rest of the line to break away like dominos. The youngest mare, a gorgeous blood bay with a star, strip and snip and a long black mane barely escaped a nip from a pair of barred teeth as her powerful haunches thrust her just out of range, kicking up muddy divots and pelting the ill tempered dapple-gray aggressor.
Gwenevere smiled and realized how much she missed being around horses. She made a mental note to visit Hagrid more often and offer to assist him with his magical hoofed animals.

She carried her water into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand. Severus had tucked his white shirt in and was fastening his trousers. His hair was dry now and he was about to put his shoes on over black socks.
Boots jumped up on his neatly made bed and was thinking seriously of kneading a place to rest upon Severus’s black coat until a stern look caused him to reconsider. He flopped down at the foot, beside the coat instead. Gwenevere sipped water as she watched Severus began putting on shoes.

“Was Gryffindor still at practice when you left the track?” He asked nonchalantly, glancing quickly toward Gwenevere.

“Yes, if you would call it that.” She said as she gave him a cynical look. “I really must attend a real game and try and understand what they are on about.” She sipped at the water.

“And just who are they?” He said, reaching for the other shoe.

“Dobby and Professor Parker. They are under the impression that Gryffindor is the fastest, most highly skilled team. Why are they not flying around the pitch during practices then?”

“Umm, well…they are probably there… discussing strategy, yes that’s right. Strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“Yes, Strategy. All good teams need a well thought out game plan.” He straightened up and picked his cufflinks out of the silver tray.

Gwenevere set the goblet down and stood directly in front of him, taking his right wrist gently into her hands to help him with the task. Snape was silent and calm as she aligned the French cuff and positioned the link, piercing it through the crisply starched slits in one smooth motion and locking it closed. His heartbeat pounded painfully in his chest, he was certain she could hear it, feel it, and see it as she took his left arm and turned it over. He watched her face intently and held his breath, hoping that the loose cuff would not expose any part of the dark mark as she aligned the cuff.
She was quite deft and aligned the slits gracefully. The link was inserted smoothly with her steady hand and locked closed. Snape swallowed hard. She could stir his emotions to a pressured heat with the simplest of gestures, even without the drama.

“You have done this before.” He said, as she gazed up at him and they locked eyes.

“Yes, I have fastened many cufflinks for the special men in my life.” She said. Her voice was incredibly sexy. Her eyes were deeply vivid blue.

“Special men in your life?” He asked, raising a brow and tilting his head to the right slightly.

“Yes, I used to ask my father and later my grandfather every morning when I was a girl. She said. She tilted her head and their lips met. An intimate communication slowly ensued, lasting several incredibly long and glorious minutes. His heart pounded yet again.

“Gwenevere, I cannot spend another night without you.” He said, looking into her eyes once more. She nodded her head and smiled slightly as she reached for his coat.

“I know.” She whispered. He put the coat on and collected his pocket watch and gold knife.

“Let’s have tea.” He said.

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Thursday

His hand released her thick twist of brunette hair, letting it assail his senses with its intoxicating scent and silky softness as it bounced over his hand and around her shoulders and down her back. She closed her eyes and embraced him tightly, sliding her hands over his starched white shirt.

“I missed you last night.” She said in hushed tones. Severus closed his eyes and cursed the reason why he had no answer for her now. His silence was deafening. She pulled back and looked into his eyes once again trying to discern the meaning of it. He was obviously still tormented and, for reasons known only to him, was shutting her out.

“Gwenevere, we will talk soon.” He said somberly, gently calming errant strands of her hair. Gwenevere nodded understandingly and placed her hand on his, turning her head slightly to kiss his palm. She poured out tea for them and changed the subject.

“I now know rule one Severus, I learned it this morning.” She said to him, sipping her tea. Severus appeared interested and then abruptly disgusted.

“I take it nearly headless Nick wasted no time in invading your privacy. He said, narrowing his eyes with the look of distrust aimed at Sir Nicholas.

“He was very cross this morning, apparently he was sealed out yesterday.” She said, raising her brows while peering over her teacup and smiling slightly. Gwenevere noticed the guilty expression flicker across his face, much like Sir Nicholas this morning.

“So, let's hear rule one then.” He said, cupping the hot Hogwarts mug in his hands. ‘He’s lucky I didn’t seal him out of the entire castle’ he thought.

“True Love’s first kiss must take place before noon.” She said. Severus’s eyes conveyed acceptance, though they both knew they were far from safe at this point. At least they could mark one more rule off the deadly list, a cause for celebration.

“Excellent.” He said, as he gazed at her, silently remembering the first time the thought of kissing her had seriously crossed his mind. He distinctly remembered looking into her eyes and feeling the pull. It was the night Peeves wrecked her quarters and so, ironically, it would have been his kiss of death in a manner of speaking. Although, he doubted whether she would have actually let him kiss her that night.
Severus recalled their actual first kiss; the tension between them had grown to enormous proportions preceding it. She was driving him mad night and day. He had not planned it at all, but when she stood close to him in the corridor the morning after she so boldly met his challenge in class and won, he knew he had to have her. He was on fire for her and had to find out if the feeling was mutually passionate. The intense mental connection they had established during inventory three days later had a profound effect on him. Their minds had made love all morning and so the kiss was inevitable. When his lips touched hers, the emotional release was indescribable and he knew instantly he could never live contented without her.

The thought of never again kissing that mouth wretched through his gut like a cold steel blade, causing him to imagine the dark mark was burning into his forearm. It was actually the hot teacup. An icy shiver traveled noticeably up the length his spine.

“Are you alright Severus? Someone’s just tread on your gr…” The realization hit her hard. “I apologize. That was insensitive of me. Please forgive me.” His haunted expression fixed upon her. She was horrified that the offhanded saying was painfully real for them. Her lip trembled as she held back tears and looked away. He pulled her close to him.

“It’s all right Gwenevere; it had nothing to do with the curse. I swear it. We will not let the curse rule our lives, it will not affect everything we say and do. We cannot let it gain that kind of power over us or it will feed on it and become stronger. The stronger we are, the weaker it is. Do you understand?” His words were passionate and at the same time gentle towards her.

“Yes, I understand.” She said, composing herself. He was right; they could not let it gain control of their every word and thought, allowing it to become an obsession to personal destruction.
“Thank you Severus, of course you are right. I didn’t mean to…” She said, searching his eyes.

“Enough. It’s unimportant.” He said softly, negating the need for her to apologize further. He held her gaze and initiated his skill: feelings not memories were where his interests lay. He needed to know the answers yet silently questioned his ability to truly hide anything from her if she sought him out, knowing she chose to hide nothing from him.

She reached for his hands and held them in hers, locking her eyes upon his. The sparks were becoming more potent by the hour but they ignored them. Her sensitive fingers slid over his wrist and rested on his pulse, which was steady and strong, but not rapid. She suspected that he was controlling it, and pressed on in her endeavor. She met his lead and released her magic in full.

Suddenly her eye color turned almost black. He was taken aback, although strongly compelled to hold the contact, desperately so in fact. He felt the trance-like desire to let the walls down, to let go and let her in, and to open his mind to her now. She was incredibly accomplished and powerful, and eased in comfortably slow. It felt good. He could not deny her; he welcomed her there and wanted more.
She sensed the subtle shift that she had been anticipating and narrowed her focus on him considerably.

“I love you Severus, and nothing can ever change that. Nothing. We will never part, lest it be your choice. Do you understand?” She said quietly.

The words were superfluous, her exact meaning communicated and received otherwise. Her penetrating stare deepened and he felt her begin to advance further. He had not spent a significant amount of time considering of the use of legilimency between lovers. Legilimency was normally thought of as intrusive and unwanted if not hostile or dangerous. And of course, the element of surprise is part of what made love so exciting.

He interpreted her detailed communications to him and committed them to memory. Her love for him was infinite and strong, and was not based on a false impression of him: even in retrospect, the intensity surprised him. It would be so easy to let her in completely, to let her understand. ‘No. I can’t, what if she...’

He looked away for a split second, breaking the eye contact, slamming his doors and barring them with occlumency. Then kissed her hard on the mouth. She reciprocated.

TRUE LOVE'S CURSE: Wednesday

Snape entered the library and was placing several books on the counter for Madam Pince when he saw Professor Parker exiting the restricted section on his way to the corridor. Snape abruptly left Madam Pince, who was holding a quill in mid air, ready for him to sign the ledger. A large blot of black ink dripped half way onto the desktop and half way on the edge of ledger pages to her utter dismay.

He entered the restricted section to find Gwenevere at the back, in the law section room taking notes from a thick book. He quietly advanced and stood beside her. She looked up at him and smiled. He gently took the quill from her hand and leant downward to kiss her hello. She sifted her fingers through his hair and held the kiss for several moments longer than he’d intended, causing a mushroom cloud of red sparks to crackle softly above them.

“You’re going to get us thrown out of here Gwenevere.” He cautioned in silky base tones, scanning to make sure the sparks had all cleared sufficiently.

“Don’t worry, Madam Pince has not been anywhere near this room all day.” She assured him.

“That may be true, but the fact that you are no longer alone will be an irresistible magnet for her. Did I see Parker leaving just now?” he asked quietly. He began to reach toward her hair to release it from its twist.

“Yes, he paid an innocuous visit a minute ago. Now…where were we?” she purred.

“Ahem. May I help you find what you are looking for Professor Snape?” Madam Pince said, peering over her glasses and tapping her fingers over her crossed arms appearing quite annoyed. Snape quickly withdrew his hand and coughed as he slowly straightened his six foot one inch frame to full height.

“Uh,No, I don’t think so Madam Pince, we were just leaving.” He said.

“Thank you Madam Pince.” Gwenevere said softly with a smile.

The librarian crisply turned on her heels and exited the restricted section in a huff. Gwenevere collected her notes whilst Snape, with a wave of his wand and a short incantation, shelved the books neatly from whence they came. Bookmarks fluttered downward upon the table like confetti. Snape helped Gwenevere on with her robes before leaving the law section.

A sharp look from Madam Pince reminded Professor Snape to stop and sign the ledger as they moved toward the door leading out into the corridor. Snape belligerently scrawled his snake-like esses on the parchment.
Madam Pince noticed the unmistakable glow of a woman in love as she glanced at Gwenevere, who was gazing at Snape for some strange reason. She wondered who the lucky wizard could be, thinking maybe it could be that nice, good-looking Professor Parker who was here a short while ago, before Professor Snape arrived. She considered Professor Parker for a moment; he spent quite a bit of time in the library and never checked out any Arithmancy books. Very odd she thought.

They walked down to the second floor and entered Gwenevere’s quarters in time for tea. Snape removed his coat and robes and hung them up next to Gwenevere’s robes. Dobby came to the door and whilst Gwenevere took the tray and chatted a bit, Snape settled in the living room. She joined him moments later and set the tray down on the table. They made intense eye contact and held it as Severus slowly leant towards her and kissed her properly.

Also, Ann W, I am not a British subject, but the "ou" spellings crept in after I'd been around several websites in which a lot of the posters were Brits, and so I've just kept it for consistency.

Claudia and Ed

“What is that?” asked Claudia. The picture showed a thermal image, no detail. There appeared to be many arms and legs, a clump. It appeared to slowly be growing. “And that!”

Anton’s finger traced over to another thermal spot on the corridor. The image turned slightly to concentrate on the new hot spot.

It had seemed frightfully convenient that a map had appeared just as they’d needed one. Though this place was set up to provide for your every need. Perhaps they’d anticipated this particular need as well. Thoughtful, kind, caring. Nothing is too much trouble. But its not really like that, there is something else going on. So had the Overseer and her guards sent some beast after them, to hunt them down? Were there real, non-humanoid aliens on board?! She shuddered at the thought, and suddenly the idea of a crowded courtroom in the Empress’ palace didn’t seem half so bad. Even with the Interrogator there.

“This one,” said Anton, his finger still on the current red blob. “It is us!”

“That means…” said Spike, shivering, “that that thing is right about…” he turned his head, hardly daring to look, and raised his arm slowly. “There!”

A panel in the floor was moving. Slowly lifting, and shifting aside. A dark tendril appeared, feeling around, trying to get a hold.

Spike shrieked and grabbed hold of Claudia. She was stuck to the spot mesmerised by the scene unfolding in front of her. Quite thankful to have someone between her and whatever was emerging from the floor.

The metal panel slide away, and something started to climb out. Something was stuck, and many arms appeared around the edge, grasping, pulling. Then they disappeared inside, and there was a thump and a squeal.

“Oh… my… god…” Claudia dug her nails into Spike’s bare arms.

Then two arms appeared again, and a rather smaller than anticipated figure emerged. “Ah, a welcoming committee! How nice.”