You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com


Curiosity by AC_rules

Format: Novel
Chapters: 22
Word Count: 88,749
Status: WIP

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Contains profanity, Strong violence, Scenes of a sexual nature, Substance abuse, Sensitive topic/issue/theme, Spoilers

Genres: Drama, General, Mystery
Characters: Albus, Hugo, James (II), Rose, Scorpius, OtherCanon
Pairings: James/OC, Rose/Scorpius

First Published: 04/19/2010
Last Chapter: 08/07/2013
Last Updated: 08/07/2013

Summary:
 Dobby Nominee 2012: best mystery 

It was probably my curiosity which would be the ruin of me. It was my curiosity which led to me falling into the Potter's back yard. My curiosity that led me to experiment with my ‘ability’ and it was curiosity that led me to ignore the one piece of advice my mother ever gave me - never look into your future.


Chapter 16: Hypnosis.

I’d given the whole situation over to a permanent situation of perpetual blush and stopped trying to prevent the inevitable: given James was being more of an absolute prat than normal, prancing about pretending that he actually had the power to hypnotise (he didn’t, as it turned out). Talking about a load of things he’d evidentially read in a book (where he’d god the damn book, goodness only knew) before coming much too close to my face and saying “look in to my eyes, Cassie. Look into my eyeeess.”

“You’re really lucky I’m not sensitive.” I muttered, feeling my face heat up again as James got so close to my face that I could feel how close his presence was (even with ignoring the whole sensing thing, but when you actually factored that in him being this close was way beyond comfortable levels of personal space).

“Sensitive?” James questioned, taking a step back and raising an eyebrow. “I only have to mention the word sex and your face turns into a Quaffle.”

“That’s not sensitive,” I retorted, “that’s just a weird genetic malfunction in my face.”

“As long as you admit your face is a genetic malfunction,” James said cheerfully, “right, Cassie - ready to start?”

“Start?” I questioned, sighing slightly, “James, you’ve been in my face for the past twenty minutes.”

“Yeah,” James shrugged, “I was just taking the piss, I very much doubt the secret to your locked away memories is in my eyes.”

I blushed again. Predictably.

“So, you just...?”

“Wanted to see the colour of your face,” James said, “right, I watched all these videos on the internet about it,” James continued, “Albus thought it was a bit weird, actually, but... well, he’ll get over it.”

“James,” I sighed, “look, this isn’t actually a game.”

“I didn’t realise he was going to stalk my internet history.”

“James,” I said seriously, “that’s not good enough. You want this to be some remarkable quest, well that’s fine - I could do with the help - but treat it with all the respect and decorum as you would do if you actually cared.”

“Why have I always got to be the bad guy?” I decided it was best not to answer that, instead choosing to roll my eyes and look away. James stretched out his arms and resumed his ridiculous pacing around the room. “Did you really know where the Room of Requirement is?” James asked, looking rather adorably hurt by the fact that I’d ruined his little magic trick. No doubt James was used to impressing girls with his mad ability to produce perfect rooms at the drop of the hat - but given the Room of Requirement leaked so readily of magic that it was practically painful there wasn’t really any way I could have missed it.

James had looked a little like a kicked puppy when, after letting him talk continually about how marvellous and wonderful he was for quite an extensive period of time, I'd revealed that I regularly used the Room of Requirement to phone my Dad without being overheard.

“Yes.” I said.

“Right,” James said, pulling the armchair towards the sofa and looking at me seriously, “okay, Cass, so... you need to focus on one of the memories we know have been changed.”

“The one that I showed your Dad?” I suggested, feeling a sense of encroaching doom creeping up on me. I’d sort of realised that this whole hypnosis lark would involve me talking through my memories to James and, really, James was already much too close.

Colleagues. I’d specifically said that I wanted to avoid all emotional things in this whole arrangement and...even though that had been shot to hell on quite a few occasions due to the emotional nature of the situation in question, this seemed to be taking this to new levels.

I had an aversion to people knowing too much about me. I just felt like I was continually being defined by other people - as crazy, for one - and that if someone did know anything about me, then they could really define me and I’d lose who I really was. I liked being secretive. Maybe it was because everyone else were such open books - because I could feel people’s emotions so easily and then it wasn’t too difficult to work out what they were thinking about (for the most part)... and I didn’t like the idea of anyone being that knowledgeable about me.

It was easy to hide things from my Dad due to his general view that fatherhood was a semi-part time occupation and being a multimillionaire type person was the full time occupation: not a matter of lack of priorities, just a slightly skewed ability to juggle the priorities. I reminded him of my Mother, who’d just disappeared in a blink of an eye for some unknown reason, and that made him want to have his space away from me too. But, our relationship worked for the large part. Admittedly I was mostly locked in a state of frustration at his continual absence, but his presence irked me anyway - I worked better when I was alone. I was a natural loner.

Leanne, my best friend, was partial to a fair amount of inside knowledge but had never question the reasons why it was all a secret. Well, she had, but my answer of ‘my dad’s just paranoid’ had been enough to quench her curiosity, because Leanne just wasn’t the inquisitive type.

And then there was James, who until a few weeks ago had been the bad guy and now there was an actual bad guy and he was helping me search for him. James Potter possibly knew more about me, at least on the surface, than any other person. He might be drawing with my father, but given my dad was entirely ignorant about the Cassie is crazy talk and all the stuff I put up with at Hogwarts it was doubtful (I’d never really felt it was necessary to tell him. I wouldn’t have done whilst it was bothering me, because that’s when I really clam up, but after the point when I’d just accepted it it’d seemed pointless to get my Dad riled and worried about me for no reason – because he wouldn’t believe the fact that I didn’t care in the slightest).

“You okay?” James asked and I blushed again upon realising that I’d been caught in a long, personal thought whilst James had been staring at me.

“Fine.” I said, wishing that my face didn’t display my emotions so damn readily - maybe it was to counteract the fact that I could sense everything about James’s emotions so clearly and obviously that it was practically a visual.

“Okay,” James said, “close your eyes, Cassie, I promise I won’t sexually assault you.”

I laughed at that before realising I was laughing and shutting up quickly. “Do you want me to lie down too?”

“Oh er,” James said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, “but yeah, lie down Cassie and then we’ll begin.”

It was better just to go along with what James wanted, because he was so accustomed to getting his own way I wouldn’t put it past him to physically make me lie down if I refused to. I slipped my shoes off and kicked my legs up onto the sofa. Still, following orders without looking spectacularly scarlet would have been much easier if he hadn't brought sexual assault into the equation.

“If anyone walks in right now,” James said, grinning, “it’ll look like I’m your shrink.”

“Aren’t the Cassie’s crazy jokes getting old now?” I asked.

“You do realise that you’re almost being funny, at the moment,” James said, “I don’t know why you’re so guarded all the time - you should just be normal Cassie.”

“Who are you to say who normal Cassie is?” I asked, resolutely shutting my eyes and beginning to sense out the ball of energy and emotion and memories that was James Potter. At the moment he was intrigued (of course, curiosity would be the one thing we both had in common - just bloody typical) and worse than that, sympathetic.  

I preferred it when he was a stony, cold, selfish bastard. It was better than knowing he felt sorry for me. As if he had a right to judge my life and come up with the conclusion that it sucked.

An interested party,” James said, leaning forwards, “okay, Cassandra -”

“Cassandra?” I questioned, opening my eyes again.

“Cassie,” James said, “you’re usually perfectly obliging, so why don’t you stop your crazy talk and let me hypnotise you into revealing your deepest, darkest, most forcefully repressed memories.”

“When you put it like that.” I muttered quietly, forcing my shoulder to relax as I closed to my eyes - silently resolving that this whole thing was going to tear me apart.

 *

“So, nothing?” James asked, a sort of half hearted pout on his face. “You didn’t enter a vegetative state –“

“I fell asleep, I think. Is that vegetative enough?” I said, pulling myself into a sitting position and pulling my arms around my legs. I felt vulnerable, but I doubted that had anything to do with James’s bizarre hypnosis attempt and everything to do with the fact I’d just reiterated the changed memory from the day before my Mum left all over again.

“Was it at least a good sleep?” James asked, raising a distinct eyebrow with his normal always-amused expression slipping back onto his face.

“I suppose.” I said, not looking at him as I stared at a corner of the room (a small, comfy room with a sofa, an armchair and a bookcase – probably containing most of James’s reading material). It was nice. Most rooms in Hogwarts had enough magical energy to keep me grounded, but the Room of requirement was such a sensory overload that it was half helpful and half overwhelming – currently, it was okay, because this particular form of the room had never been used before… meaning the memories associated were only ones that had been created within the last few days or so (James had been using the room to read, it seemed). Currently, none of those memories induced particularly strong feelings in either direction – slight uncomfortableness for me and eagerness from James, but memories tended to stagnate and feel stronger the more time passed… so, really, the room felt like it almost could have been empty.

“Good,” James said, “no offence, Cassie, but you look like you haven’t slept since we got back to school.”

I wanted to be sarcastic: oh, no James, why would that ever offend me? Of course, every girl wants to look like she’s exhausted. Of course, being me, the urge was suppressed and I instead opted for not reacting to James’s comment. James would likely find that more annoying anyway, due to his aversion of silence.

I doubted James would sleep particularly well if he discovered that his entire personal history was a fictitious account designed by some unknown external party. Or that his father might be involved in some dastardly conspiracy, knew your memory had been modified and had never mentioned anything for reasons yet undiscovered. That, combined with the fact that the single person who knew and at least semi-cared about the situation was the same idiot who’d sent the last six years calling me crazy didn’t really induce sleep. Insomnia, was a closer guess.

“So that’s that.” I said pointedly, hugging me knees up to my chest. I had to admit that I’d expected very little from this whole hypnosis lark (particularly with James Potter acting in the hypnotist role), but there’d been a small part of me that had still been hoping. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I wanted to know why my memories had been changed and what, exactly, my life had actually been like. And with another failed lead, it seemed that we weren’t going to get anywhere -  bringing up the possibility that I might just have to live with being ignorant.

“You,” James said dramatically, standing up and retrieving a book from the bookshelf before falling back onto the sofa next to me, “are a defeatist. You think the great Harry Potter saved the world by giving up?”

“Technically, yes. He sacrificed himself and intended to die; ergo, he gave up.”

“Sassy Cassie,” James said with an approving nod, nudging me in the side and grinning, “sounds better than crazy Cassie – always preferred rhyme to alliteration, me.”

“Please don’t call me sassy Cassie.”

“Only when you’re being particularly brilliant,” James continued, seemingly ignoring the fact that I was speaking, “or else it won’t be so special. It’ll be what we call your alter ego.”

“I don’t have an alter ego.”

“You have hundreds.”

“Back to crazy Cassie now, are we?” I asked irritably, pulling myself off the sofa and pacing the room. “It’s... that memory has got to be important. It was right before she left. It... it was more crudely changed than the others. It feels foggy when I remember it. I thought that was just because it was a long time ago but....”

“Do you find it ironic,” James said, “that you can sense memories and yet your memories have been changed?”

“Maybe that’s it,” I said, turning towards him, “maybe... maybe if I could go back to where it happened I could sense the memory and then maybe that would mean I could remember it.”

“That would explain why you’ve always moved house!” James said, his eyes widening.

“No,” I countered, “my Dad doesn’t believe in my ability, really. He thinks it’s nonsense.”

“Your Mum then,” James said, “if she gave him instructions... that you had to move out the house or your memories would come back and your Dad just took it too far – uprooting you every year. Messing with your ability to remember.

“Mum believed me about the power,” I continued, frowning and looking away from James, “she thought of herself as a bit of seer... so she always said that of course I was a bit special. They... once,” I said, trying to focus on the memory and really pinpoint it down, “someone from the Ministry came over... my Dad was angry.... something about a gift,” I paused, turning to James, “is there a part of the Ministry – a department or something – that records unique magical abilities?”

“I should think so,” James said, “It’s.... yeah, they wanted to register Dad on it. He told them where to stuff it. Mum said... well, it’s a bit of a freak list.”

“That’s it!” I said, pressing a finger to my head and sitting down in the armchair heavily. “Mum wanted me registered and Dad told her I wasn’t... wasn’t a freak. Wasn’t crazy. The Ministry representative came round... god, this was ages ago, I must have been about five.”

“Keep talking, Cassie.” James said, leaning forwards. His excited energy was half distracted and half egging me on.

“They made me do all these tests,” Cassie said, “my Dad was so angry...”

“They put the trace on you,” James said, “I mean, the double its powers. That’s why Dad was so angry... he hated the idea of being tracked.”

“That would be why your Dad didn’t report me to the Ministry,” I said, “surely he should have done. He was helping me with the whole... power thing and he didn’t report me.”

“But, if you’ve already been reported then you’ve got the double-trace.”

“But I don’t!” I said angrily. “I mean, I’d know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” James countered, “it's something they like for you to forget you have, so that if you mess up they can manipulate you into working for the Ministry.”

“Then your Dad would have asked about when I was registered,” I countered, “no, James, I haven’t got the trace. I’m seventeen.  I’ve got no trace.”

“You’re double-traced,” James countered, “but, that’s not important, what happened next?”

“Next?” I asked, brining a hand up to my head.

“After they made you do the tests.”

“What tests?”

“Cassie,” James said, lunging forwards and grabbing my arm, “Cassie, what you were just saying: you were five, someone from the Ministry came round to your house and tested your sensing ability. Your Dad was angry but your Mum was all for it. What happened next?”

“I don’t, I don’t know,” I muttered, closing my eyes and feeling out the emotions of the room – excitement, anticipation, giddy fear and shock and... that was from me. I was scared. I was scared because. “What’s happening?”

“You’re remembering things that you shouldn’t,” James said, slipping off the sofa, crouching next to me, “your brain’s going a bit... funky. Just, concentrate. What else do you remember?”

“She was a seer,” I said, screwing my eyes shut and trying to picture my mother and drawing up nothing but a wobbly image of a woman with pale blonde hair and crystal blue eyes – I didn’t look much like her. She’d said that, I remembered her saying that, saying unless she’d carried me in her stomach for nine months people would have asked if she was really the mother. But you’re special, Cassie, you’re like me – we can do things and see things other people can’t. You can sense magic, Cassie. You can feel it.

“I don’t think,” I continued, “she understood the sensing thing properly,” I said, opening my eyes and blinking up at James, “she thought it was just magic.”

“Anything else?” James asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think anymore. My head was pounding, my brain was aching with the effort and I hadn’t even realised that I was crying until a single hot tear fell off the edge of my chin. I didn’t care about the mystery or the adventure right now, I just wanted to crawl into a ball and never think again. It hurt.

“Do you, er, want a hug?” James suggested. The light seemed to catch my eyes the wrong way and then the pain was blinding. It felt like the light was bruising my eyes, was scorching the surface of my retina and for a long few seconds I closed my eyes again and tried to remember to breathe through the pain. It was bad. It was really bad.

“No,” I choked out, regaining the ability to speak and move at the same instance, pulling myself off my seat and wiping the tears off my face, “my head hurts. I think I need to go to the hospital wing.”

“You can’t,” James said, standing up too and grabbing my arms (I was in too much pain for my body to process anything but a long stream of internal expletives, so I didn’t even blush), “you can’t, Cassie – they’ll realise that you’ve remembered something you shouldn’t and they’ll mess with your mind again.”

“But it hurts.” I countered, feeling James’s serious (wait, what?) gaze boring into my eyes as he physically held me in front of him. Given James currently couldn’t feel the god damn knife piercing my god damn brain it was fair to suggest that he shouldn’t have any say over what I did.

“Cassie, what you’ve just done is incredible. You’ve thought past a memory charm that’s held for like a decade.”

And it feels like it’s ripping a hole through my brain!”                                                     

“You need a cup of tea.”

“No, I don’t! I need you to go away and I need to go to the hospital wing and get something to make it stop hurting.” I was talking much louder than usual, because everything was much too bright and pushing inwards and hurting and aching and ohmygodmakeitstop.

James was gripping my arm much too tightly, but I could barely feel it.

“We might have pushed it too far,” James said, forcing me back into the arm chair, “but, Cassie, we’re getting somewhere.”

“I don’t care!” I muttered, my shoulders slumping inwards my head bloody pounding and the tears coming thick and fast. “I don’t care. I just want to go home.”

James was silent for a long time. I closed my eyes. Nothing felt real. Everything hurt.  I bit down on my lip and began mapping everything out. The Room of Requirement was an explosion of magic, always, so I tried to ignore that (the pain flared up again with renewed vigour at the thought of it)... instead focusing on James. He was panicking. Crap, James was panicked – although he appeared to be putting forward a rather reasonable portrayal of someone feeling exciting about the whole matter of discovery – but he was a jittery, panicked mess. And it hardly made me feel better to know that internally James was screaming OH MY GOD WHAT DO I DO. Except it almost did. At least I wasn’t the only one. And, the panic meant something else quite startling – James did actually care.

Guilt, too. Adrenaline. Cluelessness.

“Write it down,” I instructed, pulling my knees up to my forehead and pressing my skull against my kneecaps – the solidity of it all was comforting, “everything I said, just... write it down.”

James seemed somewhat relieved that he’d been given something to do. I massaged my temple and tried to let the pain ebb away slightly. If remembering had caused the pain, forgetting seemed a logical antidote: I forced my brain into thinking about the homework I’d been given, reciting lists of goblin wars and trying to focus on whether Hopkin or Graque had been first... a nice, easy, safe part of my memory that I was permitted to remember.

“Cassie,” James said quietly, after I’d internally revised the entirety of the History of Magic syllabus, “tea.” I looked up, finally opening my eyes again. The pain had retreated to a dull ache that was just about manageable. By the change in James’s emotional state, it was likely that the internal recital had taken longer than I was specifically aware of.

“The Room of Requirement doesn’t do food.”

“House elves do,” James said, sitting down opposite me, “sorry.”

“Its fine,” I said, taking the cup of tea and a tentative sip (apparently, even having some sort of psychotic break down earlier I still didn’t trust James to make me tea), “thanks.” The thought of appearing so vulnerable, of crying in front of James, of raising my voice sent a sickening jolt up my spine. Much too close.

I was blushing too. Of course. Naturally.

“Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital wing, if you want.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a quest,” I said, “if I didn’t remember any of it.”

“Yeah but, it’s not really a quest... it’s your life, Cass.”

Apparently the correct way to convince James Potter of the seriousness of something is to start yelling about how much pain you’re in, demand to be taken to the hospital wring and cry a lot. The fact that the thing I’d most wanted to impress upon James Potter had been achieved but doing what I’d least wanted to do (as in, let James get anywhere near close to personal).  That was... interesting. I couldn’t sort my thoughts out yet. My brain felt very mushy – as though I’d been awake for days on end, or had just spent hours cramming for a very important test.

“Yeah,” I breathed, taking another long sip of tea, “so the hypnosis worked, I suppose. Sort of. I remembered stuff,” There was a twinge of pain in my brain, “so we could try again tomorrow.”

“Let’s give it a week.” James said, and it was then that I began to note his usual everything-is-a-joke attitude seemed to have defrosted slightly. He’d been genuinely scared. Actually, more than that, he was still scared. James Potter was absolutely bloody terrified.  “We have a couple of other lines of inquiry: we need to visit your old houses, somehow, we’ve still got to break into SInistra’s office and borrow the sorting hat and then... I was thinking, Cassie, your Mum was a seer. At least, she said she was.... so, I think you should talk to Professor Trelawney.”

“I was forbidden from taking divination.”

“Precisely.”

“James,” I said, smiling slightly, “that doesn’t mean it’s relevant, that just means divination is a piss take.”

“Were you forbidden from taking Muggle Studies?” James asked. “Well then.”

“My Dad,” I said, “is the focus of an entire section of the Muggle Studies syllabus. There was no need to forbid me from taking it.”

“Could have been interesting,” James shrugged, his gaze still a little bit too intense and a little bit too shaky, “to see your Dad from an outsider’s perspective?”

“How do you think I see him?” I said, before realising that was usually the sort of thought that I’d keep locked away and not vocalised. Those little sarcastic, bitter comments were ones I’d filed as no good to anyone and should definitely be under then James doesn’t need to know side of things.

“So it does bother you,” James said, curiously, “I thought it must do.”

“Of course it does,” I said irritably, taking another sip of my tea, “I’m not emotionless.”

“But that’s the thing, Cassie. You never react. To anything. You blush and you look embarrassed, but that’s it. Not tears, no laughter, no smile, no anger.”

“If you weren’t trying to goad me,” I said, folding eyelids shut again, “then I might react.”

“But that’s why we goad you,” James said, “because, you blush and that’s a hoot, and then you’re unflappable. We just wanted a reaction.”

My grip on my ability to not speak was beginning to step back into gear, so I answered that with a small shrug and concentrated on the hot, sweet liquid. James had decided that I liked sugar in my tea. He was wrong, obviously, but I thought I might need the sugar on this occasion.

“Don’t close up on me,” James whined, “you know I hate it when you do that.”

“Yes,” I answered, “I’m aware.”

James groaned and rolled his eyes deliberately, a little of his normal air creeping back into the situation. Good. I supposed me taking my usual roll in the conversation – apparently an otherwise unflappable blusher – had prompted James to return to be the usual arrogant prat he usually was. Which was good. Arrogant prat James was much easier to deal with than a James that had depth and was genuinely scared, because that was personal and this whole business was decidedly not personal.

“So,” James said, “we need a plan.”

“We need a new laptop,” I said, “I can’t use mine, too many traces, and yours is so old. I’ve got a  couple of old WTC products that I can sell and Dad won’t notice if I withdraw a couple of hundred. I’ll say it’s for school books, or something. We need something top of the range. Memory’s not important, we just need everything written down and stored in one place.”

“I thought you were waiting for me to come up with ideas?” James said, looking a little amused.

“Yeah, well,” I said, shrugging, “I thought we were out of leads.”

“And now we’re not?”

“No,” I said, “we’re not. I am capable of remembering things, so that’s a good start. Do you think getting hold of a pensive would be difficult?”

“Probably,” James said, frowning slightly, “they’re expensive. Maybe.... this is the room of requirement?”

“How good are you at controlling your emotions?” I asked, finishing my tea and setting the cup down on the floor.

James raised an eyebrow at that “I thought we were cold and emotionless colleagues?”

“That status remains,” I said, shortly, “I’m just wondering whether Occlumency is out of the question.”

“Mind reading?” James asked, looking so surprised that I wanted to take the picture and upload it on to Spellbook (had my page not been dramatically deleted thanks to my father).

“It means the other person gets a glimpse into your memories... I mean, Occlumency... it makes your mind stronger against external forces... I’d say a whopping great memory charm is an external force?”

“So you want to learn occlumency?”

“You gave me the idea after you started talking about Hypnosis. Very muggle, James, very weird that you know about it. I borrowed Leanne’s laptop to research a bit about it. There’s not very much, obviously, as wizards still haven’t gotten the hang of the internet like the muggles have... but, it’s not a ridiculous idea, is it?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” James said, “utterly crazy, but... what does my emotional state have to do with that?”

“People who are good at legimancy are generally good at suppressing emotions and detecting other’s emotional states. I’ll need something to practice against.”

“That’s like a description of you,” James said, looking positively gleeful, “can’t we do the reverse? You read my mind.”

“I don’t want to know what goes on in your mind.”

James snorted at that and grinned. “We should delve into your memories more often,” James said, “it results in you really letting your guard down.

“Don’t make me put it back up again.” I warned, before realising the extent to which he was right: this joking around, the banter, the planning... it almost seemed like friendship. If James had to stick around to help me out and, because of that, got given a whole host of emotional things he could blackmail me with at a later date then that was bad enough...add in a friendship and you might as well skip a couple of steps and send me straight into St Mungos.

“Are you really okay with the whole mortal danger thing?” James asked, tilting his head at me slightly.

I raised my eyebrows at him before turning away and glancing at the corner of the room. My head still hurt. I’d have thought it would be difficult to deal with James like this, but the fact that we now had something to go on made our tenuous relationship seem more solid. Questers, it seemed, were closer when their quest didn’t seem like a futile mission clutching at straws. It was a difficult balance between having a good working relationship as colleagues and stepping forth into other dangerous realms.

“Sorry,” James said, “couldn’t help at least trying to abuse your mental state.”

I ignored him. Silence was, after all, my only weapon.

“So, you’re going to let me try and read your mind?”

Silence.

“That’ll be fun,” James grinned, “guess I’ll find out if you’re really crazy.”

I continued to stare at him, blank, emotionless, silent: unflappable. Worst of all, I was even enjoying it.

“I might find all sorts of stuff,” James continued, watching me just as carefully in response, “like your horribly obvious crush on Leanne’s brother.”

That of course, resulted in the blushes of all blushes and ruined everything.






Hazzah! An update! And, good news, my muse for this story has returned in style. I've planned out the rest of the story and am fully inspired to write lots and lots (just as soon as those pesky exams are out the way). So, here we have the return of the plot and a new beginning, of sorts. Also, I'm doing camp NaNo this month so I'm writing lots and lots - so if you guys have anything in particular you want updating let me know in some way and I'll see what I can do. I'm planning on getting a couple of chapters of everything written... but obviously as it's Curiosity month this is a top priority! Anyway, I'll stop chatting on now. Thanks for reading guys! I'll update soon this time, promise :)

(Reviews are nice, by the way. Just saying).


http://www.harrypotterfanfiction.com