#and the man who found you whose cabin you’re currently in seems nice enough

[saintshigaraki]

crazy that yan werewolf toji is still on the mind

[carewyncromwell]

At last, my friends, we’ve come to the end! This is the final part of my POTC AU. *cue the confetti and noisemakers*

I’ll be creating a masterpost for this AU in the next few days, so that it’s easier to start at the beginning, but before we jump right in, I want to thank those people who contributed to the POTC AU during its development by creating content for their own characters -- @hphm-brooke, @danceworshipper, @rosievixen, @smarti-at-smogwarts, @theguythatdraws, @dat-silvers-girl, @that-ravenpuff-witch, @hogwarts9, @drinkyoursoupbitch and @samshogwarts -- as well as my dear friend @cursebreakerfarrier, whose character Jules I roped into this thing at the very start before having any concept of how big this thing could get and I feel so blessed to have been able to write for. I also just want to thank you all for the overwhelming flood of support you guys have sent my way for this project -- I truly have loved every minute of it, and I hope to finish some of my other unfinished projects as well as create other fresh new material for you guys in the near future! I love you all! xoxo

One last time -- previous part is here, and full tag is here!

x~x~x~x

Even with McNully’s brilliant ploy giving her an extra smattering of glory to cement her position, Carewyn had still initially feared the crew who had been on the HMS Lion would take her to task for her insubordination of Cutler Beckett. It turned out she really needn’t have worried.

“Lord Beckett may have been chosen by the King to take charge of the Empire’s anti-piracy campaign,” said Carewyn’s old lieutenant when she questioned him about it, “but he selected you as the Admiral of the fleet. Therefore it’s only right that we, as your subordinates, follow your orders -- whether they contradict Lord Beckett’s or not.”

“Even though I’m the sort of person to threaten the King’s chosen representative with my pistol?” asked Carewyn, her eyebrows raised.

“Even if you did far worse than that,” said the lieutenant, his eyes blazing with resolve. “Your orders saved a lot of our men’s lives out there, when Beckett’s no doubt would’ve led to their deaths. It’s only right that we protect you -- that the Navy protects you -- just like you protected us.”

His boyish face broke out into a broad smile. “We won’t betray you, Admiral. None of us will.”

With the Navy’s defeat at the hands of the Pirate Lords, Carewyn charted a course straight for London. The fleet had just started the month-long journey when about three days in, the Flying Dutchman emerged out of a gigantic wave and pulled up right alongside the HMS Royal. The Navy’s sailors immediately prepared for a fight, as they knew that the Dutchman was no longer under their control, but Carewyn held the order to attack, instead allowing the ship to approach.

The sailors on board the Dutchman were unrecognizable to Carewyn’s eyes -- gone were the barnacle-encrusted, shark-or-fish-headed crew members she’d seen before: all she saw were a band of very human, though admittedly very dirty and ragged-looking pirates. Sticking out amongst them was a handsome, clean-shaved man with a stylishly-embroidered coat, a brown ponytail, and discerning brown eyes, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a shorter, stockier man with very long curly dark hair tied back in a ponytail that swished around behind him like an oddly sentient tail. It was these two men that came aboard, when Carewyn invoked the right to parley with the Dutchman’s Captain in her office.

Percy shut the door to Carewyn’s cabin’s door behind the two men, taking off his tricorn hat just as the pirates, Ben, and Carewyn already had now that he was indoors. It was only once Carewyn, Percy, Ben, Jacob, and Ashe were alone that the two Navy officers and ex-Navy veteran dropped their professional masks and the two pirates dropped their intimidating glares, and Jacob and Carewyn ran forward, throwing their arms around each other and squeezing tight.

“Jacob!” Carewyn breathed against his shoulder as she clung to her brother.

Jacob cradled his younger sister close, absently trailing his hand through her hair in repetitive strokes. “Oh Wyn -- my brave Wyn...”

Carewyn pulled away just enough to look at Jacob. Her eyes trailed over his face, down to the long scar on his chest exposed by his slightly open shirt, and over his curly ponytail, which was currently squiggling like a ribbon in mid-air behind him.

Jacob smiled a bit sheepishly.

“Seems all sailors on the Flying Dutchman become a bit more ‘sea-like’ upon tying themselves to the ship. Rakepick’s hair kind of went all ‘jellyfish’ when she was captain -- probably because of her talent for shocking betrayals,” he added with a rather nasty smile. “Ashe thinks that my hair’s been evoking an eel. Fortunately I reckon I won’t start sprouting gills or turning green unless I actively shed my humanity and ignore my role as ferryman like Jones did...”

The severe look on Carewyn’s face made the smile slowly slide off of Jacob’s face.

“Jacob...when Jones was captain of the Dutchman, he wasn’t allowed to visit dry land but once every ten years,” said Carewyn, her voice betraying the anxiety she felt despite her best effort.

Jacob’s eyes grew a little more solemn. “...I know.”

Seeing the pain in his sister’s eyes, he immediately swooped in and trailed a hand through the hair near the front of her face.

“Wyn, I already planned for this. The whole reason I left you on Isle de Muerta is that I wanted to get Jones’s heart and force him, any way I had to, to release you from the contract.” He swallowed. “...I knew I’d have to be prepared to follow through, if I was going to threaten Jones’s life -- that I’d have to be prepared to become captain of the Dutchman myself, if it came to it.”

Carewyn looked if possible even more upset. “...You mean you planned this? You were really going to kill Jones, to stop him from impressing me into service?”

“I was not going to condemn you, Wyn,” Jacob said in a very forceful, pained voice. “I couldn’t let you suffer because of my mistake -- ”

“Two wrongs do not make a right, Jacob,” Carewyn shot back very harshly. “Jones may have been heartless, but he was still a person!”

“If you disregard the tentacles and claw, anyway,” Ashe said rather coolly. When Carewyn whirled on him with a very reproachful look, he spoke again before she did, “Carewyn, your brother had his fair share of conflict about the whole thing. He hated the thought of killing Jones and joining the crew of the Dutchman. He hated the thought of not being free to go where he wanted, to lose so much time with you...with me.”

Ashe’s eyes were very stony, but they still flickered over to Jacob, narrowing slightly with something oddly resigned. Carewyn’s gaze softened significantly.

“...I hated it for him too,” the merman said lowly. “I still do. But I hate the thought of Jack having died there on that deck more. I hate the thought that Rakepick would’ve actually managed to kill him this time, and there would’ve been nothing I could’ve done to stop it. Your friend the Pirate King couldn’t save your brother’s life, but she did prevent him from dying...all because she, like me, couldn’t bear the thought of you two never seeing each other again.”

His lips actually turned up in something of a weak, wry smile upon Carewyn.

“I understand your frustration -- your brother can be amazingly thick -- ”

“Oi!” said Jacob, a bit offended, but Ashe ignored him.

“ -- but I’ve been very fortunate to know the same intense, selfless love from Jack that he feels for you. I’m not going to act like it’ll be easy -- I mean, even if I’d be able to stay on-board on the Dutchman with Jack while he’s here in the land of the living...whenever he goes to the next world as ferryman, I won’t be able to follow. But I can always meet up with him at sea, in my regular form -- I can always catch up, given the proper time...just like I did while Jack was serving under Howell Davis. Until then, I’ll just find someplace to wait.”

Carewyn considered Ashe for a long moment, her blue eyes rippling with a rather indiscernible expression. Then, looking a bit more determined, she strode right up to Ashe and took hold of his shoulders.

“You won’t have to find a place,” she said. “You’ll have one with me.”

Both Jacob and Ashe looked taken aback.

“You’re family, Duncan,” said Carewyn with a smile. “And everything I’ve ever done -- everything I’m doing now -- is for my family...my blood one and my found one.”

She glanced at Percy, who beamed, before turning her gaze back to Ashe.

“You’ll always have a home with me, when you don’t have one with my brother,” she said very firmly. “Always.”

Ashe looked faintly stunned. His eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, analyzing every inch as if he’d never seen anyone quite like her. His gaze flitted back over to Jacob, whose face had broken into a very warm, tear-choked smile.

Seeing the intense emotion in his partner’s face, Ashe couldn’t help but bow his head and clear his throat as he struggled to keep his composure.

“Ahem...well...that’s...nice.”

He glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye almost hesitantly. The Admiral’s smile softened that bit more, becoming more sympathetic, and finally Ashe’s face slowly broke out into a very small, soft smile too. He brought up a hand and rested it on the crown of her head, lightly messing up her bangs.

“Guess I’ll just stick with you in the interim, then,” he said airily, “considering the Brethren Court’s instructions.”

Percy blinked in surprise. “The Brethren Court?”

Jacob nodded. “We took a vote and our Pirate King decided that a ‘representative’ should deliver the Court’s demands to the Admiral and the British Crown. Originally the plan was to have Ashe and me rendez-vous with you, and for Ashe to stay with you until ‘the terms were met.’”

“Jack would’ve done it himself if he could, but of course, he sort of needs to stick to the sea, unless he wants to waste his ‘one day every ten years,’” added Ashe.

“What terms did the Court decide on?” asked Ben, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “I assume they want pardons for themselves and their crews...but just pardoning a mob of pirates isn’t going to fix things on its own.”

Jacob nodded. “Aye. The Court requested a ‘path toward reintegration’ -- one that includes pardons, as well as a job that suits our sailing and, er... ‘financially-inclined’ talents and can be used to build a future for ourselves and any families we may want to support. Amari’s First Mate said there would only be a 58% chance that the King would accept those terms, but he hoped that you ‘being put under duress’ by a pirate while submitting those terms in writing might improve the odds slightly -- ”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Carewyn very primly.

This startled both Jacob and Ashe. Carewyn exchanged a wry smile with Ben.

“We’re already heading to London right now,” said Ben, his smirk noticeably broader than Carewyn’s. “The Admiral plans on requesting an audience with the King himself.”

“With Beckett gone, I’m in the best position I’ll ever be in, to make my move,” Carewyn said, her blue eyes flashing with determined fire. “I’m done with staying silent -- I intend to convince the King to give every pirate the chance to start their lives over.”

And so Carewyn sailed for London with Ashe, Ben, and Percy as her entourage. Meeting King George I would be a formidable proposition for anyone, but Carewyn fortunately was able to prepare a little ahead of time. The Weasley family had grown up near London, so Percy was able to give Carewyn some advice of how to approach the King --

“His Majesty was born and raised in the Holy Roman Empire, so English is not his first language. There are some rumors that he really doesn’t even speak English at all, but I think that’s highly exaggerated -- anti-German sentiment more than anything, you know. One thing that’s for sure, though, is that what he says goes. He’s even ostracized his own son and heir, so I’ve heard, since he was more popular with the British people. But he also can’t stand the Tories -- they never quite accepted his claim to the throne, over the Stuarts...honestly, there are a lot of people who’ve never really warmed up to the man...”

“And financially?” asked Carewyn.

Percy considered this. “...Well, the King’s very wealthy, certainly -- everyone knows that. But I suppose profit would always be advantageous, for the sake of the Empire...”

Carewyn smiled wryly and shook her head. “The Navy has been commanded by the East India Trading Company more than the King himself, as of late. Beckett once equated money with power, and I think there was a reason. If the King’s been leaning so heavily on the Company, that tells me that it had financial resources the Crown is in desperate need of, so the Crown’s own coffers currently depend on the Company’s success.”

Ben got an delighted, devious glint in his eye.

“Bet he’ll be absolutely thrilled to hear what happened to his fleet, then,” he said sarcastically.

Ashe and Carewyn exchanged a smirk too.

“I reckon you could play to that desperation,” said Ashe dryly. “A lack of or loss of wealth is a very common fear among men, I’ve found.”

Carewyn nodded in agreement. 

Within twenty days, the HMS Royal docked in London, a few days ahead of schedule thanks to the almost miraculously clear weather and friendly winds. Carewyn then traveled with Percy, Ashe, and Ben to Kensington Palace. It was only one of many castles owned by the King, but according to Percy, it was the one King George I had renovated the most, so Carewyn sussed out that it was likely his favorite of his residences and so, in her opinion, the best place to seek him out first. Her intuition turned out to be spot-on -- as it turned out, both King George I and his son the Prince were there, and although the King was occupied with his Ministers and couldn’t meet with them until that evening, Prince George Augustus was eager to meet the famous Admiral Weasley and requested an audience in one of the royal drawing rooms.

The Crown Prince of England was an amiable and warm, but not a very clever or intellectual man of about forty years. He expressed a lot of interest in Carewyn’s experience as a Navy hero, sounding rather like a child as he questioned her about facing off against the likes of Orion Amari and the crew of the dreaded ship Revenge. Carewyn did have to tailor her stories somewhat, but after a while, she was able to get Prince George comfortable enough that they ended up talking casually over a game of Cribbage, where Carewyn gleaned a few other helpful insights. For one, Carewyn learned that both the King and Prince knew several languages, the first being French, which was the preferred language at court as well as among royals abroad. She also found out that the royal family had never visited the colonies themselves, and that King George I’s leading advisor on matters of business -- the First Lord of the Treasury, Sir Robert Walpole -- had been personally putting more stock in the East India Trading Company than on investing any additional money into the colonies. From the sound of things, he believed as Cutler Beckett did in the power of money over noble ancestry, and yet the Prince conceded that his wife and father both thought well of him and that he was relatively amiable.

When Carewyn finally got her audience with King George I, she sure enough encountered Sir Robert Walpole. He was a broad middle-aged man with a powdered white wig curled into ringlets who stood beside the gray-wigged, tiny-eyed elderly King -- and the news of Cutler Beckett’s fate and the outcome of the confrontation at Shipwreck Cove visibly troubled him. As Carewyn had thought, the Crown had been counting on the East India Trading Company’s profits to flow back toward England to offset the national debt brought on by the War of Spanish Succession and Britain’s other conflicts...and so, when she made her proposal to the King, she felt rather confident.

“Votre Majesté...the scourge of piracy is indeed a threat, not just to the lives of our citizens, but to the Empire’s prosperity. But the East India Trading Company is a business -- they’re not trained in military matters, nor do they know how best to use the resources of the British Crown to combat this problem. They’re not equipped to deal with sensitive matters of state, which truthfully, I believe this to be. We don’t need to get England tied up in another military conflict...particularly when there’s a much more cost-effective alternative.”

King George I raised his graying eyebrows with some interest, but did not speak.

“And what alternative would you suggest, Admiral?” asked Walpole, looking rather curious himself.

“Investing in the colonies,” said Carewyn very firmly. “There’s still a lot of undeveloped land out there -- a lot of trading potential in beaver skins, lumber, and tobacco -- the possibility of wealth that’s been left untapped by the East India Trading Company, with their intense focus on Asia. These men who have become pirates, many of them, were privateers under us during our War against the Spanish. They know shipping and are in need of honest work. They’ve asked for it explicitly. I say that we offer pardons to those pirates who would be willing to work for a new trading company in New England -- one that can be for the colonies what the Company in India already is.”

Walpole frowned deeply in thought, considering the proposal. King George straightened up slightly in his throne so he could peer down at Carewyn with a beady eye.

“You believe, truly, that these criminals would want honest employment?” the old man asked.

His voice was very quiet and laced with a husky German accent. Apparently Percy was right to think the rumors that he couldn’t speak English weren’t true, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable with the language, all the same.

Carewyn smiled at the King. “Oui, mon roi. Beasts can survive on human flesh alone, but humans need a home and money in order to live well. Et les pirates...pardon, I hope that word is correct...sont juste les humains.”

King George’s tiny eyes softened noticeably.

“Your French is very poor, Admiral,” he said in rather smug amusement, “but your word choice is correct.”

He looked at Walpole. “What say you, Earl?”

Walpole considered his answer. “...It could be an interesting proposition -- were we able to locate someone who’d be willing to put his name, reputation, and estate on the line, to fund such a company...”

“I volunteer.”

Ben took a step forward and gave a low, but clipped bow to the King.

“Lord Earl, Your Majesty, this is Captain Gordon Cooper, of the HMS Royal,” Carewyn introduced him. “He was instrumental in helping me lead our men during the battle at Shipwreck Cove.”

“I already have a small sum of money saved up, your Majesty -- enough to purchase one or two ships of my own, to start with,” said Ben. “I truly believe that the profits I could make with those two ships just from offering safe passage to the colonies would be enough to fund the purchase of another. All I’d need would be some collateral to pay a crew for each ship in advance.”

"A standard ship would only need about ten well-bodied men to sail it and transport its cargo efficiently,” Carewyn said quickly, seeing the slight hesitation in the King’s expression. "I’m no expert in finance -- ” she inclined her head respectfully in Walpole’s direction, “ -- but in order to settle more land in the colonies, trees would have to be cut down...which means more lumber to transport back to England. If the people Captain Cooper’s ships are transporting are settlers who are incentivized to build homes there -- possibly with the promise of land ownership -- then their arrival alone would spark a boom of lumber sales. That could then pay back the investment several times over.”

Walpole’s lips spread into a smile, one wryer than the King’s. He was clearly a much more discerning man than either of the two Georges, but he seemed pleased by the proposition, nonetheless.

“...Indeed it could,” he granted. He glanced at the King. “I daresay old Townsend would be pleased to have some financial leverage for his talks with the Spanish and French...”

“Mm...”

King George I gave a short, pompous nod before turning back to face Carewyn and the others.

“Very well. I grant my favor.”

Walpole inclined his head to Ben. “Captain Cooper, the Crown grants you and your Company permission to sail. We shall provide you a loan of 10,000 pounds sterling for your first twenty sailors and any necessary ship repairs, to be paid back with interest within a year. If your sailors complete a successful -- namely, profitable -- round-trip expedition to London on board those ships, then they will receive a full pardon from the British Crown for their past crimes and be permitted to continue working as part of your Company.”

Carewyn’s companions’ eyes all lit up.

“Understood,” said Ben, his face consumed by a huge grin.

“Admiral Weasley will deliver the terms to the pirates -- quietly,” said the King with a stern eye. “I expect written reports and good results.”

Carewyn’s face burst into a brilliant smile too, which she tried to obscure when she brought an arm up to her chest and gave a low bow.

“Mais oui. Merci, votre Grace -- we’ll work hard pour England, et pour vous aussi.”

The King’s eyes sparkled with the trace of a wry smile. “Vous etes un garçon très divertissant, Amiral. J'espère que votre français se sera amélioré lors de notre prochaine rencontre.”

With the King’s blessing, Ben purchased the ships needed in London and, with Percy’s help, prepared them for their first expedition. Carewyn returned to the HMS Lion with Ashe, taking it out to sea just far enough that the Flying Dutchman could emerge from the water and pull up alongside the Navy ship. Carewyn relayed King George I’s decision to Jacob in her cabin, and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was so overwhelmed with pride that he threw his arms around his little sister and squeezed her with all of his strength. Carewyn, however, found herself unable to celebrate.

“What’s wrong, Wyn?” said Jacob. He tilted his head to look at her, his eel-like ponytail twitching almost curiously behind him. “You did it -- you convinced the King. The Lords at Shipwreck Cove, all the people who live there, will be able to live normal lives again, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“I know,” said Carewyn lowly.

Despite herself, she just couldn’t meet her brother’s gaze. Her eyes lingered on his shoulder.

“...I just wish I could’ve given you that kind of normal life too,” she admitted.

Jacob’s blue eyes darkened. Bringing up both of his arms, he encircled Carewyn and held her tightly against his chest as he rested his head on top of hers. Carewyn bit her lip, trying to hold in her emotions as best she could.

“I wanted to bring you home,” she murmured. “The whole reason I wanted to fight for a world where pirates could be forgiven was because I wanted you to be able to come home...you and Bill and Charlie and Jules and Orion...”

Jacob squeezed Carewyn that bit tighter. Both Cromwells were crying now, even though they both stubbornly fought to keep themselves from breaking down into full sobs.

Ashe shared a grim look  with Jacob over Carewyn’s head. Then he came up beside both of them, resting a hand on the crown of Carewyn’s head and leaning his forehead against his lover’s, and hummed something low under his breath. The resonant bass tone seemed to slowly calm Carewyn’s heart and breathing and help the tears ebb.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked up at Ashe with muted gratitude, before she turned back to her brother.

“...Now that I’ve done my duty and made sure the Crown’s terms were delivered, I intend to send in my resignation to the Navy. I can’t support Ben’s new Company while I’m still Admiral without worrying about a conflict of interest, after all.”

She offered a weak wry smile, which then slowly morphed into a much more gentle one.

“Besides...I think I’m ready to finally stop fighting.”

Jacob’s teary eyes softened fondly. “Then live, my sweet Wyn. Live in peace and happiness...”

With a heavy breath, he picked up the Dead Man’s Chest he’d brought with him back off Carewyn’s desk and faced Ashe.

“I’ll need to head to the next world soon,” said Jacob. “Would you...?”

Ashe inclined his head in a solemn nod. “Give it to me, Jack.”

Very carefully, Jacob placed the Chest into Ashe’s open hands, trailing his own much dirtier, faintly trembling hands over his lover’s once he’d taken it. His eyes darted from Ashe to Carewyn, looking heartbroken and almost starved -- like he longed so much to never look away from them again.

“Be safe,” Jacob mumbled, “and...please, keep a weather eye on the horizon for me?”

“How dare you ask me that.”

Ashe trailed his lips along the side of Jacob’s face in lingering, messy kisses, only pausing briefly to look him in the eye, blazing brown on blue.

“I will always wait, Jack. I will always find you again.”

Carewyn’s eyes were just as soft as she reached up into the inside pocket of her jacket and slowly withdrew a familiar star-like, sapphire-and-diamond pendant for Jacob to see.

It was the one he himself had given her on Isle de Muerta.

Jacob’s eyes flooded with more tears as Carewyn wrapped both of her arms around her brother’s neck, hugging him tightly just as she had then.

“We’ll be there, Jacob,” she murmured. Two streaks of tears slid from her closed eyes. “I promise.”

Jacob delivered the British Crown’s terms to the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove within two days, after he’d returned from ferrying the proper souls to the next life. Within a month, a ship full of twenty sailors had arrived in London, ready to man the red-and-blue-painted ships Ben Copper had purchased. The two ships set sail for the colonies, the first up to New England and the second down to the Caribbean, which allowed Percy to return home to Port Royal and go about his duties as Commodore and Ben to finally be reunited with his love Wendy Gordon and propose marriage as a free and prosperous man.

Once the two ships returned to London another month later, the first wave of pardons was signed. From there, Ben’s enterprise -- the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company -- grew, taking on more ships that then proceeded to employ the once-most-wanted criminals in the world and give them a chance at a new life. And Carewyn -- retiring with full honors from the Navy and settling in New York City with Ashe under her real name for the first time since she was a child -- visited the dock every morning to see every ship that came in.

The first ship to New York brought Ellie Hopper. The once-Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea ended up colliding with the soft-spoken third son of the well-respected horse breeder Johan Schaefer in upstate New York, and the two were married within a few years.

The second ship brought Merula Snyde and the stylish Frenchman Andre Egwu. The captain of the so-called “most powerful ship on the seven seas” continued as a merchant, breaking off from the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company to buy her own ship and engage in the tobacco and sugar trade between New England and the southern colonies. Andre opened up his own clothing shop in Philadelphia and soon became one of the most sought-after tailors in Pennsylvania.

The third ship brought Bill and Jules.

When Bill caught sight of Carewyn at the dock, he practically barreled his way down the ship’s gangplank and shoved a good ten people aside to reach his best friend. The two gingers and Jules then clung to each other for what felt like hours, tears of joy streaming down their faces as Bill trailed a hand through Carewyn’s now-loose-flowing hair and Jules fawned over Carewyn’s pretty new dress.

Bill and Jules also brought a letter from Charlie with them --

My twin, Carey,

I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you this news in person -- but I won’t be accepting my pardon for a while yet.

At Shipwreck Cove, I met a woman named Sarahi (I don’t believe you know her, but she knows you, and Orion spoke very well of her), who grew up in the area of the Pacific Ocean. According to what she’s said, it’s been left largely in chaos since the death of Bartholomew Sharp -- sea serpents, carnivorous sirens, giant squids, the whole lot...and as Pirate Lord of the Pacific, it’s my responsibility to manage things there. But hey, you know I’ve never been afraid of a little adventure! Particularly when I’ve got a good crew on my side. My First Mate Barnaby’s injuries have completely healed, so we, Sarahi, and Samantha O’Connell will be heading out within the next three days on the new and improved Revolution. Sam and Sarahi helped me paint some red dragon wings on the sides, just as a flourish!

I miss you so much, and I miss Bill already, just writing this -- but I know that we won’t ever be truly apart, even when I can only see you in my mind’s eye. I know you’ll probably be worried about me, Carey, but please don’t be. I’d trust my crew with my life -- I already have, honestly, and they sure haven’t let me down yet! I can’t wait for you to meet them. I reckon you’d probably “mother” the hell out of Barnaby, and Sarahi was really happy when I told her how good of a singer you are, so she’s very excited about the prospect of singing with you. And Sam...I reckon you and she will get on famously.

Remember, Carey...we’re family, now and forever! You’ll be in my mind and heart always, until I sail up into New York Harbor and see you again! If Bill hasn’t given you the biggest hug ever for my sake, then give him a good kick to the shin and remind him. Take good care of him, Jules, and Percy for me. Love you so much.

Your brother,

Charlie

Bill and Jules Weasley ended up settling down and starting a family of their own in New York City, just twelve blocks away from where Carewyn and Ashe lived. It was not uncommon over the years for both Carewyn and Ashe to pick up babysitting duties, though Ashe most frequently would just use his particular talent for singing to put any fussy children right to sleep and then drop them off in either Carewyn’s or Jules’s lap.

Over the next six months, more and more red-and-blue ships passed through New York Harbor, dropping off more pardoned ex-pirates so they could start new lives in the colonies. Then one day, toward the end of spring, Carewyn left the brick house she shared with Ashe as if to head for the dock as usual, only to stop mid-step at the sound of someone shouting her name.

“Carewyn!”

She turned around, her ginger hair flourishing behind her as if in slow motion.

A man had just leapt off the back of a carriage he’d been hanging off of without the driver’s knowledge and was now running toward her. Carewyn squinted, taking in his unfamiliar dark ponytail and sailor’s clothes -- then, within seconds, she recognized the handsomely smiling, bearded face and his shining, galaxy-like eyes.

“Orion?” she breathed.

Her heart seemed to seize up, as if it were being squeezed in someone’s hand and yet being given wings at the exact same time. Then she threw herself into a run, and it slammed against her rib cage, as she ran to him, flat-out ignoring how her knees kept getting caught in her hoops and her heeled shoes pinched her feet.

“Orion -- ORION!”

She just about tripped into his arms. Orion caught her and swooped down on her, burying his face in her hair.

“Carewyn...” he murmured against her neck.

“Orion,” said Carewyn.

Her voice was strained with the effort of trying to contain her joy. It felt like she was being stretched at the seams and probably could’ve exploded from all the intense emotions beating at the edges of her heart. She secured her arms around his neck and clung to him -- she brought her lips up to the side of his temple and kissed it, resting her forehead against his briefly before finally pulling away enough to look him in the face.

Orion was beaming from ear to ear as he brought up a hand to trail his thumb gently along her cheek.

“...Carewyn Cromwell...I don’t think you’ve ever looked more fair.”

Carewyn smiled. “Does that mean you like my new look?”

“Yes,” said Orion, his eyes grazing her black-and-white-striped dress and the diamond-and-sapphire pendant tied with a black ribbon around her neck briefly, “but that’s not why you look so fair. You’ve been my moon goddess, previously...but now you are Libertas, personified.”

Carewyn laughed, her face contorted with confusion. “What?”

“Libertas, Carewyn,” repeated Orion, his huge smile never faltering. “The goddess of freedom! Freedom is the most beautiful thing, Carewyn. I’ve longed for it all my life, but never could truly have it, whether because I lacked the means of survival or because I was a pirate who could only live on the run. And when we first met again, on the Artemis...the thing that hurt me the most, seeing you again...was knowing that you were trapped by your position -- enslaved to the duty that made you hide who you were and march lock-step with the likes of Cutler Beckett. But now you...in this moment, here...you are free. It shines in your eyes, on your face -- it radiates off of you like a star, Carewyn. Better still -- because of you, I am free. For the first time in my life...I’m completely free to chase my heart’s desire...”

Orion’s smile seemed to shrink slightly, not out of lack of happiness but out of something almost like nerves, as he reached into his lone remaining belt and slipped out a familiar black-lidded compass.

"McNully, Skye and I have been offered salaried positions with the Gordon-Cooper Trading Company,” he said a bit more seriously, “so I may have to return to sea in the future, but...”

When he opened the compass, its scarlet arrow was pointed right at Carewyn.

“...My heart’s desire has not changed. I would always return, if you...”

He trailed off, his tone oddly shy for how calm his face appeared. The once-Admiral’s red-painted lips spread into a bigger, fuller smile too as she rested her hands on top of his.

“I wouldn’t have married you in the middle of a storm if I didn’t want to build a life with you, Orion Amari,” she said gently. “Or is it Cromwell now? We may want to make a decision about that...”

She smoothed some dark hair out of his eyes.

“I already told you that I want you to have a home. If you need to fly like a bird...then I’ll be your nest.”

Carewyn placed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. His black eyes softening, Orion brought up a hand to hold the back of her head, holding it in place. He kissed her chastely in return once, twice, and then deepened the kiss on the third go. After he released her, he lingered, his lips brushing up against hers as he smiled down at her.

“...My dear Bedlam maid...I will always follow your song home.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes sparkled affectionately. “Then I’ll never stop singing.”

“See that you don’t,” said Orion, his black eyes glittering with some wry amusement. “I do believe I said I’d envisioned a life for you where you married a man that you could sing for.”

Carewyn laughed quietly, but after a moment, she brought her forehead beside her husband’s, her arms secure around his neck as she held him close and sang for him.

“So now these two are married, and happy may they be, Like turtle doves together, in love and unity.

All pretty maids, with patience wait, that have got loves at sea – I love my love because I know...my love…loves…me.”

[v-thinks-on]

Generations - Part 8

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Kirk, Spock and Picard materialized in front of Starfleet Headquarters - looking largely as it had eighty years ago - surrounded by a swarm of reporters. Spock was in his Vulcan robes and Kirk and Picard wore the most formal dress uniforms.

Kirk barely had time to take in the scene before he was greeted by a humanoid of a species he didn’t recognize with an almost snoutlike face, whose head was covered by a close fitting scarf. He had been briefed well enough to recognize him as the current President of the United Federation of Planets. The president held out a gloved hand and Kirk took it with a wry smile - he knew this photograph was the real reason he was here.

“On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, welcome back, Captain Kirk,” the president said, without relinquishing his hand.

“It’s good to be back,” Kirk said, and he meant it - even just being back on Earth was better than the Nexus.

Finally, the president turned to Picard and shook his hand as well. “And on behalf of the Federation, thank you for returning Captain Kirk to us.”

Spock was content to go largely ignored.

When the official greetings were complete, the press surged forward to bombard them with questions. Kirk only caught a few of them out of the din: “How does it feel to be back?” “How did you do it?” “Who will command the new Enterprise?”

One reporter who had clearly done her research called out, “Did you use another Genesis device?” 

Finally, Kirk spoke up. “I wasn’t actually dead,” he explained. His amplified voice carried over the reporters, who almost immediately fell silent. “I was just in stasis.”

“Why did you stage your death?” a particularly outlandish reporter demanded.

Kirk frowned. “It wasn’t on purpose. As far as I can tell, when the Enterprise-B was damaged, I fell into a sort of temporal nexus, which kept me in stasis until Captain Picard found me.”

“How did you find him?” another reporter asked.

“It was largely an accident,” Picard said - they were starting to stray dangerously close to classified information about the Nexus.

“Captain Picard, you also found Captain Scott. It can’t be a coincidence,” a reporter insisted.

“What else could it be?” Picard retorted.

Before he could press further, another reporter spoke up, “Captain Kirk, what are your plans now that you’ve returned? Will you take over the command of the Enterprise-E?”

“No,” Kirk replied firmly, “I’m still retired.”

“What will you do then?” she insisted.

He could feel Spock’s eyes on him. “I haven’t decided yet,” Kirk answered at last.

�� Picard departed as soon as anyone let him. He gave Kirk a sympathetic look before hurrying away as Kirk was ushered into another meeting.

When all of the “urgent” official business was finally done, the Starfleet Chief of Staff showed Kirk and Spock to the main transporter in Starfleet Headquarters by way of a grand tour. After a prolonged series of polite thank-yous, Kirk and Spock stepped onto the transporter pad and dematerialized at last.

They arrived in the humid late afternoon on the grassy lawn just outside a small wooden cabin. Behind the cabin was a sprawling peach orchard that rustled lazily in the gentle breeze. It looked almost the same as it had last time Jim visited, as though it really had just been a few weeks instead of eighty years. If anything, maybe the trees looked a little smaller, as though he had moved back in time rather than forward - according to Spock, this was another generation entirely.

Jim took his time meandering up the walk - delaying the inevitable - so Spock led the way to the door and knocked. Jim had been so surprised the first time he visited Bones there to find that there was no bell to ring and that the door even had a wooden handle to turn instead of opening automatically.

Jim could hear someone moving inside, he may have even caught some familiar good-natured grumbling, before the door swung open to reveal a wizened old man. All at once, Jim was hit with the full force of eighty years. He could only wonder what had happened to his old friend, even though he very well knew, had been expecting it even.

“Spock!” Bones exclaimed - it was undeniably him, though his hair had turned white, the skin on his face was folded in deep wrinkles, and he was bowed over with age. “I thought you’d run off somewhere!”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but gave no reply. Instead, he waited as Bones’s gaze wandered over to Jim.

The old man froze. For a long moment he stood there, staring at Jim with wide eyes. “Why I never…” Bones said at last. He glanced over at Spock. “Is it really him?”

Spock inclined his head.

Bones turned back to Jim, staring at him as though somehow he could force the world to make sense. Jim echoed the sentiment.

“You must be the luckiest man alive,” Bones finally declared. “You don’t look like you’ve aged a day!”

Jim attempted a wry smile, but he was sure it turned out weak. “Just a few days.”

“And you’ve got your memories back and everything,” Bones marveled. He turned to Spock again. “How did you manage it?”

“I didn’t,” Spock replied.

“What do you mean you didn’t?” Bones demanded, glancing between Jim and Spock.

“The credit goes to Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise-D,” Spock explained on Jim’s behalf - he was still reeling from seeing his old friend like this.

“Last I checked, we humans weren’t capable of bringing back the dead,” Bones insisted.

“Jim did not die,” Spock said. “He fell into a temporal rift where he did not experience the passage of time. Captain Picard merely located him.”

Bones just shook his head. Abruptly, he seemed to realize they were all still crowded around the front door. “Well don’t just stand there,” he insisted. “Come on in.”

Bones waved Jim and Spock into the deceptively familiar living room, though Jim couldn’t help but notice that a few modern conveniences had snuck in amidst the old-fashioned furniture. Bones settled into his chair and Jim and Spock sat down side by side on the couch, not quite touching.

“You must have known Jim was alive all along, didn’t you?” Bones asked Spock with an almost accusatory tone.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim intervened as he always had; “He didn’t expect me to come back any more than you did.”

Bones faced Jim as though he had forgotten he was there. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t changed,” Bones admitted at last.

Jim gave him a small smile. “That’s a relief.”

“You really were stuck in time?”

Jim nodded. “It feels like it hasn’t been more than a few weeks since my last visit.”

Bones looked at Jim, really looked at him, as though he could see through all the things Jim wasn’t saying. Finally, Bones said, “It must come as a shock, seeing me like this.”

“You could say that,” Jim acknowledged.

“I’m sorry, Jim. But don’t go feeling bad for me. I’ve been enjoying being back on solid ground, and I’ve still got plenty of years left in me.”

"That's good," Jim said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

“There’s nothing I like better than sitting out on the porch with one of my mint juleps, watching the trees grow,” Bones attempted. “I think I’ve earned a little rest and relaxation after all you put me through.”

Jim gave Bones a look - it sounded more like wasting away than relaxing to him.

Bones waved it off. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand what you like so much about running around out there” - he shook his head for emphasis. He glanced over at Spock and asked, “When do you launch? I’ll see you off if you have to beam me up, though I expect a shuttle, and one of the nice ones.”

Jim looked at Spock, who merely raised an eyebrow in reply.

He could feel Spock’s resistance, but despite it Jim said, “I don’t think they’ll give us a sendoff when we leave for Romulus.”

“Romulus?” Bones demanded.

Jim nodded. “That’s where Spock’s been for the past three years, teaching the Romulans about Vulcan philosophy in the hope that eventually they’ll reunite. He’s going back, and I’m going with him.”

Jim could feel Spock’s malaise; he didn’t want to discuss it in front of Dr. McCoy, but he still refused to allow Jim to join him.

“And here I thought talking with the Cardassians was bad enough!” Bones exclaimed. “Jim, what would you do on Romulus?”

“Keep him out of danger for one” - Jim jabbed a finger in Spock’s direction.

Spock could keep quiet no longer. “As I have already made clear, you will not be accompanying me to Romulus.” He hesitated. “If necessary, I will remain on Earth.” Spock’s regret for not remaining with Jim for his first retirement came through the bond loud and clear.

“I’d rather go to Romulus alone than stay on Earth,” Jim retorted.

“What’s all this talk about staying on Earth?” Bones demanded. “It better not be on my account; the two of you would drive me up a wall!”

“I’m retired, remember?” Jim said.

“You’re too young to even be thinking about retirement!” Bones insisted.

"You weren't that much older than me.”

"It’s different and you know it! I was never meant to leave the ground, but Spock couldn't stay retired and nor should you. If you know what's good for you, you'll accept the first offer they give you and don't look back until you're at least a hundred."

"Bones," Jim cautioned.

Bones waved it off. "I know. I know you retired for a reason. My memory isn't that bad. But it's a new century, maybe it's time to stop living in the past."

Jim skeptically glanced around the very old-fashioned cabin.

"You know what I mean.”

Jim nodded, though he wasn't happy about it.

"I know it's not easy," Bones said with a sideways glance at Spock, “but somehow you managed to get a second chance - again - and I’d hate to see you waste it. Now,” he continued more lightly, “how exactly did you cheat death this time, if not Vulcan hoodoo?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Jim explained, “I got stuck in some kind of temporal nexus. It was like a strange dream; I thought I was at my uncle’s old cabin” - he glanced over at Spock with a smile, remembering the last time they had been there together before he sold it.

Spock answered with his own memory of the bitter cold of the Idaho winter - the rest of his feelings were carefully shielded away.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jim insisted, resting a reassuring hand on Spock’s shoulder. “You liked relaxing by the fire, at least.” That was the last proper winter Jim could remember; the rest of the time he’d been in space or San Francisco.

“I’m still here, you know,” Bones piped up. “You could show an old man some respect.”

For an instant, Jim expected to see a man not much older than sixty sitting across from him. Not for the first time, he had to do a double take at the sight of Bones’s wrinkled face and white hair. “Sorry,” Jim said at last, much subdued.

Bones drew Jim back to the conversation with a sympathetic nudge - “Then what happened?”

 “I wasn’t there for long,” Jim continued, “at least it didn’t feel like very long before Captain Picard found me, though it took a little convincing to get me to leave,” he admitted.

“Jean-Luc Picard?” Bones confirmed. “I always liked him. A good captain, though he needed a little polishing.”

Jim nodded. “He’s a good pick for captain of the Enterprise. Though Spock doesn’t like him very much.”

“He didn’t manage to talk any sense into you?”

“No,” Jim said. “But he agrees with you.”

Bones nodded in approval. Then he turned on Spock. “And why don’t you like him?”

“I am surprised that you do,” Spock replied. “I have found he has an almost Vulcan quality.”

“Next you’ll be telling me to read Hamlet in the original Vulcan,” Bones retorted.

Spock raised his eyebrows at Dr. McCoy. “Such a narrative would be highly uncharacteristic of Vulcan literature.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, if you need someone to knock some sense into you,” Bones offered good-naturedly.

He stood with Jim and Spock in the middle of the living room as they waited to be transported back to San Francisco. Outside, the sky had long since turned dark while they finished dinner and spent a few more hours just talking.

“It’s good to see you,” Jim said with a smile before he and Spock dematerialized.

They reappeared in the over-bright transporter room at Starfleet headquarters. The Representative of United Earth on the Federation Council met them right off the pad and led them back through the winding hallways. It was still early evening in San Francisco, so Kirk and Spock enjoyed a second sunset on their way to the apartment that had been provided for the returned captain. The representative welcomed them inside a penthouse suite, much more spacious than Kirk’s old apartment, furnished in what must have been the 24th century style, though it wasn’t quite as beige as the Farragut.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the representative said, “and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

After another round of polite assurances and good-byes, she finally took her leave. The door slid shut behind her and all of a sudden the apartment seemed enormous and silent. For a moment, Jim and Spock just stood there, in the middle of the large, almost empty room, between blank walls. Inevitably, Jim was drawn to the far wall made entirely of windows looking out on the city and the bay, and, of course, the deep blue sky, studded with a few bright early stars.

Slowly, with almost uncharacteristic cautiousness - a reminder of the distance between them - Spock made his way over to the window, to stand at Jim’s side, so their arms barely brushed against each other. Jim purposefully brought their hands together, so they were just touching, enabling their thoughts and feelings mingle as much as Spock was willing to let them.

Finally, Jim asked aloud, “Would you really rather stay on Earth?”

Spock hesitated. He shielded his side of their bond, but Jim could feel his uncertainty and longing seeping through. It had been a lonely eighty years. Even with their renewed bond, he was reluctant to leave Jim on Earth again.

Jim took Spock’s hand in his own and gave it a solid squeeze. Let me come with you.

Spock’s discomfort with the idea came through loud and clear.

Jim loosened his hold on Spock’s hand, but he did not let go.

He did not know for certain what thoughts passed through Spock’s mind, but Jim could feel him warring within himself, torn between two unsatisfactory alternatives.

“Would you truly be happier on Romulus?” Spock asked at last.

“Yes,” Jim said without even needing to think about it, and Spock knew him well enough to believe it.

 Later that night, when they lay in bed, the lights dimmed to zero percent, Spock remarked, “You have been offered a captaincy.”

Jim tensed a little. Spock had withdrawn from his side of the bond until his thoughts were almost unreadable. Jim tore his eyes away from the stars outside the open window and rolled over to face Spock with a little distance between them, so he was no longer pressed against Spock’s side.

“I have,” Jim said, ready for the conversation to end there.

He could see Spock debating whether to press or withdraw. Jim even felt a small burst of muddled emotions; all the uncertainty of a man no longer used to expressing them, let alone sharing his feelings with others.

Jim reached out to rest a hand on Spock's wrist, just below the cuff of his long-sleeve nightshirt. "Goodnight, Spock," he said softly.

Spock did not argue. He let the tension slowly fade away. "Goodnight, Jim," he said at last. In the light of the moon and stars, and the tireless city, Jim could see Spock's gentle expression that was not quite a smile.

Jim took it as an invitation and snuggled up to Spock. He leaned into Spock's side, with an arm around his chest, and his nose just an inch away from Spock's cheek. Jim let out a sigh of contentment, just enjoying the proximity. Spock's body heat staved off the cool breeze wafting in the window and he radiated steady affection through the bond.

The next day was bright and brisk with a distinct feeling of spring - not that it actually meant anything in San Francisco. Jim had suggested a walk in Golden Gate Park, but with all the publicity that came with a miraculous return from the dead, it was deemed inadvisable. Instead, they took a Starfleet shuttle to one of the many hills that peeked out of the city, forming little islands of parkland in a sea of buildings. It was quiet and peaceful with a splendid view, just a little small for wandering around.

After a quick circuit around the edge of the hilltop, Jim and Spock stopped at the most scenic point to look out on the city. Houses sprawled out around them, parading up and down the sloping roads. In the distance they could see Starfleet Headquarters and the Golden Gate Bridge and in the other direction were the skyscrapers of downtown. Beyond was the sparkling bay and beyond that rolling hills.

Jim couldn’t deny that it was a nice place to visit.

“It will not be easy living on Romulus,” Spock cautioned him.

Jim just gave Spock a look.

Spock continued undeterred, “I have spent the past three years traveling from town to town, living in underground caverns. At times food has been scarce. I have not seen daylight for weeks at a time.”

“I know.”

Spock hesitated. “I am acting against direct orders. In all likelihood, Starfleet would not accept you if you returned.”

“Spock,” Jim said, a little louder and sharper than he intended, “I know what I’m getting into.”

Spock raised his eyebrows at Jim in disbelief. “Are you certain that you will be happier on Romulus?”

“Of course,” Jim said. “You know I don’t belong on Earth.”

Spock waited. Jim’s omission was too glaring to be ignored.

Jim glanced away. “I had my chance.”

“You have been offered another,” Spock reminded him.

Jim just shook his head.

He could feel Spock retreating in surrender even as he pressed, “It will be dangerous.”

Jim gave him a wry smile. “That’s why I can’t let you go alone.” There was some weighty truth behind his words, but they both knew his motivations weren’t purely selfless.

“And what do you intend to do when I am not in immediate danger?” Spock asked.

Jim shrugged. “It has to be more interesting than retirement. We could play chess, maybe I could pick up the Vulcan lyre.”

Spock gave him a skeptical look.

More seriously Jim suggested, “I can represent the Federation. For Romulus and Vulcan to reunite, there would have to be some understanding between the Romulans and the Federation.”

“Very logical,” Spock said drily.

“Always the tone of surprise,” Jim teased. He let his shoulder bump up against Spock’s. Gently, Jim said, “Don’t worry.”

Spock made it clear that he did not miss the hypocrisy in Jim’s suggestion, but he did not protest.

 Jim sat in the dimly lit living room, staring out the window. The sparkling city below seemed to reflect the star-speckled night sky above. The city was much brighter, but Jim only had eyes for the stars. His cold mug sat forgotten on the coffee table.

Spock hesitated a few feet away, watching Jim in his silent vigil, reluctant to interrupt it. He cradled a fresh, hot mug of tea between his hands, letting the warmth and the heady aroma of familiar spices wash over him. Out the window, he could see a bank of clouds advancing in the distance, threatening to come between the city and the stars above, covering it in a thick grey blanket.

He was tempted to return to the bedroom without a word and settle into his nightly meditation. Jim would not mind. But this was too important to be indefinitely put off and avoided.

Finally, Spock made his way over to the couch and sat down next to Jim. Jim scooched a little closer, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge him.

“Jim,” Spock said aloud at long last.

Jim startled at the noise, shockingly loud in their otherwise silent apartment. He turned to face Spock, suspecting what he was going to say and none too happy with the prospect. I will go with you to Romulus, he projected forcefully over the bond.

Still, Spock forged on. “Would you truly be happy there?”

“Yes,” Jim insisted, letting his gaze wander back to the window and the stars above. They would be together. It would not be easy, but what was life without a little challenge?

Spock hesitated. “I once said that captaining a starship was your first and best destiny. You have been offered a captaincy on your own terms. Would it not be most logical to accept it?”

Jim glared at him, though it lacked any heat. More pointed was his frown and the ghosts of memories best left forgotten.

“Jim,” Spock reproached him gently.

Jim just shook his head.

Spock waited, watching him expectantly, but he did not pressure him to continue. His expression remained impassive.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jim said at last. “Of course I’d be happier in the captain’s chair, but that’s not an option.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know what I mean,” Jim insisted.

“There will also be danger on Romulus,” Spock pointed out.

“I know that!” Jim snapped. He was shaking a little from the sheer force of his emotions. Spock could feel them pounding at the bond.

Spock rested a hand on Jim’s arm, though he did not dare touch bare skin.

Jim looked at him, almost pleading. “It was too much. I can’t be responsible for something like that again.”

The image of Spock dying, pressed against the glass, flashed across their minds with a powerful wave of guilt.

Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s arm. He stared until Jim met his eyes. “Jim, I am alive” - he conveyed as much of his presence as he could through the bond.

Jim gave him a weak smile. “I know.” He was still shaking a little. Spock could still feel the waves of unsteady emotion radiating off of him.

Spock pressed his hot mug of tea into Jim’s hands and allowed Jim to nestle himself into his side. Unable to stand to acquire a blanket, Spock draped his arm around Jim’s shoulders, drawing him closer still.

Spock felt woefully out of practice, but he could feel Jim relaxing as he settled against Spock’s chest, and the waves of affection that echoed through the bond likewise soothed Spock’s concerns, at least for the moment.

 Jim glanced up from the history book he was reading.

Spock was ostensibly knitting, in the Vulcan style apparently - a hobby he had picked up on Romulus where he spent a lot of time waiting and often lacked easy access to replicators. However, he was engrossed in something else entirely. Jim could sense a heavy reluctance as Spock warred within himself, torn between unappealing options. He kept his thoughts carefully concealed behind mental shields, but Jim didn't know what else Spock could have been debating.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him and strengthened his shields.

But Jim was not so easily deterred. He put aside his reading and inched a little closer to Spock. He rested a hand on Spock’s arm.

“You followed me for twenty years, maybe it’s my turn to return the favor,” Jim suggested with a smile.

Spock made it clear that he thought Jim was missing the point. He let nothing else seep through the bond as he organized his thoughts.

“I want little more than to remain at your side,” Spock admitted at last, and Jim could feel the weight of eighty lonely years behind his words. “It would be most convenient for you to accompany me to Romulus; I would be able to continue my work without requiring us to part ways.” He hesitated. “However, I fear that it would be a grave mistake.” Spock looked Jim firmly in the eyes, as though he could see through them into Jim’s mind, to understand things even Jim himself did not fully comprehend.

Jim knew what he was suggesting and just shook his head.

“Jim,” Spock attempted.

Jim let out a sigh. “Spock, I can’t,” he insisted. They had been over it already and he was tired of arguing. He would never have another command, there was no use in dwelling on it.

Spock hesitated. He did not want to argue, to bring back such painful memories. Even as he disputed Vulcan philosophy, he still reflexively shied away from emotion in favor of logical arguments. But this debate would not be won with logic. Jim deserved better.

Spock forced himself to confront the matter directly. “Jim,” he said aloud, “You do not belong on Romulus any more than I belong in the captain’s chair. This is my doing, allow me to help.”

Jim answered with disbelief and reassurance that it was not Spock’s fault. Less confidently, he asked aloud, “What could you do?” It had been seven years since Spock’s return from the dead, not counting the additional eighty that had passed while Jim was in the Nexus, and the memory was still enough to convince Jim to remain in retirement.

Spock raised a hand toward Jim’s face in response, his fingers splayed to match Jim’s familiar psy points.

It was Jim’s turn to hesitate. Unpleasant memories swirled in the back of his mind - he wasn’t sure he wanted them reawoken. But he trusted Spock, if anyone could help, he could, and if he couldn’t, then at least he would understand, and maybe that would be enough to ease his doubts about bringing Jim to Romulus.

So, at last, Jim nodded and inched a little closer. Spock pressed his warm fingertips to Jim’s face and let their minds crash together as though they were meant to be one.

Spock kept a careful handle on the meld, ensuring that their identities were not lost, as he searched for the source of Jim’s trauma. He dove past memories of an uneasy retirement; a meaningless life in a lonely apartment, and the tossing and turning that led up to the decision.

His approach slowed as he neared the psychic equivalent of scar tissue left from the broken bond. Jim had spent two years in an empty daze as Spock had ever so slowly gotten his memories back. Jim’s memory of the time was grizzled and angry around the edges and his mind echoed with desperation - Not again, don't let it happen again.

It would have been easier for Spock to pass through Jim's memories without engaging, but he was not there as an impassive observer.

I am here, Spock insisted. We are safe.

Jim’s mind attempted to order itself. He knew he was not there - they were both safe, sitting on the couch in the living room of their new apartment in San Francisco - and yet, it was easy to get lost in memories, especially as Spock drew him into them.

Spock continued deeper still, to the source of the wound, the scene that had replayed itself in Jim’s mind over and over and over, like a mantra, or like the blood spilling out of an open wound. The bond had healed, but the memories were still raw with emotion.

The only logical thing to do was to start at the beginning:

“Scotty, I need warp speed in three mintues or we’re all dead!” The admiral is desperate. They’re running out of options.

There is no response from engineering. Spock knows what is wrong, and there is only one solution. It will cost him his life, but he can save the others.

(No! Not again! We can find another way!)

(It is just a memory.)

Spock stands with all the determination of a desperate man and leaves the bridge. He proudly marches down to engineering.

(Jim smiled as he stepped onto the lift on the Enterprise-B, ready to do whatever it took to save a ship that was not even his own.)

Dr. McCoy attempts to dissuade him.

(Please! Don’t let him go! I need him!)

(I am here.)

He is efficiently disabled. Meanwhile, the situation looks increasingly desperate on the bridge.

Spock presses his fingertips to Dr. McCoy’s psy points. “Remember.”

Then, he enters the chamber, fully knowing what it will do to him - he must act quickly.

“Engine room! What’s happening?” the admiral shouts into the intercom, but goes unheeded.

(Get up! Go! You have to stop him!)

The admiral does not move. He does not know.

Spock struggles with the cap.

(No! Spock! Don’t!)

(I am unharmed - after a fashion.)

He is buffeted with noxious gas and radiation besides. Undeterred, he reaches into the core. He will save them all, even as it kills him. He will not let them die.

On the bridge, Sulu voices what they are all thinking; “We’re not going to make it, are we?”

(There has to be another way!)

(Yes, there was. And you found it.)

Spock’s work is almost done...

“Sir, the mains are back online!”

(No!)

(If not, we all would have died.)

“Go, Sulu!”

In their wake, the Genesis planet is born.

“Jim, I think you’d better get down here.”

The admiral sees the empty chair.

He runs down to engineering like a man possessed.

(It’s too late… Too late…)

(But it wasn’t.)

He freezes.

(Get him out! Bones can still do something! There has to be some way!)

(You found a way.)

(Too late!)

The others stop him from running headlong into the chamber.

“It’s too late, Jim.”

“SPOCK!”

He presses against the glass, calls out to him in every way he knows how.

He is still alive, but he is dying. Even dying, he moves so carefully.

“Jim. Out of danger?”

“Yes.”

Spock nods. “Don’t grieve, admiral.”

(Do not grieve.)

“It was logical. The needs of the many outweigh…”

“The needs of the few.”

“Or the one.”

“Spock…”

Together, they fall to their knees.

“I have been and always shall be your friend.” Spock presses his hand to the glass. “Live long and prosper.”

Jim presses his hand to Spock’s, but they cannot touch.

He can feel his breaths and heartbeats are numbered. He sits and falls against the glass. His only regret is the grief he leaves behind.

Jim waited for the emptiness, three long years of it...

Spock let their minds surge together at last in an overwhelming rush of not alone and whole. A turbulent swirling mass of contradictory emotion raged and ravaged, but its overwhelming power was nothing against the rightness of two minds made one.

Jim collapsed into Spock’s arms, tears streaming down his face - Spock detected some wetness under his own eyes, but he paid it no heed. He held Jim, shaking and possibly still sobbing in his arms, as though he could protect him from his own memories. He did not know if he had helped or made things worse, but now all he could do was attempt to soothe Jim with his presence and the knowledge that he had not failed all those years ago.

Spock rubbed circles into Jim’s back as all the pain, and sadness, and guilt, and anger came pouring out of him, as though the wound had been opened anew. Spock could only hope that they drained away instead of festering.

 Eventually, the outpouring of emotion slowed and Jim's breathing steadied. He lingered in Spock’s arms, savoring the warmth of his body and the even rhythm of his breath. There was no wall between them, though Spock’s shields had returned.

Finally, Jim pulled away, though he kept a hand on Spock’s arm to steady himself. With Jim’s unspoken permission, Spock stood and retrieved tissues and a glass of water, and put up some water for tea.

Jim gave Spock a watery smile as he returned, grateful if a little embarrassed.

Spock merely gave him a look - there was no cause for embarrassment - and let an apology seep back through the bond.

Jim shook his head. He was adamant that Spock had done nothing wrong.

He blew his nose and gulped down the water. When he finally felt a little more presentable, he leaned back against Spock's chest and let his eyes fall shut. His tired mind still jumped from memory to memory, few of them pleasant, but they were more distant now and he gave no indication that he desired Spock's assistance - for which Spock was ashamed to say he was grateful; he'd had more than enough emotion for one day. Jim appeared likewise drained.

Once Jim was comfortable, Spock settled into a meditation of his own to the steady rhythm of his hand massaging Jim's shoulder. The shared sensation brought their minds a little closer together, even as their thoughts remained separate.

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening, though to all appearances Jim made for cheerful and charming company. They turned in for the night early and when they lay down to sleep, Jim clung to Spock as he had when his memories had just returned; as though if he did not hold on tight enough, Spock would not be there in the morning.

[7-wonders]

Chord Progressions

Summary: In the post-apocalyptic world, you find music to be the only thing that makes living in an underground bunker with a bunch of spoiled rich people tolerable. The time finally comes for your interview with the mysterious Cooperative member, Langdon. Will you find your way to salvation? Or will there be more questions than answers?

Word count: 1,723

Author’s note: I’m still very new at posting AHS pieces, so feedback is always appreciated! Let me know if you’d like to see more of this type of writing!

Eighteen months had passed since bombs had been dropped and the world descended into a nuclear winter. Although you’re grateful that some combination of your genetics were deemed worthy enough to secure you a spot to survive the blast, after eighteen months, you wouldn’t mind taking a nice walk outside and being devoured by cannibals.

When the other survivors of Outpost 3 have their mandatory cocktail hour in the library to complain about the current conditions and spread petty gossip, you partake in your favorite activity. Although you’re physically in the outpost, your mind is in far-off worlds, dreaming up wild scenarios and storylines. You know that dissociating as often as you do probably isn’t healthy, but it’s one of the only things you’ve found to manage to stay alive.

During this time, you find yourself thinking about the things you miss. There’s the big ones, of course: Your family, friends, being able to go outside and see the sun. But there’s also the little things. You miss watching the seasons change, memes on social media that would have you laughing for hours, and actual food. You long for the days where you would be able to go and get ice cream on a whim because you felt like it. Sometimes, you can almost remember what is was like to go hiking and feel the wind through the trees. Ice skating, finding new music, reading a really good book for the first time. The list goes on and on.

You’re knocked out of your reverie by Gallant nudging your shoulder. Of all the people trapped with you, Gallant’s the one who you connect with most. He reminds you of an older brother, in a sense. The other two inhabitants who are closest to your age are too infatuated with each other to hang out with you, and you can only have conversations with your favorite Grays when you’re sure that Venable and Mead aren’t lurking around.

“I’m sorry, what?” You ask, flushing as everyone looks at you.

“A few of us were just wondering if you’d like to play some songs for us on the piano?” Dinah, a kind woman whose face you’d seen on the TV at every doctor’s office for a year prior to the blasts, smiles at you. You nod, standing and making your way to the piano. On nights where everybody’s getting along, you’re often asked to play everyone’s favorite songs from the old world. You’re not the best pianist by any means, but you know enough about chords that you can usually find the tune of almost any song requested.

“What are we thinking tonight?” The room erupts then, everyone throwing out their requests. You love these moments, where the group of survivors can come together and reminisce. Lots of times they’ll sing and dance around you, and it almost feels like you’re not in an underground bunker.

“Adele!” 

“Coldplay!” 

“Oh my God, can you do Imagine Dragons?” 

“The Beatles?” You point at Timothy, calling out his suggestion of The Beatles. Groans fill the room, but you know they’re just joking. You run your fingers along the keys, trying out a few different songs before deciding on one you like. The beginning chords of ‘Something’ fill the air, and you smile as the group visibly relaxes, swaying along to the music.

You cycle through a few more requests, watching as people start getting up to dance. You finally give in to Coco’s whines about hearing ‘Hey There, Delilah’ when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the quiet chatter. Your hands inadvertently slam against the keys when you see Langdon standing at the front of the room.

Langdon, who holds everybody’s lives in the palm of his hands, confuses you. He claims to be seriously considering who to accompany him to the Sanctuary, but to you he seems as if he’s playing a game of cat and mouse with all of the survivors. At this point, you’ve started to think that there might not even be a Sanctuary.

“Having fun now, are we?” He addresses the room in his smooth tenor, and you can’t help the shiver that takes over you. “Miss (Y/L/N), I believe it is time for your interview.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure that your face goes white.

“Oh, um, okay.” You stutter, mentally cursing yourself. Langdon looks at you expectantly, watching you with predatory eyes as you stand and move towards him. He turns on a heel and leads the way, his impeccably groomed hair swishing behind him. You glance behind you one last time, feeling comfort in Gallant’s thumbs up before the doors swing closed.

You follow Langdon in silence, not sure if there’s anything you can even say to the most intimidating man you’ve met in a long time. Luckily, you don’t have to worry about being the first to speak.

“So you play the piano?” He asks, his voice cutting through the silence of the many winding halls around you.

“Not very well, but yes, sir.” He glances back at you, a smirk on his face.

“Nonsense, all of your fellow survivors seem to enjoy it very much. Ms. Venable tells me that you give lessons as well?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod. “There’s not much else to do here, and it’s always nice to get to have some variety of music.” You reach the doors to what can only be assumed as his office. With a simple wave of his hands, the doors slide open, causing you to wonder if there is some electricity in this place.

“Have a seat, please.” He gestures to two seats in front of a large fireplace. You slowly sit, keeping your eyes on the fire the whole time. “Are the flames more interesting than our conversation, (Y/N)?” Langdon questions, sitting down in front of you with a glass of what looks to be bourbon. You’re mildly jealous at seeing the alcohol in his hand before shaking your head.

“No, sir, I was just thinking.” His ever-present smirk widens as he leans back.

“Please, call me Michael.”

“Michael.” You repeat, watching his eyes twinkle at hearing his name. “Do the other inhabitants get to call you that?” He raises an eyebrow, daring you to find an answer to your own question. “Or do you just want free piano lessons?” He laughs then, and you’re pretty sure that if angels were real, their laughs would sound just like Michael’s.

“Let’s get started with your interview.” His eyes go steely in a split second, and you find your breath hitching. “If you lie to me, I will know. If you hedge, I will not hesitate to end this interview and leave you here to die. Do you understand?” You nod, eyes wide. “I need you to answer me out loud, (Y/N).”

“Yes, Michael.” You breathe out. He hums, satisfied, before picking up a file.

“You’re one of the few here with superior genetics. Do you know how we got your information?”

“My friends and I had decided to do one of those 23andme genetic tests, where you can find out where your ancestors came from? I’m guessing that your organization somehow had access to that information.” Even though you know you’re telling the truth, you’re still nervous that he’ll think you’re lying. It reminds you of the past, when you would be driving and you’d suddenly get nervous when you saw a cop, even though you weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Why are you scared of me?”

“I’m not!” You argue. He glares at you, sitting up.

“I told you not to lie to me, (Y/N). You don’t want to find out what happens if you try that little stunt again, do you?” You jump and shake your head slowly, and he doesn’t bother to correct you. “Good. Let’s try that again. Why are you scared of me?”

“You intimidate me.” You answer quietly. He’s obviously intrigued, which scares you more than his rage did.

“Why is that?” You pick at your nails, trying to formulate a proper answer.

“You seem very...powerful, but not in a good way.” He quirks an eyebrow, but leaves it at that.

“Very well then. Tell me, who do you believe deserves a chance at salvation? Who, out of all your fellow survivors, should accompany me to Sanctuary?”

“I think everyone has qualities that would make them very useful at your Sanctuary. Gallant’s got a heart of gold, and he’s a very good hairdresser. Evie’s lived a life most only dream of, and Timothy and Emily are so young. They deserve it.” He looks confused at this, which in turn confuses you.

“There’s nobody that you don’t want to make it? Not even those like Coco, who bought their way in here and continue to rub wealth in your face?” You smile slightly.

“Coco’s the type of headstrong that could put the pieces of the world back together.”

“And what about you? What makes you a good candidate for the Sanctuary?” You shrug at this question.

“Honestly?” Michael gestures for you to continue. “I’ve resigned myself to dying here. What use does a new world have for me? I’m just a people-pleaser who knows enough about music to make it through the day without pissing people off.” Your eyes are drawn back to the fire, where you attempt to find shapes in the dancing flames. You used to play this game as a child at your family cabin, all of the cousins laid together in the main room, finding figures and pointing them out until they were all lulled to sleep.

A cool hand grips your chin, and you find your face inches away from Michael.

“There are such great plans for you, dear heart. Plans you could not ever imagine.” You’re wildly confused at this, but Michael’s pulling you up with him before you have the chance to question him. “I believe that’s enough for now, (Y/N). We’ll finish tonight, perhaps in the library? You can play me some of your favorite pieces while we talk.” You smile.

“Tonight, then.” Michael nods, confirming what you just said.

“Until tonight.” He lets you pass through the open doors before sliding them shut, leaving you standing in the hallway wondering what the hell just happened.

[sarahsilverdog-blog-blog]

One Problem At A Time Ch. 4

So, it looks like this is gonna go for a while, so I am tagging it #OneProblem. Thank you!

FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

I’m not big on social graces,

Think I'll slip on down to the oasis.

-Garth Brooks

One hour and thirty minutes left.

Clementine stayed in the lab with Sam but everyone else surrounded the plane’s main door, guns raised and ready for their visitor. The man who stepped through the plane's hatch could have been anywhere from forty to seventy, iron gray hair peeked out from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat but there were few lines on his face. he was big and burly like a bear but lean and hard, no fat anywhere on him. He wore jeans with leather chaps, intricately stitched cowboy boots, a plain blue workshirt covered with a worn denim jacket...and a fancy, pearl-handled six shooter hung from his hip, Flanked by two men in an eclectic mix of military and western clothing, he didn't seem disconcerted at all to be greeted by six people bristling with loaded weapons all pointed at him and he raised his hands cooperatively and grinned, showing even, white teeth. "G'day folks,” he said in a thick Australian accent, inclining his head to Mitch who was the closest one to him. "Morris Brown, formerly of the Royal Australian Regiment, 4th Battalion, currently of the SoCal Extract/Evac Company, at your service." He got a good look at Jamie, covered in blood and filth, and Jackson, whose eye had blackened magnificently and whose throat was ringed with darkening bruises. "Looks like you folks had a bit of a scrap.”

Jamie snorted. “That's an understatement.”

Jackson eyed Morris Brown closely and said in his gravelly, injured voice, “I’ve heard of you. Your company did the San Diego job a couple of years ago. That was some nice work." He lowered his gun, and the others did too, the tension easing in the room and Brown dropped his hands to sides.

Tessa said, "Impressive work, you mean." She explained to the others. “They evacuated five thousand people in one group, walked them 350 miles through hybrid infested desert and only lost one person- to appendicitis. That's the stuff of legends.”

Brown looked pleased at the praise and rocked back on his heels. "Yeah, that was one bugger of a run. Took two months to get ‘em to the safe zone, razorbacks attacking every few days." He turned to Jackson. "But you're a bit of a celebrity yourself, mate. I know who you are, Dylan Green. Number one evac specialist north of San Francisco, though I think your pet lions give you a bit of an advantage.” He glanced around the interior of the plane with delighted curiosity. “I don’t suppose they are with you now?"

"The lions didn't have enough frequent flier miles," Mitch interjected impatiently. "Not to be rude, but we are kind of on a tight schedule, soo…”

“Oh, right,” Brown said, not seeming offended in the least. He turned and nodded to one of his men, who disappeared back out of the plane. "We're on our way back from a run and well, there's strange things going on in the hybrid zone." He scratched up under his hat at his cropped gray hair. “I maybe saw the most bizarre of all a few hours ago...anyhow it's something we need to look into but we picked up a, uh, passenger that isn’t suited to fast, hard travel in a truck caravan. I was hoping we could leave it with you folks...” he trailed off as the man reappeared, holding a tiny bundle that suddenly let out a squalling scream.

There was stunned silence for a second. then Mitch handed Jamie his rifle and with a happy sob took his grandson in his arms. Relief swept like a wave over them all, suddenly they surrounded baby Sam, laughing and smiling with the utter joy of his unbelievable presence. Clementine came racing down the staircase from the lab, having heard her son's cries; everyone fell back and let her take her son from his grandfather in her trembling hands, hugging him tightly as Mitch held them both in a protective embrace. Jamie sidled away but one of Mitch's hands caught hers and pulled her into their family circle, though she resisted slightly he was insistent and she gave in, letting his arms encircle her too as she hugged Clem and smiled over baby Sam.

Morris Brown was taking in this scene with keen interest, and he waggled his bushy eyebrows at Jackson and said, "I guess you lot don't find a baby as strange as we do.”

Jackson was smiling happily, tears in his eyes and he shook his head at Brown and said hoarsely, “We suddenly don't have such a tight schedule. How about a drink and you tell us how you ended up with the baby?”

***

Brown set one of his five men on guard, to watch out for hybrids- or other things- and the rest of them retired to the bar for a drink. Jamie excused herself after one; Clem had taken Baby Sam to be with his father in the lab after Mitch examined him (and after Abe administered the sterility cure injection); Jackson/Dylan and Tessa were discussing evacuation runs and other business she didn't particularly care about too much with their visitors, though Abe and Dariela were extremely interested as they discussed tactics and various plans that worked, or didn’t. The sticky dinosaur blood that covered her was getting unbearable, itchy and crackling against her skin and when she moved her right arm there was a worrisome tugging sensation that she was afraid was a deep cut that her clothes had dried to. She was brutally sore and wanted nothing more than to peel the filthy clothes off and climb into a steaming hot shower. Mitch started down the hall after her and she almost told him to stay put but then she realized he didn’t particularly want to listen to tactical Evac stories, and he didn’t want to intrude on his daughter's newly reunited family- he wanted to be with her. She waited for him to catch up and teased, “Time for my private exam, doctor?”

He smiled but his eyes were serious. "Actually, Miss Campbell, it is. I’ve noticed the way you’ve been moving your right arm and favoring your right side. I know am just a vet,” she snickered at that, "but I think I am qualified to check you out.”

They needed to talk, she knew, needed to work out some of the events of the last 72 hours; Max, and Logan, and discuss some things that had been said, or maybe hadn't been said, but now wasn't the time. She was tired, sore, and they were still both too warm with the residual happiness of baby Sam to start dissecting the darkness between them.

Mitch saw her hesitation and guessed the reason behind it truthfully, he didn’t really want to hash it out now either, he was too confused, too amazed, too unsettled… just too much. “I don’t –“ he started, then took her hand and said, “I just want to make sure you’re okay, Jamie.”

Taking it as a promise, she opened the door to her room and let him in.

***

Mitch rejoined the others in the bar a short while later. Jamie hadn't had any serious injuries, the worst was the laceration she had feared, a deep cut in her shoulder from the dagger sharp talons of the dinosaur. Adrenaline had kept her from feeling it, but she had felt it well enough when Mitch pulled the clotted, matted cloth from it with a sickening ripping sound, making her pale as fresh blood seeped from the gash. She also had a darkening bruise from her right armpit to her hip, where she had landed when the dino attacked her but otherwise she seemed fine and as promised, when he had determined that she didn't need any serious doctoring, he left her to it with a kiss and a promise to let him disinfect the gash after her shower.

The conversation in the bar had shifted to different hybrids they had seen recently, and the talk had turned from somewhat jovial to something more subdued and tense. Apparently there were more terrible creatures out there than they had already dealt with, and Mitch blanched at the mention of spider hybrids the size of golden retrievers, massive eight foot tall goats that had five foot long horns and razor sharp hooves, and at least one woolly mammoth, which had used its massive tusks to knock a locomotive off of the tracks outside of Los Angeles. It was somewhat frightening to consider that six-foot tall, vicious Cretaceous dinosaurs weren’t the worst they were going to face as Abigail’s creatures roamed freely into North America.

Once he had poured himself a drink and taken a seat with the others, the conversation changed as Mitch said. "So, Crocodile Dundee, tell me how you figured out country music scares the monsters away.”

Brown just laughed. "Crocodile Dundee. You Americans are so unoriginal. 'Throw another shrimp on the barbie’ and all that.” He squinted hard at Mitch, then shrugged. “To be honest, Dr. Morgan, we have no idea how it works. We just happened to luck into the discovery.” He took a deep swallow of the golden amber liquid in his glass and settled back into his seat. “We don't only do evac work, though that is our main focus. We also, eh," he searched for a delicate term, “clean up after the survivors have been evacuated.”

“Loot, you mean.” Dariela snapped. Brown only shrugged again. “If that's what you like to call it, mate. One man's trash is another man's treasure. Anyway, about a week ago we were cleaning a cabin we found in Nevada outside some desert town called Rachel. Wasn't much in it, but Chuck here," he motioned to one of his men, “found some little ipod type thing and snagged it, thinking there might be some good music on it. Turns out there wasn’t, just that terrible song on a loop, over and over and over." He shook his fist at the sky and said, “I’ve got friends in low places too, mate! Such a bloody come down. We were in one of the trucks and we came on a herd of those goat hybrids and Chuck was so mad at the song he was about to throw the damn thing out when all of a sudden the goats started to run. Away. Now, in our experience those stubborn, canty headed bastards will charge every time, but while that bloody awful music was playing, they ran.

“We experimented. Cut the song off, they charged us, turned it on, they stopped in their tracks and skedaddled the other way. So we tried it on the next hybrid we met, a razorback. Ran. Vulture, flew away." He grinned, his hatless gray head shining in the plane's soft light. "It's a terrible price to pay, but for those we love, we sacrifice!" He guffawed and gulped the rest of his drink down, motioning to Mitch to refill it.

Mitch took his glass, rose and went to the bar, but he stopped short of pouring the whisky. “I owe you,” he said, inclining his head gratefully towards Brown, “for bringing the baby back to us -and l still want to know how that came about - but I think if you let me study that device with the song on it, I can figure out why it repels the hybrids and maybe you won't ever have to hear that song again,” he shrugged, “Or at the least, maybe I can change the song.”

“That in itself would be a relief, my friend." Brown said, and Mitch smiled as he handed him his drink.

***

They moved the party to the lab, after Mitch saw Clem and Sam into his bedroom with the baby. Sam was still in rough shape but seeing his son and spending some quiet time with Clementine had done wonders for him, and the lab was too cold and uncomfortable for someone trying to rest. Jamie rejoined them, clean and fresh and creamy white in the glow of the lab's lights and Mitch was gratified to see her in somewhat casual clothing - in his mind he characterized it as ‘Early Jamie', faded jeans and a cute t-shirt and a light sweater -and she hadn't done her hair, it was tousled and curled and Mitch wanted nothing more in the world than to twist one of those curls in his fingers, pull it down and let his hand graze her cheek...but his imagination was cut off as Morris Brown whistled slowly at Jamie and said, "Well, we are officially a part of the jet set! Pun intended, of course! Jamie Campbell, of one of my favorite authors of one of my favorite novels.” He was quite a few drinks in, and he gave Jamie a friendly leer as he said, “I didn’t recognize you before when you were so...dirty," and winked, taking her hand, bending low and kissing her knuckles softly.

Mitch rolled his eyes loudly and Jamie withdrew her hand firmly with her ‘celebrity smile', the one she always used on talk shows and interviews and with overbearing fans. Mitch recognized it at once, how many times had he seen her use it when weaseling information out of someone or dealing with idiot officials who couldn't be handled by anyone else? lt was another glimpse of the old Jamie, and Mitch found himself feeling grateful that she was still...her.

"Thank You," she said to Brown, then pointedly joined Mitch at his computer and took his hand, looking down at what he was working on.

Morris Brown chuckled and took another drink. “Aye, you're a lucky man, Dr. Morgan," he said, slapping his hand on his thigh. "No offense meant Miss Campbell. And you’re still my favorite author." He leaned sharply forward and said to Jackson/Dylan, "She may be the writer, but now I want you to tell me a story.”

Jamie stayed next to Mitch as he worked on the device Brown had given them. It was connected to one of their diagnostic computers and he ran a variety of different tests on it as Morris Brown listened to Jackson/Dylan and Abe take turns telling him about Abigail and the hybrids, New York, the volcano, Clem's miracle baby and the cure for sterility, and the breach in the barrier and their escape, though they left out Jackson's involvement both as her brother and as the one who drove the plane through the wall.

Well," Brown said, his deep Aussie accent broadened by alcohol, "I told you I had seen some strange things. About four hours before we found you, we came across the herd of rhino hybrids you folks acquainted yourselves with earlier. They were acting fairly bizarre, all standing in one place, looking the same direction. No panic, no snorting, no bellowing, not even when we started to drive around them, Then we saw a jeep parked at the edge of the herd, and a sheila, right up close, using some kind of hand signals and be damned if the rhinos weren't behaving as if they knew what she was saying!”

The crew all exchanged looks as Morris continued, "Well, we got up to the jeep before she noticed us, close enough for me to notice a baby seat in the back. Funny how baby seats never caught my eye before but I guess after you haven’t seen an ankle biter in a decade those kind of things look out of place. Anyway, she finally saw us and she didn’t bat an eye as she waved her hands and those damn monsters came charging at us so fast Chuck almost didn't hit play." He paused and threw a toothy grin at Chuck, who answered. "But l did, and those sumbitches wheeled around so quick they almost trampled the lady where she stood.”

Morris Brown took over. "Seemed like the music was hurting her too, she grabbed her head like it was about to bust but then again, maybe she just doesn’t like country music. But here's where the craziest part comes in. She was too far from her jeep, and she seemed pretty surprised that the beasties were running away such a hurry. She got a look at our arsenal bearing down on her so she made some kind of sign and one of those big bastards came back to her, let her climb on it and she rode away on it!” He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe what his own eyes had seen. "Craziest damn thing I’ve ever seen. We did a quick go over of the jeep and didn't find anything but well, the baby. We had figured on taking it to the Barrier and leaving it, but since you say they’ve evacuated –“ he shrugged and took another swallow of whisky.

Suddenly Mitch broke in. "Hey, Ja- uh, Dylan, could you come over here for a sec?" Brown didn't miss Mitch's mistake and his keen eyes suddenly narrowed as Jackson rose and joined Mitch at his computer. He had a screen up and Jamie peered over their shoulders as he pointed to two parallel, wavy lines that intersected at uniform points, "This look familiar to you?”

Jackson looked up at him incredulously. "That looks just like the combination of frequencies Abigail used to make the beacons, hers and mine, but opposite ranges, So instead of drawing the hybrids-“

“They repel them." Mitch finished, halfway between triumph and jealousy. “It’s genius, l don’t know why think of it before.” He beamed at Jamie, who squeezed his hand as he said, "I can isolate the frequencies and we can play it from anything that can broadcast. Looks like we may have a new line of defense.”

***

Everyone had gone to bed except the two of them; Morris Brown and his men were sprawled on various couches throughout the plane and the others had gone to their rooms. Mitch had isolated the repellant frequency from the music and had it on a loop that was silent to the human ear but would hopefully keep hybrids away and Jamie had set proximity alarms on every entrance to the plane so everyone felt reasonably secure. Having six extra, heavily armed people on board for the night made it feel a little less worrisome too. They sat close together at the bar, nursing what was left of a bottle of vodka. Other than the impersonal exam earlier, and his quick, post-shower dressing of her wound, it was the first time they had been alone together in what felt like weeks, though it had only been little more than a day.

Jamie could feel him steeling himself up to say something and she was pretty sure she knew what it was going to be. As much as he had tried to make her feel better before, trying to claim darkness for himself, she knew he really wasn't accustomed to ruthless Jamie. Single-minded Jamie, yes, she'd always been that, but his brilliant brain was having trouble processing what ten years of bleak disappointment and pain had done to her. For years revenge had been her only motivating factor, in truth, years before she even met Mitch revenge had been her motivator but she'd had hope then, hope that things would work out in the end, hope that the little guy would win, and even hope that she and Mitch could make some kind of life together after the animal apocalypse. Then Mitch was gone, and she had hope that she could take care of Clementine the way he had wanted, hope that she could keep some part of him alive in herself through his daughter. Then Max took Clem and she had nothing. Logan hadn’t been, would never have been enough for her, so vengeance had filled that hole in her heart and she didnt know if she could make room in it again for something so weak and fickle as hope.

“So what was that out there?” He finally asked, his hand cupping her cheek, gently but firmly, she wasn’t going to look away.

She did anyway. and he let his hand fall, picking up his drink instead as she answered innocently, "What was what?"

He wasn’t going to deal with her bullshit tonight, and he rolled his eyes as if to say, really? "Didnt we just have a whole conversation about darkness? I think kicking Jackson in the face and threatening to burn him alive is a bit dark, even for you.”

“I wasn’t going to burn Jackson," she scoffed, though she couldn't deny the kick in the face so she took the easy one first. “l was threatening to burn the zombie because they are afraid of fire, which worked by the way.”

“No, it didn't. What worked was the flaming Thanksgiving turkey smashing into it." He had her there, and she leaned slightly away in irritation, pursing her lips and rearranging her socked feet on the barstool railing. Mitch didn't miss her reaction, and he pressed his advantage. “And what made you think fire would work on a zombie?”

Already annoyed at him, she rolled her eyes so hard she was afraid she'd strained her optic nerve. "Hello? I grew up in Louisiana? Bayous?Voodoo? Zombies? Didn't you spend a year there?”

"Studying giant river rats, not the undead.” He finished his drink, poured himself another and topped Jamie's off with the remainder of the bottle, plopping it loudly on the back of the bar. "Need to get some more of this." He sighed, swirling his drink in the bottom of his glass and deciding to let her off the hook for now said instead, "l could be studying the undead right now, but we left them in the compound. Not that I could do much with the soldier, since I think he's been barbecued beyond use,” he looked emphatically at Jamie, eliciting a snort of laughter she tried to suppress, "but l could still learn something from the dog.”

She swallowed the last of her drink in one gulp, jumped up from the barstool and said, "Well, lets go get it then." He looked at her blankly and she said, "The dog. It's still there in the compound, right? I mean, where would it go?"

He took another sip and looked sideways at her, then down at her feet. "Uh huh. You going in your socks or are you gonna put on some fuzzy slippers first?”

The laugh was real, warm and honeyed and rich and it sent shivers down his spine as the mood subtly shifted between them. "Maybe we can wait until tomorrow," she said, her voice suddenly husky and low, stepping between his knees she leaned into him as he bent to meet her lips with his. Electricity surged between them, fusing them together, all sparking neurons and melding molecules; her hands burned against his thighs, through the thick material of his jeans and in the desperate reaches of his lizard brain he wondered vaguely if she planned on burning him alive, though at the moment he didn't really care if she did. He buried his hands in her hair, pulling her closer, needing her closer and she responded, tightening her body against his because she needed him too.

They finally surfaced for air, and Mitch stood. holding her to him and brushing tousled tendrils of her hair away from her face. "Uh, my room is currently being used as a nursery ..sooo, think maybe l can crash with you tonight?" he asked gruffly.

She answered him breathlessly, running her fingers over his stubbly cheek, “I think that can be arranged.”

"Afterwards you can tell me all about zombies," he said, lowering his head to nibble sharp kisses at the soft skin of her throat. “We have to keep up our reputation for lively pillow talk.”

***

Here, darkness was good. Here, darkness kept them safe, hidden from the outside world and its monsters; it hid their scars in shadows, even as they bared themselves completely. Here, in the darkness, it was just the two of them, together.

***

[riseofthebelieversrp-blog]

Hello, Storytellers~

Summer's in full swing! (Which is great, but up here it's kinda chilly. What gives?!) It's sunny, it's warm, it's beach season and we couldn't be happier! Summer is the season of high energy and high muse - which means lots of plotting, lots of writing! But don't forget to go outside for the occasional ten seconds of fresh air. <3

Welcome to our blog’s first newsletter! From hereon in, we’ll be submitting it every month on the first. Keep an eye out!

THE WELCOME WAGON

We're welcoming a total six new candidates this month! Say hello if you see them in the cbox! March, as brought by Shade! She's looking at the Obsidian King~ Cam, who has expressed interest in Dorothy! Gen, looking at the Merry Men of Robin Hood! Leopard, who totally slipped in under the radar - if you see this one, nab them and say hi! Rosary, a friend of Nico's! Shelby, who found us through an ad on tumblr! Last minute Zira, an old friend of Carma's, who's dragging York along with her!

IN THE WORKS

We're looking at fae, Egyptians and fairytales this month! Be sure and take a look at these apps, and stay tuned to see them complete~

March's Rauvelore ap Ievos

Gengar's Iollas Dacan

Hakuna's Osiris

Shelby's Maddie Hathaway

Nico's Alice Liddell

Though there's not yet an app, Rosary has a character named Lucy Seeker in the works! Wonder what she's all about!

ENTERING THE STAGE

We had a whole slew of characters joining us in May, including a grand total three canines, a feline, a few immortals and a Night Mare.

Ocean's Cafe Noir

Skel's Averin Lucida

Bass Invader's Pestilence

Spotteh's Gregorio Pantaleon

Momo's Pippa McBride

Micken's Ranger

Reed's Cerberus

Moulder's Pretty Boy

Lloydy's Asheton Hollins

Lulu's Jack Dawson

WANTED CHARACTERS

Of all the Big Five, a couple are still in need of filling! Those are North, the Guardian of Wonder, and Sandman, the Guardian of Dreams. Further, we'd like to take a moment to remind people of the Wanted Ads out there~ If you're musing on a character idea, take a look at the Wanted Ads out there to see if there are any roles your idea can fill! Don't hesitate to poke people and see if they're willing to be flexible on what they've got!

SITE UPDATES

It's Summer Skin time! As before, you have the option to choose between a DAY skin and a NIGHT skin. Go to your User Control Panel, and on the left-hand side, look for skin preferences! You should see SUMMER DAY and SUMMER NIGHT available. Special thanks go to Ionahi of tumblr, who we commissioned for the artwork in both skins! Tumblr Features: Starting this month we are opening up a new thread for Wanted Ad features! Those of you who would like a wanted ad featured on our tumblr page, post in that thread with the requested information! A single member can request a specific wanted ad once a month. That same member can request different wanted ads once every week. Guides: The community has done it again, giving us two new guides to pore over! First we have Shade's Guide to the Fae, formatted in a google doc, and second, Momo gave us the Land of Sweets from the Nutcracker. NPC Character Gudielines: Staff is going to be slightly revising the role that NPC characters are able to take! This shouldn't affect anyone currently, it will simply help to give a more distinctive boundary between "full character" and "NPC character", as we don't currently have much to distinguish them.

THE STORY SO FAR

The Starlit Masquerade is underway! So far most of the guests have arrived in some fashion; some have partnered off for a dance, while the rest are simply chatting it up in....what we can only hope is civil discussion. But soon, they will be joined by their most gracious host, with words on the Guardians! I wonder what all will be said - and how might that information be used by less savoury sorts? Could the Anti-Guardians be gleaning information from their enemies, even now?

SPOTLIGHTS

Momo's Poesy: If you've heard anything about the power struggle in New York's gang community, this girl's at the center of it. The gang scene has been severely shaken up ever since Poesy decided to dig her claws into it; she's clever, she's crazy, and she's on her way to the top. Moulder's Volker: This is a man who's lived a long life haunted by his family's curse. Male members of the family are possessed, through each generation, by a demon of sorts known as Oor, who turns the host into a sociopathic cannibal. With a son of his own, he's looking for a way to free himself of the curse before it passes on to his child.

GOSSIP INSIDER

Know the tricky thing about masks and code names? All the good gossip is speculation until everything is revealed! That said, the gossip rags are soaking up spilled tea everywhere! Let's wring 'em out and see what we can find out~ A masked lady in blue and silver was asked to dance by a dashing man in green - are those robes? Who wears robes in this day and age? And who taught this man to dance? He's crushed the lady's delicate toes! Wow, did you see the gown on that woman with the horned mask? The one with the emeralds and gold? Whew, she looks like she belongs in the Palace, that's for sure! But it also looks like she'd found her place with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome over there~ Now there's an energetic duo on the dance floor! She's clad in gold and he in white, but if you squint a bit... I think - maybe - one of them is glowing? Perhaps it's just a trick of the many lights... Yeah, that's it. Couldn't possibly be...? Could it? Overheard in the Amber Room: two ladies discussing how overwhelming the party is! They're not wrong; the party is being held in one of the grandest locales in Russia, is being hosted by a being that hasn't been seen in several years, and no one knows who anyone is! It's the very definition of the word, but fear not, ladies - everything will be okay. Just enjoy the party~ Overprotective Chaperone Alert!! Hyperion has found himself in the company of two unchaperoned young women and is, apparently, very upset about this! So much so, in fact, that when one of the dates finally appeared, he was very curt with him. There's still one date missing and he seems to be silently fuming about this. WHAT KIND OF STRANGE DOG IS THAT?! It's not like any dog we've ever seen, folks, and I'm willing to bet that it's not a real dog! Honestly, we're still wondering how it even got in and to whom it belongs, but the guy in red seems to know it... Speaking of the guy in red... RABASTAN! That's his name! Yeah, he was overheard saying some rather rude things to a lady - granted, her words weren't terribly ladylike - but that was seriously uncalled for! And it just goes to show that words hurt - but fear not, Rasalas! A fellow lady is there to show solidarity and to give advice and comfort. Just let Gemma take care of you, it'll be okay~ Looks like the champagne wasn't enough for some! Arcturus set out to steal some wine and succeeded! Now, with stronger drinks in hands, he and several others in the Cameron Gallery are discussing the other guests in broader terms. People come to the balconies for fresh air and a reprieve, but they tend to leave in pairs - according to one set of loose lips. Several couples have been spotted, but the one that intrigues me the most is the man in the cape and his dazzling lady in blue. She seems tense... wonder why... HOLY MASQUERADE, BATMAN! Gotham City's Dark Knight has been spotted talking to a pirate lass, a pretty lady in yellow, and a gentleman who... ALMOST... got a date! In any case, I hope Batman has an eye on the two gentlemen in the corner; they are lowkey competing with him for the title of 'Most Likely to Brood at a Fancy Party'. And, thus the curtains close on the Starlit Masquerade Gossip Corner~ We shall now resume with our regular programming. There would appear to be an unattended child running around in Burgess with a bag way too big for him. Fortunately, a nice ol' dad is here to help him out. Hey, who said that you have to be a Guardian to have fun? Ginger's throwing her own shindig, and she's got all the really cool people there. Booze and soft drinks around! Seriously, who let Douglas take anyone for a tour around the Moon Clipper? At least Thoth seems to be serious about it... Avast, it's a meeting of pirate folk! Or...well, a former pirate and a cabin boy....girl. Wonder what the Jolly Roger wants with Asheton? Oh jeez, Jamie's gotten himself into the clutches of a rising power in the gang world. And who's there to save the day but one of Ryder's own gang members? Yeah, it's a bit of a hairy mess. Let's hope our belief-less boy comes out okay! Who's that sniffing around the fae world? Why, it's a handsome skeleton~ He's caught the eye of an equally curious hot mom. No, a real hot mom, as in she's on actual fire. It seems our favourite light sprite doesn't understand that wraiths don't like bright glowing girls. She just wants to make a friend, Sab, have a heart! Maidie's in a mess! A mess whose name is Hydra. Whatever dastardly plans does the snake man have for her?! Will she make it out alive?! Ever wonder what training a ditzy light sprite might look like? Well, Deit's about to find out... Tars needs to seriously stop getting caught unawares. It's happened with the wrong person now...wonder if Taer plans to tattle? The friendly mom routine is winding to a close~ Kary is about to learn the true nature of the Beldam. And it's a real shame, too; they were getting along so well. Oor seems to believe he can strike a bargain with the Nightmare King. Could he have anything in his favour, or is it a lost cause? Snow is beginning to uncover the mysteries that lie beneath Roman's mask....just how much will he share? Apparently mouth to mouth isn't an expression of romance in these two cultures; Emil and Sabellius have instead become a strange pair of friends. Or that's the idea, anyway. It's a bird! It's a plane! ...Actually a bird isn't far off, but Daniel's being a superhero again and Kay's left to wonder....huh? Stand aside Emil, there's a new dad for Maidie in town, and his name is Niulang! Well there's no lions or tigers or bears, but there sure is a wolf, and Frollo hates wolves. What's that? She's also a woman? Oh, now he hates her more. Burn the witch, am I right? It seems like the Aquarians are about to get themselves into a bit of a pickle...there's danger on the horizon, and only one of them seems to be aware. Ever wondered why the Guardians think how they do? Pandora's asked the Guardian Expert, Pitch, to explain! Wait.... Hold on, hold on! There's a gunfight by the lake, between two Guardians. Both of you, calm down! You're on the same side! What's this? Childhood friends?! West is about to learn a shocking truth about her sweet friend Pippa. The Lady of the Lake stands before the ruins that brought about the existence of the Stromkarlen. Is there any dark magic here to be revealed? Damn, what a view! Douglas sure knows how to treat a lady to a nice spectacle. I guess there are some perks to living on the moon, eh? An evil scientist and an evil potionmaster have finally met! Only one seems to be even remotely pleased about it.

[readbookywooks]

Rita Skeeter's Scoop

Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again; she confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, "but it's way too much bother to do every day," she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears. Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Ron and Harry wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did. "Well, I thought he must be," she said, shrugging. "I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible....It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves....It's just bigotry, isn't it?" Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn't want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn't looking. It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over - everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous. The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. He therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room - though he hadn't really expected that to help. Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him, but his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to him that if Cedric had really wanted to give Harry a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. He, Harry, had told Cedric exactly what was coming in the first task - and Cedric's idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Harry to take a bath. Well, he didn't need that sort of rubbishy help - not from someone who kept walking down corridors hand in hand with Cho, anyway. And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too. Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm them up nicely, either by chasing them, or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire. When they arrived at Hagrid 's cabin, however, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door. "Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow. "Who're you?" said Ron, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?" "My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher." "Where's Hagrid?" Harry repeated loudly. "He is indisposed," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly. Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry's ears. He turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank. "This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill? "What's wrong with Hagrid?" Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Never you mind," she said as though she thought he was being nosy. "I do mind, though," said Harry hotly. "What's up with him?" Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led them past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered. Many of the girls "ooooohed!" at the sight of the unicorn. "Oh it's so beautiful!" whispered Lavender Brown. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!" The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head. "Boys keep back!" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it...." She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot. Harry turned to Ron. "What d'you reckons wrong with him? You don't think a skrewt -?" "Oh he hasn't been attacked, Potter, if that's what you're thinking," said Malfoy softly. "No, he's just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face." "What d'you mean?" said Harry sharply. Malfoy put his hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded page of newsprint. "There you go," he said. "Hate to break it to you. Potter...." He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty. DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening." 'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything." Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manti-cores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. "I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject. As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Frid-wulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants. Harry finished reading and looked up at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open. "How did she find out?" he whispered. But that wasn't what was bothering Harry. "What d'you mean, 'we all hate Hagrid'?" Harry spat at Malfoy. "What's this rubbish about him" - he pointed at Crabbe - "getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven't even got teeth!" Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself. "Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf's teaching career," said Malfoy, his eyes glinting. "Half-giant...and there was me thinking he'd just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young....None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all....They'll be worried he'll eat their kids, ha, ha...." "You -" "Are you paying attention over there?" Professor Grubbly-Planks voice carried over to the boys; the girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. Harry was so angry that the Daily Prophet article shook in his hands as he turned to stare unseeingly at the unicorn, whose many magical properties Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too. "I hope she stays, that woman!" said Parvati Patil when the lesson had ended and they were all heading back to the castle for lunch. "That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like...proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters...." "What about Hagrid?" Harry said angrily as they went up the steps. "What about him?" said Parvati in a hard voice. "He can still be gamekeeper, can't he?" Parvati had been very cool toward Harry since the ball. He supposed that he ought to have paid her a bit more attention, but she seemed to have had a good time all the same. She was certainly telling anybody who would listen that she had made arrangements to meet the boy from Beauxbatons in Hogsmeade on the next weekend trip. "That was a really good lesson," said Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. "I didn't know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni -" "Look at this!" Harry snarled, and he shoved the Daily Prophet article under Hermione's nose. Hermione's mouth fell open as she read. Her reaction was exactly the same as Ron's. "How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don't think Hagrid told her?" "No," said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. "He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn't give her loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to get him back." "Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball," said Hermione quietly. "We'd have seen her in the garden!" said Ron. "Anyway, she's not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her...." "Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. "Sort of thing she'd do, isn't it, hide in bushes listening to people." "Like you and Ron did, you mean," said Hermione. "We weren't trying to hear him!" said Ron indignantly. "We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!" "We've got to go and see him," said Harry. "This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back...you do want him back?" he shot at Hermione. "I - well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once - but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!" Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry's furious stare. So that evening after dinner, the three of them left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. They knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered. "Hagrid, it's us!" Harry shouted, pounding on the door. "Open up!" Hagrid didn't answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response. "What's he avoiding us for?" Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. "He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?" But it seemed that Hagrid did care. They didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity. "Missing your half-breed pal?" he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry's retaliation. "Missing the elephant-man?" There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going to go. "I just thought you'd want to take advantage of the common room being quiet," she said. "Really get to work on that egg." "Oh I - I reckon I've got a pretty good idea what it's about now," Harry lied. "Have you really?" said Hermione, looking impressed. "Well done!" Harry's insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages...whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back. He, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake. "He's mad!" said Harry, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing, it's January!" "It's a lot colder where he comes from," said Hermione. "I suppose it feels quite warm to him." "Yeah, but there's still the giant squid," said Ron. He didn't sound anxious - if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned. "He's really nice, you know," she said. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me." Ron said nothing. He hadn't mentioned Viktor Krum since the ball, but Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes. Harry kept his eyes skinned for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, and suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once he had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops. The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry that Hagrid wasn't there. Heart sinking, he went up to the bar with Ron and Hermione, ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that he might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all. "Doesn't he ever go into the office?" Hermione whispered suddenly. "Look!" She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing. It was indeed odd. Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up. "In a moment, in a moment!" Harry heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward Harry, his boyish grin back in place. "Harry!" he said. "How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?" "Fine, thanks," said Harry. "Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?" said Bagman eagerly. "You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you?" "Er - okay," said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table. Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta. "Well, I just thought I'd congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry," said Bagman. "Really superb." "Thanks," said Harry, but he knew this couldn't be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of Ron and Hermione. Bagman didn't seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes. "Absolute nightmare," said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins too. "Their English isn't too good...it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup...but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobblede-gook...and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means 'pickax.' I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them." He gave a short, booming laugh. "What do they want?" Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely. "Er - well..." said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. "They...er...they're looking for Barty Crouch." "Why are they looking for him here?" said Harry. "He's at the Ministry in London, isn't he?" "Er...as a matter of fact, I've no idea where he is," said Bagman. "He's sort of...stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he's ill. Apparently he's just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone. Harry? Because Rita Skeeter's still poking around everywhere she can, and I'm willing to bet she'd work up Bartys illness into something sinister. Probably say he's gone missing like Bertha Jorkins." "Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?" Harry asked. "No," said Bagman, looking strained again. "I've got people looking, of course..." (About time, thought Harry) "and it's all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin's house to go south and see an aunt...and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she's got to...she doesn't seem the type to elope, for instance...but still....What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you" - he lowered his voice - "how are you getting on with your golden egg?" "Er...not bad," Harry said untruthfully. Bagman seemed to know he wasn't being honest. "Listen, Harry," he said (still in a very low voice), "I feel very bad about all this...you were thrown into this tournament, you didn't volunteer for it...and if..." (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) "if I can help at all...a prod in the right direction...I've taken a liking to you...the way you got past that dragon!...well, just say the word." Harry stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes. "We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?" he said, careful to keep his voice casual and not sound as though he was accusing the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules. "Well...well, yes," said Bagman impatiently, "but - come on. Harry - we all want a Hogwarts victory, don't we?" "Have you offered Cedric help?" Harry said. The smallest of frowns creased Bagman's smooth face. "No, I haven't," he said. "I - well, like I say, I've taken a liking to you. Just thought I'd offer..." "Well, thanks," said Harry, "but I think I'm nearly there with the egg...couple more days should crack it." He wasn't entirely sure why he was refusing Bagman's help, except that Bagman was almost a stranger to him, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius. Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn't say much more as Fred and George turned up at that point. "Hello, Mr. Bagman," said Fred brightly. "Can we buy you a drink?" "Er...no," said Bagman, with a last disappointed glance at Harry, "no, thank you, boys..." Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down badly. "Well, I must dash," he said. "Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry." He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin Ron and Hermione. "What did he want?" Ron said, the moment Harry had sat down. "He offered to help me with the golden egg," said Harry. "He shouldn't be doing that!" said Hermione, looking very shocked. "He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've already worked it out - haven't you?" "Er...nearly," said Harry. "Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!" said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving. "I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!" "He's not, I asked," said Harry. "Who cares if Diggory's getting help?" said Ron. Harry privately agreed. "Those goblins didn't look very friendly," said Hermione, sipping her butterbeer. "What were they doing here?" "Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman," said Harry. "He's still ill. Hasn't been into work." "Maybe Percy's poisoning him," said Ron. "Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation." Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look, and said, "Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch....They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." "Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though," said Harry. "Maybe they need an interpreter." "Worrying about poor 'ickle goblins, now, are you?" Ron asked Hermione. "Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?" "Ha, ha, ha," said Hermione sarcastically. "Goblins don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?" "No," said Harry and Ron together. "Well, the're quite capable of dealing with wizards," said Hermione, taking another sip of butterbeer. "They're very clever. They're not like house-elves, who never stick up for themselves." "Uh-oh," said Ron, staring at the door. Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something. "...didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights...what nonsense...he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo - we just need to find a story to fit it -" "Trying to ruin someone else's life?" said Harry loudly. A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken. "Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join-?" "I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," said Harry furiously. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?" Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows. "Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-" "Who cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouted. "There's nothing wrong with him!" The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing. Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know. Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?" Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade. "You horrible woman," she said, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, wont they? Even Ludo Bagman -" "Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl...not that it needs it -" she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair. "Let's go," said Hermione, "c'mon. Harry - Ron..." They left; many people were staring at them as they went. Harry glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table. "She'll be after you next, Hermione," said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street. "Let her try!" said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid..." "You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter," said Ron nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you -" "My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!" said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all Harry and Ron could do to keep up with her. The last time Harry had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!" Breaking into a run, she led them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin. The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached. "Hagrid!" Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being -" The door opened. Hermione said, "About it-!" and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore. "Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, smiling down at them. "We er we wanted to see Hagrid," said Hermione in a rather small voice. "Yes, I surmised as much," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you come in?" "Oh...um...okay," said Hermione. She, Ron, and Harry went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around. Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire. "Hi, Hagrid," said Harry. Hagrid looked up. "'Lo," he said in a very hoarse voice. "More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, closing the door behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?" Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, "Hermione, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door." "Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said, staring at Hagrid. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry, Professor," he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore. "I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said. Harry," said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling. "Er-right," said Harry sheepishly. "I just meant-Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that-woman-wrote about you?" Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard. "Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it -" "Not all of 'em," said Hagrid hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan me ter stay." "Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time," said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?" "Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!" said Hagrid croakily. "Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said furiously. "Look at the Dursleys!" "An excellent point," said Professor Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery...." "Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione quietly, "please come back, we really miss you." Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard. Dumbledore stood up. "I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all." Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fangs ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, "Great man, Dumbledore...great man...." "Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?" "Help yerself," said Hagrid, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "Ar, he's righ', o' course - yeh're all righ'...I bin stupid...my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'...." More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, "Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..." Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth - he looked hardly older than eleven. "Tha was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed...thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum...well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really...but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...." "Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job...trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances...tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'...well...all tha' respectable. But some don understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh...there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say - I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones...I'll give her big bones." Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another nervously; Harry would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that he had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime, but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd. "Yeh know wha, Harry?" he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, "when I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it...an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!" He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, "Yeh know what I'd love. Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all...yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?" "Great," said Harry. "Really great." Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile. "Tha's my boy...you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat 'em all." Lying to Hagrid wasn't quite like lying to anyone else. Harry went back to the castle later that afternoon with Ron and Hermione, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid's whiskery face as he had imagined Harry winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on Harry's conscience that evening, and by the time he had got into bed, he had made up his mind - it was time to shelve his pride and see if Cedric's hint was worth anything.