shell_77

BIRTHDAY

shell_77 — Tue, 19 May 2015 04:00:52 GMT

Happy Birthday, hun! I hope it's awesome one!

SOMEONES SPECIAL DAY

shell_77 — Thu, 25 Dec 2014 02:14:53 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I HOPE IT'S AS SPECIAL AS YOU ARE!

Ellie's B-day

shell_77 — Fri, 03 Oct 2014 08:45:53 GMT

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELLIE!

Happy Birthday

shell_77 — Wed, 25 Dec 2013 07:55:51 GMT

Have a wonderful birthday, dear heart!

Callistokerrigan

shell_77 — Mon, 09 Dec 2013 06:28:34 GMT

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday Ellie!

shell_77 — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 14:24:23 GMT

A big happy birthday to you, my dear. I hope your special day is as wonderful as you are!
Much love to you,
Shell aka Caughtinblackseyes

Supernatual Fics

shell_77 — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 09:01:38 GMT

Title: Dudes Do Not Share Body Heat
Author: Shell_77 aka Caughtinblackseyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam, OMC
Pairings: Cas/Dean
Warnings: None
Ratng: R for language
Spoilers: None
Tags: Friendship, Humor, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I own nothing at all to do with Supernatural and make no money from my feeble attempts to do them justice through my writing!

This is unbeta'd so forgive any mistakes please.

Summary: Dean and Cas are out on a stake out and Dean (much to his chagrin) has to explain to a clueless Cas why it is totally unacceptable for dudes to share body heat.

Dudes Do Not Share Body Heat

"Cold?"

Dean turned his head and met the steady gaze of the angel sitting next to him. Sometimes it really freaked him out just how empty that stare could be, but right now it held an even more disturbing look. Cas' brow was all scrunched up in that weird parody of concrn that he sometimes took on. Yeah, Dean was pretty certain that was an even weirder look; it gave him the royal heebie jeebies.

Shrugging his shoulders in a careless manner, Dean answered, "Some, but nuthen' I can't handle."

"Perhaps you should turn the heat on in this vehicle," Castiel suggested, noting the subtle shivers that shook the humans broad frame.

Patting the dash of the Impala affectionately, Dean chuckled, "My baby girl here needs a speck of rest. We've been burnen' up the miles and she's starten' to complain and when mamma ain't happy... ain't nobody happy."

Castiel tilted his head to the side and murmured slowly, "Still, it would behoove you to gather warmth. Clearly, you are in need of it."

Dean's eyebrow rose. "Behoove? Behoove? Sighing, Dean continued as if to himself, "Y'gotta be kidden' me." At the angel's confused demeanor, Dean added, "I mean seriously, Cas who the hell talks like that?"

"I do," Castiel stated simply. "As do all of the Heavenly Host, but proper vernacular is not the issue at hand. You will surely catch a terrible cold, if not worse, if something isn't done."

"Well, can't you... y'know," waving his hand in the air Dean asked, "Maybe use your angel mojo to create some heat?"

"Why would I use my Grace on such a mundane task?"

"Because I'm freezen' my ass off here," Dean spat out, creating a white mist of proof at just how cold it had gotten while they'd been busy with their convo. "Sooooo... can you or what," Dean demanded with another wave of his hand.

"No, Dean... I cannot," Castiel answered, sounding every bit as exasperated as Dean felt.

"Y'know Cas, you can be a real dick sometimes." When Dean saw no reaction from the perpetually stoic angel, he slapped his palm on the steering wheel in frustration and declared angrily, "I'm not asken' for a bonfire here or for the flames of Hell to heat up frozen - though spectacular - ass-ets. I just want..."

"In direct contrast to what is most often believed by you humans," Castiel interrupted, "very little heat is generated in Hell." He went on to say in the annoyen' know-it-all type manner of his, "The flames of hell are, in fact, cold beyond measure."

Snorting, Dean snapped back, "Dude, like I don't already know that." Flicking his thumb back at his chest he winked and with a half-smirk remarked, "Been to Hell and back. Remember?"

"Dean," Cas sighed, then spoke carefully as if he feared the hunter might be slow-witted, "I am the one who pulled you out, so of course I remember."

"Man," Dean grumbled under his breath while staring at the roof of the Impala, "why couldn't I have gotten an angel with a sense of humor?"

Clicking his tongue, Cas replied, "We angels are not known to possess such a useless quality."

"Hey, ass-wipe," Dean leaned in Cas' direction and growled, "Don't be haten' on the humor."

A solemn silence descended and then with a frown cas spoke again. "You're angry. Why?"

"Because, Cas," Dean exclaimed harshly, "a good dose of humor has seen me through some serious shit." Leaning forward, his hazel eyes filled with angry steel, Dean pushed his point home by jabbing a finger in the astonished angel's face. "Without a good chuckle or two I'd probably be sitten' next to Jack Nicholson in some padded room havin' to deal with the likes of Nurse Rachette. So yeah... Don't be haten' on the humor!"

"Dean," Castiel asked with an earnest expression, "are you aware that you are infringing upon my personal space?" With a slight questioning tilt to his head, he called Dean out by asking, "Is that not frowned upon?"

Realizing that Cas was right, Dean sat back abruptly. After clearing his throat uncomfortably he muttered, "Whatever." He began rubbing his hands together brisklly while grumbling nastily, "It really sucks ass that you're not able to enjoy this fine brisk evening as much as me."

And when Cas stated in that wonderous dead-pan way of his, "You don't appear to be enjoying it, Dean."

Dean was flat-out tempted to gank the douch-bag right here and now. I mean really, who was gonna to miss one weird-ass angel? Friggin' dick couldn't - nah, scratch that - not couldn't... Wouldn't - even manage to work up some heat to help out one rapidly developing Deansicle.

Instead of ganken' Cas on the spot, Dean settled for saying snidely, "It was a joke dumb-ass." Pulling his jacket tighter around his half frozen torso, he muttered acidly, "This might be the one and only time I envy one of you mofo's." Turning his head to Cas once more, he queried with genuine curiosity, "Is it like you dudes are immune to the weather, or something?"

"I am able to regulate the temperature of my vessel," Cas informed him, sounding as if it were the most normal thing possible.

But, hey... probably was normal if you were a friggen' angel, and as another sharp shudder shook him, Dean was reminded that he definitely didn't fall into that "exaulted" category and damn it all to hell... he wouldn't have it any other way!

"When the weather is warm I merely lower my vessel's internal temperature," Cas droned on even though Dean was past caring. "The same applies when it is cold but in reverse, of course."

"Of course," Dean rasped out sarcastically while thinking maybe ganken' this angel idiot might not be such a bad idea after all.

"I could give you my coat," Cas generously offered, and then promptly took that generous offer back by stating calmly, "However, I do not think it will be sufficient to your needs." Then, he totally threw Dean by saying nonchalantly, "It would be better if I were to share my heat with you."

Dean's entire body stiffened and it had absolutely nothing to do with the bitterly frigid weather. "Um, yeah... so not gonna happen, dude. Not a chance in ever lasten' hell," Dean exclaimed forcefully, eyes wide with apprehension. Then, realizing just how petrified he sounded and how utterly unmanly, he tried to save face by saying jokingly, "I mean, you're attractive and all in a dorky, nerdish kinda way, but I'll pass."

Although it was pretty dark within the confines of his baby, Dean could clearly make out the massive confusion in Cas' startling blue eyes. "I fail to see how my vessel's features have anything to do with keeping you warm," he exclaimed, sounding not only highly perplexed but mighty put out too.

Put out with him, Dean thought gleefully. It was a right, royal blast gettin' any kinda reaction outta Cas, but it was out-and-out awesome when he was gettin' this sorta reaction outta him. Dean's humor died a quick death at Cas' next words putting him right back into Awkwardville and wishen' he was anywhere... anywhere, (and we're talken' Hell even) but here.

"Unless I were to press my face against you."

Dean let out a choked cough, but the agony turned out to be far from over.

"Still, that would not heat up enough of your body to make a difference," Cas tacked on sounding both serious and reflective. "It would be much wiser if you were to slide over and allow me to press your body next to my own. That would allow for..."

"Stop! Stop right now," Dean ordered gruffly, wincing slightly at the near hysteria in his voice. Taking a few deep breaths in order to calm himself he added with a much more unruffled finesse than what he was actually feeling, "Just quit with the whole sharen' heat and pressen' bodies cause it's really weirden' me out here." Slumping back into his seat as if exhausted, Dean bit out, "Christ on a stick."

"You are uncomfortable with this topic of conversation," Cas ventured to ask.

Dean snorted derisively. "Chalk one up for Captain Obvious. Yeah, as a matter of fact I am, so just drop it already."

But, it seemed as if Cas didn't understand the concept of 'drop it' because instead of dropping it he declared with no small amount of frustration, "I do not understand your apprehension, Dean. I am offering you assistance and yet you persisit in refusing my help and to your own detriment, I might add."

And didn't that dickwad have the actual balls to sound smug about the possible outcome of refusing his help. So maybe it'd gotten' to the point where he couldn't feel his fingers, or his toes, or his nose. Did that make it okay for Cas to sound so damned, self-righteously smug? Dean had to remind himself that if he showed up at the motel without his present passanger that Sammy'd go all girlie on him and throw a hissy-fit bound to rival that of that skank Lohan, and he was way too tired to be dealen' with that crap.

"Well, tough macaroons on you not understanden' cause I don't have time to explain it to a moronic stooge."

Sighing, Cas pointed out quietly, "Dean, time is all we have at the moment."

"No, douche we don't," Dean argued. "We gotta keep out eyes peeled for any y'know... outta the ordinary shit."

From the corner of his eye, Dean watched as Cas crossed his arms over his chest and damn if it didn't look as if he was pouting. Pouting! Did angels even really know how to pout? Clearly this one did. Dean's chapped, frozen lips pulled into an elated smirk. He - Dean Winchester - had gotten an angel of the Lord to pout! How friggin' cool was that?! Then, Cas had to go and ruin his good mood by saying something both stupid and unnecessary, pretty much the standard for this particular dick of an angel.

"We've been here for over an hour, twenty-three minutes and two seconds and have yet to see anything out of the ordinary. That being the case, I see no reason why we can't explore the subject of your absurd aversion of accepting my assistance."

"You're not gonna let this go, are ya," Dean demanded, now totally frustrated by Cas' ability to catch a clue. "Fine... fine, but listen up Cas cause I'm only gonna tell you this once, got it?" Staring into that expectant face was more than a little unnerving and after a brief hesitation, Dean blurted out, "Dudes do not hare body heat. It just ain't done. There, I told ya, now let's drop it, kay."

"Dean, that is an erroneous statement." Castiel paused when he noted the roll of the hunter's annoyance-filled eyes. Undeterred by this, he pressed his case. "There have been many instances where men have shared body heat in order to survive perlious situations."

"That may be," Dean agreed grudgingly before pressing home his point."Difference being my survival isn't in question." Rubbing a nearly frost-bitten hand along the back of his chilled neck, he grumbled, "Though this conversation's pretty much killin' me, and Jesus what I wouldn't give for a cold one right about now."

Ignoring Dean's reference to alcohol, Cas asked with a frown, "What exactly is that you object to?" Pointedly disregarding Dean's death glare, Cas leaned closer, his face scrunched up in such a way that would've been hilarious if wasn't so friggin' intense. "I am trying to understand, Dean. Won't you help me to understand?"

There was a moment of thick, tense stillness before Dean threw his hands up in the air and bellowed,"Cause I don't wanna be mistaken' for a friggin' homo! There, I said it. Y'happy now?"

Dean could've just about cracked Cas in the skull when he said, with no intonation in his voice, "No, I am far from happy because obviously you are distressed." Followed by, "What's a homo?"

"Jesus,"Dean rasped out,"don't you know anything?" He was well and truly fed up.

"I know a great many things," Cas informed him with a slight air of condescension. "However, the word 'homo' is not among them. Elaborate please."

"Homo is when two dudes like each other," Dean explained in a rush of words.

Cas lowered his gaze, freeing Dean from those all-seeing, soul-wrenching electric blue orbs. "So," he whispered slowly, "you do not wish to be homo with me?"

"Hell no," Dean agreed whole-heartedly, then letting out a bark of laughter he sputtered, "Abso-fucken-lutely not!"

Staring fixedly at the upholstery, Cas mumbled quietly, "I see." Lifting his lashes, he said with a trace of hurt in his voice, "But you would be homo with Sam and Bobby."

Stunned into silence, Dean just stared back at Cas in shock (jaw hanging open, eyes widened, brows so high on his forhead they could give Joan River's a run for her money.... so yeah, basically the whole enchilada).

"Uh, wait uh... what?" Stuttering crazily, Dean shook his head until he saw stars. "No, no man... you got it all wrong, dude!"

"I do," Cas questioned, the downward droop of his mouth lifting a fraction.

"Yeah, man defintitely! Umm... listen, homo is when two guys like each other in an uh... different kinda way." Crap! He really hated doing this, it was so not his scene. "They uh... wanna be together y'know... sexually as in havin' actual sex, or intercourse, or coitus or whatever the hell you dudes up in Heaven are callin' it." Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his seat cause Cas was just sitting there, staring at him, saying nothing (for a change). "So, y'know... it's way more than just liken' someone as a friend. It's different, completely different. Me, Sammy and Bobby are what you could call, I suppose... non-homo pals."

Cas' face cleared. "I see," he said, and then asked with child-like innocence,"Is that what we are, Dean? Non-homo pals?"

Dean chuckled, relieved that this conversation was, at long last (way too long) over. Giving the angel a manly pat in the shoulder, he nodded and said with a laugh, "Sure, Cas sure... I mean why the hell not."

"Good," Cas declared, and then said with a satisfied smile, "We are now non-homo pals."

"Yeah, well listen Cas... no need to go 'round broadcastin' the non-homo part; 'kay? Some people might find it offensive and the last thing we need is to go 'round maken' us any more enemies." Quirking an eyebrow, Dean asked, "Got it?"

Cas flashed a thumbs up (clearly they were gonna have to cut him off from all those Happy Days reruns) and answered with an almost chessy grin, "Got it."

Dean was more relieved than he could ever possibly say that this conversation was over. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he was wishing like hell he could just call it a night and haul ass back to the motel so he could crash and burn. He knew it wasn't gonna pan out that way so he he wrapped his arms around his waist, tucking his hands securely under his armpits. Yeah, it sounded kinda gross, but he'd heard that the armpits was one of the places on the body that generated a good amount of body heat. That and the crotch, but no way in hell he was tucking his hands there with Cas in the car.

He settled his head back. Who knew, maybe he did have a shot at a catching a few Z's. Maybe he'd get lucky and slip off into a dream where he was on some nice, warm beach with a couple of scantily clad chicks running along the shoreline all Baywatch-style. Dean grinned. That'd be beyond awesome!

"Oh yeah," he muttered with a feral smile, 'Come to papa." As in his minds' eye he imagined Yasmine Bleeth (that Anderson chick was way too plastic looken' for his tastes) was running toward him all slo-mo like. Her long, dark hair was flying behind her as she jogged ever closer. He groaned when her wide, perfectly plump lips parted into a seductive smile. And holy friggin' Jesus... how hot was that red lifeguard suit? Totally, awesomely, friggin' hot when some seriously sexy T and A were slammed into it!

Sighing contentedly, Dean let himself slide further down his seat and licked his lips in anticipation of Yasmine's imminent, much needed, and seriously anticipated mouth-to-mouth. He was happily rolling around in the sand, having his own From Here To Eternity moment with his Baywatch beach babe, getting all hot and sweaty with sand grinding into places that would've been uncomfortable if it wasn't so all fired-up fine!

"Dean... Dean..."

"Mmmmm... you moanen' m'name baby is maken' me hot."

"Dean." Shake, shake. "Dean." Shake, shake.

"Mmmmm... leave m'be Sammy... bout to get me some."

"Dean!"

Dean shot up swiftly simultaneously striking out with one tightly balled fist while reaching into his waistband with the other. Whipping out his gun, he pulled back the hammer and took careful aim at whoever wasn't Sammy. He sagged in relief when he realized who had been trying to wake him. As far from him as the limited space would allow, sat Cas rubbing his forehead and glaring at him in a way that Dean seldom saw him do. Would've been crazy hysterical if he wasn't so completely and utterly and royally pissed!

"Damn you, Cas," Dean bellowed. Lowering his weapon, he continued on with his waspish tirade. "There I was haven' the best dream ever and you gotta go and butt your sorry ass in just as it was getten' good!" Reaching passed a still glaring Cas - who continued to nurse a killer bruise - Dean opened the glove compartment and carefully placed the gun inside. Holding up his thumb and index finger, keeping them spread apart by mere centimeters, Dean groused, "This close, jack-off... I was this close to doen' the dirty deed with one of the hottest chicks to have ever graced to bube-tube."

"My apologies," Cas remarked, he remorse appearing to be bonafide.

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Dean replied thoroughly disgusted, "Forget it. What's the problem? We got some action across the street?" Glancing out the window, Dean entreated wistfully, "Please... puh... leeze, tell me we're gonna go do some major ass whoopen'."

Cas disappointed him by saying, "No, that is not the case. I was merely concerned for your welfare."

"Concerned for my welfare," Dean echoed hollowly. When Cas nodded in agreement, the hunter rasped out irately, "You're tellen' me... for real... that you woke me up from the best, most sizzlin' wet dream in the maken' that I have had in ages just cause you were 'concerned for my welfare'?"

Not comprehending why Dean was annoyed, Cas stated, "I feared that hypothermia may be setting in as your lips were turning a slight shade of blue." Dean blinked. "Not a dark blue as of yet," Cas elaborated carelessly. "It had more of a grayish slate-blue quality to it, but I did notice that the blue hue deepened mainly at the flesh of the center of your mouth; the bottom lip especially caused, no doubt, by the fact that your bottom lip is much fuller than the upper."

Dean blinked several more times before asking mildly, "You've been staren' at my mouth?"

"Yes."

"While I was sleepen'?"

Another affirmative from Cas.

"So," Dean drawled, "you've been staren' at my mouth... while I was sleepen'?"

"Have I not already said so," Cas mused with a deeply furrowed brow.

"Damn, Cas," Dean exclaimed with a sickened twist to his apparently much-watched mouth,"That's fucken' creepy... even for you. For how long?"

Cas' answer was immediate. "Fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds."

"No more of that, Cas," Dean declared wrathfully. "And I ain't kiddin' on this, not by a long shot. I'm warnen' your angel ass as of right now that I better never catch you staren' at my mouth again or I'm gonna bust yours open." Cas' eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline at Dean vehement threat.

"As you wish," was his signature simple, low-key rejoinder.

"Kay, fine, good," Dean answered, feeling much better now that his message had been delivered, recieved and understood. Then, noticing that Cas had something in his hand, he asked, "What the hell's that?"

Holding it aloft, Cas murmured, "It's a thermos of coffee."

Dean had been pretty damned sure that having seen and experienced as much crazy shit as he had, that he was kinda beyond being shocked or taken by surprise. He had just discovered that he was way wrong on that one.

"Why the friggin' hell are you just pullen' that outta your ass now," Dean roared. "I've been sufferen' for like... I don't know ... hours (seemed like it anyway) and you pull this bullshit move now?"

"I didn't mean..."

"Shut your pie-hole," Dean all but screamed (a manly scream, not girly at all). "Gimme that," he snapped venomously, while making a grab for the thermos.

"Careful," Cas warned, "the lid..."

Unfortunately, due to circumstances being what they were, Dean wasn't paying a lick of attention to Cas' warning. That, coupled with the fact that the freezing cold had made Dean's fingers more than a little clumsy, the end result was kind of inevitable.

"Holy, motherfucken' shit," Dean screamed as hot coffee poured down his front in a stream of black wetting his tee shirt clean through, before cascading further south creating a steaming mini-pool between his jean-clad thighs.

Cas flew across the seat as if propelled by wings, which was probably the case, and yanked Dean's jacket aside. He took in the drenched shirt and agonized expression on Dean's face and grabbed two handfuls of fabric and ripped the cloth from neck to hem. Dean shivered as the cold air hit him, his skin breaking out in a rash of goosebumps, but damn if it didn't ease the hurt a little bit, not much but some.

"Dean," Cas gasped, taking in the red and slightly swollen skin of his chest and abdomen. "This is bad."

Dean let out an agonized chuckle. "Gotta thank the powers that be for the gift of denim." Choking hoarsely, he forced a grin. "Otherwise the family jewels would've been roasted."

"You are referring to your genitalia," Cas inquired, as his hands gently explored the damaged areas of his torso.

Dean, who was hurting too much to care about all the touchy-feely going on, simply nodded.

'I can take care of that," Cas assured him as he straddled Dean's lap disregarding the fact that he was now soaking his own trousers in the process.

Dean might have been in too much misery to object to a bit of skin-on-skin first aid, but he wasn't so far outta it that he was hunky-dorey with haven' some dude on his lap.

"Get off," Dean groused, feebly pushing against Cas, trying to ignore the stinging that went along with making any sorta movement.

"I am trying to help, " Cas declared shortly, showing the first signs of real anger. "Now let me do it this way or I will make you unconcious," he threatened, and Dean didn't have to be an intellectual giant to figure out he was serious.

"Fine," Dean grumpily agreed, slumping back, feeling weak as a kitten.

Cas shifted his weight until he was settled firmly on Dean's legs. Dean didn't think it was worth the effort to protest, he'd just bear the indignity of it cause the sooner Cas did this the sooner he'd be back on his side of the seat. That didn't mean he had to watch, so he closed his eyes and set about pretending he was getting a lap dance form some busty Asian centerfold.

Way easier said than done 'specially when Cas shattered his almost illusion by whispering, "This will only take a moment." And was it really necessary for Cas to put his mouth that close to his ear?

Dean felt Cas place one hand on the spot between his ribcage and bellybutton. He squirmed uncomfortably but made no verbal protest. Cas' lips brushed his ear again as he asked quietly, "Ready?"

Dean grunted his assent, but nearly catapulted through the roof when a hand plopped forcefully down on his crotch and took hold.

"What the fuck," Dean screeched, and couldn't have cared less that this time he really did sound like a ten year old girl.

"Hold still, Dean!"

Then, it happened... one of Dean's worst nightmares come to life. (Not that he regularly dreamt about some dude crawling around in his lap, but hey... what could he say... it was a nightmare) The sound of tapping at the driver's side window had both occupants of the vehicle swinging their heads in that direction. Their faces bore markedly different expressions. Cas looked startled, maybe even a little rattled while Dean looked more horrified than mere words could ever detail when they realized that staring back at them was a police officer.

He made a motion with his hand indicating that he wanted the window lowered which, ever helpful and obliging, Cas did before Dean had a chance to stop him or push him off. In one quick, all encompassing glance the officer took in the scene before him. Tipping his hat back slightly in his balding forehead, he sighed as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders (which he wasn't, cause that lousey job fell to him and Sammy) and, much to Dean's surprise, casually remarked, "This is a no parking zone, gentlemen."

And, that was it. Like he came across two dudes all scrunched up on top of each other every day or something. It was clear that this fine upstanding officer was gonna let it slide, look the other way and pretend that he didn't notice that some guy (in a trench coat no less) had just been caught feelen' up a partially naked dude. Yet, Dean felt the need to explain.

Using a finger to gesture between him and Cas, Dean said with an awkward smile, "This... this isn't what it looks like, officer." And damn if Cas was making him out to be a friggin' liar by clinging to him like a vine.

"Of course it isn't," The policeman deadpanned, clearly not believing him for a second if that cynical look was anything to go by.

"No, really sir... if you'll just let me explain..."

He cut Dean off with a raised hand. "No need. You and your boyfriend just need to move it along. In an hour this loading dock will be open for business."

Face flaming, Dean exclaimed desperately, "He isn't my boyfriend!" Dean gave Cas a sharp elbow to the gut to no avail, bastard didn't move an inch. "Honestly, sir... it's not like that at all. Y'see what happened was..."

Placing a hand on Dean's bare shoulder, Cas butted in my saying, "I think I can make sense of this situation to the law enforcement individual." Dean was hoping that Cas was planning on zapping this mortifying memory from the man in blue's noggin'. Instead, looking directly at the policeman and serious as can be he said, "If I were indeed Dean's boyfriend I would be engaged in sexual activity with him." Dean wanted to sink into the seat and disappear for the remainder of his existance. He'd just begun praying to his baby to swallow him whole when Cas tacked on, "We are merely non-homo pals."

>>>>>>>

"Not one word, Sammy," Dean bit out fiercely as his brother was ushered into the room. "Not, One. Word," he reiterated with a threatening gleam in his eyes, the one that promised a world of hurt if he didn't do as he was told.

"Fine, Dean," Sam agreed readily, holding his hands up and out in a placating manner. "Not one word."

Turned out way too readily cause just as Dean was heaving a sigh of relief, Sam coninued, "Not one word on how you and Cas have been arrested for parking in a no parking zone, lying to a police officer, and there are those other two teeny-tiny charges against you guys. Hmmmmm... yeah," tapping his chin, face screwed up in an expression of bewilderment Sam remarked casually, "What were they again?" Snapping his fingers as if sudden inspiration had struck, he exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, now I remember... something about indecent exposure and lewd and licentious behavior."

Dean let out a cross between a groan and growl, and sounding like just like a riled, savage animal snarled, "Sammy..."

Undeterred, Sam spread his arms wide and with an affable grin began bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet while leisurely adding, "And hey, while we're not saying one word on things, how about we don't mention the added charges against you bro. You know... the whole resisting arrest and the attempted battery and inflicting of bodily harm to" --- strolling closer to his brother who now had his teeth clenched so hard that the hinges of his jaw was clearly defined beneath the pink splotches riding high on his cheekbones --- "and, let me make sure I get this right, to a non-homo pal."

Dean's head fell forward hitting the bars of his cell with an audible thunk.

The End

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

shell_77 — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 09:59:39 GMT

Solas,
Hello dear heart! I know I'm a bit early but HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! Much love and happiness on your special day!!!
Shell aka Caughtinblackseyes

Raven's B-day

shell_77 — Sat, 02 Oct 2010 18:46:10 GMT

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!
(i know i'm a few days early, but i didn't want to forget)
love, caughtinblackseyes/shell

Ellie's B-day

shell_77 — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 18:47:45 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELLIE! I HOPE YOUR DAY IS AS WONDERFUL AS YOU ARE!!!
*sends loads of hugs and kisses*

Exclusive Photos and Interview: Follow-up to 'Alien' Home Invasion Video

shell_77 — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 18:26:07 GMT

Exclusive Photos and Interview: Follow-up to 'Alien' Home Invasion Video

shell_77 — Thu, 13 May 2010 17:10:50 GMT

Happy Happy Birthday!! I hope youhave a wonderful day!

shell_77 — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 00:04:48 GMT

This is a bit surprising albeit it somewhat accurate.

Are We Alone? Do You Believe In Aliens? Is the Government Lying To Us?

shell_77 — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 23:20:03 GMT

What are your thoughts on UFO's? How about govenment conspiracies? Does life outside of Earth exist? Does life inside Earth exist? Are abductees lying nutcases or nutcases who don't know that they're lying? Or maybe, just maybe... it's not a lie and the truth is more horrifying than what are minds are capable of accepting or believing?

I've been hearing a lot of interesting stuff about flu vaccines which, by the way, I've never gotten as I never saw the need. What about losing all of our Constitutional Rights if a State of Emergency is ever declared? Who's really running our country? Conspiracy theories are running rampant. Are these people paranoid beyond belief or are they the ones who aren't being snowed by Fascist rulers masquerading as those who are to be: for the people and by the people??

I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter(s). Everyone has a right to their opinion but I do ask that you give it respectfully or not at all.

Rob Pattinson Thinks Older Women Are Sexy!!

shell_77 — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 13:34:54 GMT

Okay, this is one of the reasons I have such a crush on Rob. A few years back he did a radio show in which he proclaimed his love for older women. *sighs* He gives older women hope! Check out his clip from The View.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7VOndg2jQw&feature=related

Required Viewing for the Youth of Today

shell_77 — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 12:51:41 GMT

Every teen-ager or teen-ager in training should be made to watch the following video because it is so freaken' true and the kids of this generation need some sort of wake-up call cause their lives are so tough and all in todays world. It's called "Everything's Amazing and Nobody's Happy"

Check it out, I guarantee you'll laugh!!!

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=545352836934

A Wrestling Match to Match All Matches!!

shell_77 — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:42:08 GMT

So, is there anything worse than wrestling a teen-age girl who is 6 inches taller than yourself and over 25 years younger than you are over, of all things, a portable dvd player and an Ipod. This is what happens when a teen-ager doesn't clean her room after numerous reminders and threats of taking all electronincs from her possession if she doesn't hop to it.

Two hours later her room is still a mess. No amount of cajoling, pleading, or bargaining seemed to work and that's when I entered 'the void' aka a girls personal space aka the bedroom - to take all electronics and suddenly the former life-less blob developes the ability to move and rather quickly at that!

Now, I've seen Wrestlemania once or twice, and that was one time too many, and I'm here to tell you this wasn't like that at all. For one, we lacked a ref and so basically it was a free-for-all with absolutely no rules. Imagine it. Two females fighting to the death over two small electronic pieces of cheap plastic that probably came form China and therefore more than likely would eventually have poisoned us as so many items which come from China do. But... I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes, trying to yank and pull that damn portable dvd player out of hands that have it clutched convulsively and protectively close to her chest. She is, and I kid you not, literally foaming at the mouth! But I am the adult in this scenario and I refuse to give into a little foamy-white teen-aged drool! I will prevail!! I reknew my efforts and with untold strength I manage to wrest the Ipod from her pocket. Success! This, although good for me, is also a stronger incentive for her to build up wild defenses in order to keep her hold on that portable dvd player.

She feints to the left. I match her. She twists and turns at impossible angles taking my arms with her, but I am determined and no matter how awkward and painful my contorted limbs feel, I do not budge. She side-swipes my leg with her own and we tumble to the bed in a mass pile of arms and legs. For a moment I hope that this little fall will disorient her enough to the point that I can snatch the dvd player. Alas, not the case. She is as tenacious as I.

By this point, our struggles have filtered beyond the confines of 'the void' which boggles my mind considering she 's been bellowing the word, Nooooooooo since this whole fiasco began. My partner in crime enters the arena and for a split second I was under the ludicrous impression that we'd be able to tag-team our erstwhile teen-aged girl. Yes, it goes against all the rules of WWF but I was getting desperate. Did I happen to mention that I'm 6 inches shorter than her AND over 25 years older? That being the case, I was getting tired. There's only so much umph a woman my age can maintain through sheer bull-headed stubborness as my poor battered body could attest to.

And what does my partner in crime do to come to my aid? Nothing. She simply stands there watching as I am grabbed by the back of my sweater. You see, I'd almost gotten away with the precious cargo but the teen-aged blitz managed to grab me from behind. I tripped. I stumbled. I banged my knee on the wood part of her bed. I wouldn't have been having all these problems and attempting to avoid obstacles strewn through out the room if she had just cleaned up all that crap like I asked her to do in the first place.

It was getting ugly when I turned to my partner in crime and beseeched, "Help me!" My partner in crime is startled out of her stupor and rushes to my aid but I had no need of her assistance. I held the dvd player aloft, victorious! Before my teen-aged hellion had time to rally I exited the room with my ill-gotten booty. I turned to my partner in crime and asked, "Why didn't you help me when you came into the room?" She says, "I thought you guys were just playing around."
Yeah, right... because all that yelling, screaming, screeching, bouncing off the walls and spittle was a real hoot, let me tell ya. Fact is, I'm ready for another round. NOT!!

American Idol Round 2 - The Girls

shell_77 — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 18:35:30 GMT

I'm just too daggone tired to watch it again and make comments on each and every lady, so I'll do that after work tonight. I will say there were a few stand-outs and that I didn't agree with all of the judges comments and thought the girls were far better than what they were giving them credit for.

As one of my kids would say, "Peace out."

From head-aches to cookies

shell_77 — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 06:35:45 GMT

Okay, just to clarify... I'm pooped! Not only am I pooped but I'm developing one of those really nasty head-aches. The kind that settles into your temples and radiates into your jaw and then embraces your back teeth like an annoying lover that you just wish would stay on his side of the bed cause you're a spawler and all; and let's face it, he's already done his good deed for the night so some leg room would be appreciated.

I need a head and back massage rather badly, that would really chase away that nasty 'ole head-ache. Oh, how I wish I had someone to do both of those things without expecting sex as a down payment or reward (lol). I had a wonderful boyfriend who gave the most amazing foot rubs and I mean good! Then, wonder of wonders, after he was sure of my affections those impromtu foot rubs became a thing of the past. Imagine that! Well, at least my dog still licks my toes. Now there's a true love for ya. *grins*

Work was good. The kids were great (for the most part). One of my girls made the most yummilicious peanut butter cookies from scratch and with real butter! They were fabulous. Slightly crispy on the bottom and around the edges but soft (without being gooey, gooey's only good when chocolate chips are involved) everywhere else. I watched American Idol with two more of my other girls while wrapped in a warm blanket and sporting two pair of socks to keep the tootsies toasty. Time flew by and now here it isThursday and with only one more work day to go!

The Search

shell_77 — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 18:26:56 GMT

The Search

I search for you in countless eyes,
their depths are not as deep.
I see not there the light of love,
that's only mine to keep.

Oh my soul, where can you be,
when will you be home?
It seems as if you wander on,
forever will you roam?

There are those of little faith
who say I wait in vain.
Aeons have passed but hold
steadfast to what has been ordained.

Tis true I could make due with others
til you find your way,
Yet, why waste precious moments
in the idleness of play?

When I give it will be to you,
no halt-heartedness involved,
the joining of our souls complete,
all waiting then absolved.

American Idol Round 2 - The Men

shell_77 — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 05:24:03 GMT

Let me just say, WOW! What a major, MAJOR improvement from last week. For the most part I really enjoyed tonights episode. Let's do the run down:

Big Mike - Amazing. He has a voice as big as his biceps! Totally loved his performance. A fantastic way to open the show. You go Mike!

John - *sighs* This guy does nothing for me. I keep wondering how in the world he even made it on the show. Everything he does sounds the same. Granted, he's only sung two songs, but personally, I think that's all the songs we'll be hearing from him.

Casey - Now, I'm a big Casey fan. I'm not mental about it like Kara, but there's something likable about this dude. That said, I really hated his performance this evening. Loved the guitar but I was thinking exactly what Kara said by telling him that he took two steps back and reminding him that this is a singing competition. Here's the truth of the matter: we'll be seeing him next week because he can sing, he can play the guitar and he's easy on the eye. He's the hearthtrob of this seasons A.I. though personally, it's Mike who makes my heart pound. Casey's chins a little too weak for me. Yeah, I know... call me shallow.

Alex - Boy, good job there fella. I was of the opinion that you should have gone home last week and then you do this! That voice is so distinctive and once he pulls it all together, he might be a contender. He really turned me around this week!

Todrick - *shakes head sadly* What the hell you doen' man?? God, that was worse than awful and I couldn't beleive it when you said you picked a song where you felt you couldn't be compared to the original artist. Are you insane?! It's TINA TURNER, dude! One of the ultimate, iconic voices around not mention those killer gams. I believe you'll be packing your bags fella. That horrendous performance aside, for me, you're all showman and no real substance. You're starting to annoy the hell outta me. Can I come and help you pack??

Jermaine - Here's another fella I just can't seem to cotton to. Loved the pajamas, bud! One of my kids (she's 18) has the exact same pair, so kudos on the wardrobe.

Andrew - I like you man, but what in the world was that song about. You can sing, dude! You can, but you were all over the place. I actually got up and went and made myself two toasted cheese sandwiches during the performance, that's how unenthralled I was. You did make out better than Todrick though, at least I could still hear you from the kitchen; I fast forwarded throughTodrick's performance cause it hurt my ears too much.

Aaron - You're cute. You're sound doesn't do much for me at this point but at least you have it more together than some of the contestants who are older than you. I think you'll get more polished as you go along.

Tim - Much better. I actually enjoyed you this week. Like Ellen, I thought the passion was there. I think you'll be around for a bit.

Lee - You had me sitting up and taking notice and I love your voice. Hoping to see you next week too.

My predictons for who's might be on the toe of getting the boot?

1) Jermaine
2) Todrick
3) John

Side Note: I wasn't thrilled when I discovered that Ellen was joing the panel. Now, don't get me wrong, I adore her but as far as judging this sort of competiton? So was not gettin it, but hell, she's a sweet (not as in sugary either) suprise in so many ways! I'm becoming a fan Ellen!!

The girls are up tomorrow!!

Coffee Mania

shell_77 — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 11:44:07 GMT

I can't decide if coffee is manna from heaven, ambrosia, the drink of the gods, or almost as good as sex (but only if it has caffeine, decaff is so not orgasmic).

Truly, I like my coffee like a like my men... HOT and SWEET and, it's best first thing in the morning.

*runs off for a second cup of fragrant, steamy brew*

Writer's Block: Marital license

shell_77 — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 18:11:57 GMT

Cool idea. Maybe we should get rid of it before it spoils. Kinda like milk. (lol)

Just teasing! Marriage is for life (unless there's abuse involved and other unacceptable situations. No one should be forced to live in a nightmare), but I do think living together for a good 2 years before marriage would be helpful in reducing the risk of the total obliveration of rose-colored spectacles.

When the vows say for better or worse... they really mean it! Too many people go into marriage thinking love is all you need and will get you through anything, that their partners are perfect and can read minds, and that they'll live happily ever after in a castle in the sky. Maybe in Utopia. Anyone know how to get there? Can someone give me directions, or maybe draw me a map?

Marriage is WORK. It takes time, the patience of a saint, the ablility to forgive and the ability to persevere and constant reminders as to why you married the person in the first place! (lol) It's also a gift and needs nurturted and treated tenderly, compassionately and with unerring devotion. I don't remember who said it, but they said, "When you have a relationship where two people never stop paying attention to each other, you have life at its finest."

An Unexpected Trio - Chapter 3 - Hermione/Cedric/Harry

shell_77 — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 05:42:32 GMT

Title: An Unexpected Trio
Pairings: Cedric/Hermione/Harry
Characters In This Chapter: Hermione, Cedric, Amos Diggory
Warnings: Mild sexual situations
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money & Mucho thanks to my beta Lanie who is as wonderful as they come!

Chapter Notes:Hermione settles into her Head Girl quarters. Cedric manages to flirt with and offend Hermione all in one encounter.

An Unexpected Trio
Chapter Three

Hermione “Plain Jane” Granger, as she often referred to herself, examined her reflection in the mirror. Her mirror image stuck out her tongue and pulled a comical face.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You hate it when I style my hair this way.” A strong affirmative nod and a cross look from the mirror image followed this statement. “Too bad.” Hermione scowled back. “It’s out of the way and less bothersome.”

The Hermione in the mirror huffed in irritation, crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly turned her back. “Fine, be that way. But if you think that your miserable attitude is going to change my mind,” Hermione wagged her finger at the back in the mirror, “think again!”

From this angle she could see that a thick, curly strand of hair had made its way out of the tightly twisted bun just above the nape of her neck. She clucked her tongue in frustration. Why was it, she wondered, that curly hair seemed so much harder to tame? She reached behind and ruthlessly stuck another bobby pin in her head, forcing the wayward hair in place.

A pained “ouch” from the mirror made Hermione smile. The woman in the mirror spun around, hands on hips, and hissed her anger, which only made Hermione’s smile widen. She knew it was childish but she stuck out her own tongue and made a “nah, nah” sound. Hermione’s image stomped her foot, aggravation written all over her unremarkable features.

The real Hermione gave a negligent shrug of her shoulder and turned away, much like her mirror image had done, and stated, “If you’d keep your opinions to yourself, I might lift the Silencio spell on you. But I know you won’t because you’ve always got an unwanted, unneeded, unasked for and totally unnecessary comment to make about my appearance; not to mention unflattering.”

Hermione had actually modified theSsilencio spell so that while her image couldn’t use her voice to its fullest extent, she could make sounds and utter single syllable words. A totally quiet mirror image had made her slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was because, even though she was virtually talking to herself, at least it was someone to talk to. Although she desired and relished her privacy she could admit there were times when another voice, albeit her own, was welcome. A heartfelt “Shite” could be heard as Hermione made her way from the bedroom, which she ignored while thinking that another modification might be in order.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Being made Head Girl had its advantages as far as accommodations went, Hermione admitted to herself as she stepped into her sitting room. The Gryffindor colors were spread hodgepodge throughout its interior. The soft golden glow from the wall sconces bounced off of the rich colors, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere that was quite inviting and welcoming, making Hermione feel that she truly belonged in these Head Girl quarters. Not that she actually doubted that she would someday be here. She was born to be Head Girl, everyone else thought so too. Harry had been particularly pleased, patting her on the shoulder and sporting a proud grin as he’d stated simply, “Well, of course they picked you. They’d be nutters not to.”

In the middle of the room sat a comfy two-seater couch colored ruby red with overstuffed throw pillows of gold strewn haphazardly on top. A faded oriental carpet was spread out underneath the love seat, stretching under the oblong polished dark wood coffee table set in front of the couch. Though obviously well-worn, the carpet was lovely, decorated with an intricate combination of swirls and patterns in various shades of gold, red, and what looked to be midnight blue. Hermione even thought she detected slivers of silver and black in its color scheme on a much subtler level, barely-there in the stitching along the borders.

Two wing-back chairs with slightly frayed arm-rests were situated a little too close to the fire place, in Hermione’s opinion. Eyeing them critically, she decided that she’d move them a bit before lighting a fire, switching them so that the ottomans with their hanging tassels were farther back from the grate. One must be safe while warming one’s tootsies; no need to create a fire hazard her first days in residence.

In the far corner was a sturdy-looking oak table and Hermione assumed, since a chess set sat smack-dab in its center, that her predecessor had used it as a game table. Wrinkling her slightly up-tilted nose in distaste, she thought emphatically, “Well, not during Hermione Granger’s tenure!” She quickly decided that it would be a fine place to stack her school books and ink well, with the added advantage of enough elbow room in which to be able to sit at to complete essays and homework assignments. Yes indeed, it would make a fine study area. The length and width of the table, Hermione noted with pleasure, was also substantial enough for all the prefects to sit around during meetings without anyone infringing on anyone else’s personal space.

Speaking of which, Hermione pulled an envelope from the pocket of her robes, broke open the seal and hurriedly scanned the parchment. A few of the names looked familiar, she thought, mentally trying to place faces with the names of the prefects who would be working under her.

No need to strain her brain where Gryffindor was concerned – Romilda Vane and Colin Creevey. She wasn’t familiar with either of the Hufflepuff students – Keven Whitbby and Laura Madley. Luna Lovegood, who she did know, and Stewart Ackerley would be representing Ravenclaw. Stewart Ackerley? Tapping the list against the corner of her mouth, a picture of a slightly dumpy boy with straw colored hair came to mind. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had been the boy who’d trailed after Luna last year; quiet and shy but seemingly enthralled and awed by the Ravenclaw girl. Two more unknowns – Matilda Baddock and Graham Pritchard – from the Slytherin house rounded out the numbers.

She sincerely hoped that the Slytherin prefects wouldn’t be a problem. They had no liking for Gryffindors, Hermione in particular, and held no regard for Hufflepuffs whatsoever, and as Wayne Hopkins had been named Head Boy and they were both Muggles into the bargain…. Well, it looked as if an interesting year lay ahead.

Heaving a sigh, she plopped down in one of the many low-back chairs. Just once, once… Hermione would like to endure a dull existence! One where she didn’t constantly have to watch her back or carry her wand at the ready, nor to always be on guard, following Moody’s dictates of “constant vigilance!” With absolutely no snot-nosed ogres, no basilisks with freezing stares, no detestable, dishonorable wizard masquerading as a family pet, no getting pummeled while teaching advanced spells to a clueless Harry, no menacing Death Eaters lying in wait and no – absolutely no – Horcruxes! This was her final year at Hogwarts and she wanted it to be her best, but more than that, what Hermione craved with all her heart was an uneventful year. Was that too much to ask? Hadn’t she put in her time? Hadn’t she done her best for the wizarding community? Hadn’t she?!

Of course she had. And then some.

Another benefit was that her rooms were still in Gryffindor Tower, although set apart so as to distinguish her from the rest of student body. Yet, still close enough where she could keep an eye on any wayward and lost-looking first years and any mischievous Marauders-in-the-making from the remaining students.

Letting her head fall back against the plush upholstery, she sighed another tired sigh. She could only hope that there were definitely, absolutely no Marauders in the making! Listening to Sirius brag about his youthful shenanigans had made her wince not only in disappointment in them but at her own reaction as well. She would never, never admit it to anyone, but she had been just as enthralled by his tales as the boys had been. Oh, she’d put on a disapproving mask, frowning and tsking in all the appropriate, or rather, inappropriate places. The boys had shushed her with pointed glares and snorts that stated all too clearly that Hermione, being a stodgy female, had absolutely no ability to appreciate the clever workings of the superior wizards mind. Then there was that other part, the sane part of her that absolutely abhorred the fashion in which Sirius and the others blatantly disregarded every rule in the book.

What a trial they must have been to Professor McGonagall! Hermione had no intentions whatsoever of finding herself chasing around hooligans hell-bent on making her life miserable while being Head Girl. She’d squash those who were leaning in that direction quickly, efficiently and effectively; pretty much like she handled just about everything else that had managed to crop up. Hermione tended to be methodical; life was much simpler that way.

Then, there was her internship at the Ministry. Technically, the internship program didn’t go into effect until after she graduated, but a special dispensation had been made in her case. Hermione wasn’t sure if her role in ridding the wizarding world of Voldemort had anything to do with it or not, but she wasn’t about to throw such a grand opportunity away. Not even if other witches and wizards sneered at her special treatment, as they were bound to do; not everyone was as appreciative of the sacrifices she’d made, the loss of her parents being the most prominent.

After the War, she’d gone back to check on them, not to restore their memories as her friends had thought. She couldn’t do it because she feared for their sanity if she tampered with their minds once more. She’d known the risks, known there was no going back, but she’d done it anyway. Lying to everyone upon her return, she’d put on a brave front as she quietly informed them that her parents had chosen to stay in their new life and had no room for her in it because of her treachery.

Her friends had been outraged. Mrs. Weasley had declared herself and her family as Hermione’s own while ripping her parents’ morals to shreds and damning them for what they’d done to Hermione. Hermione had appreciated Mrs. Weasley’s need to pull Hermione into her family fold, but Hermione knew that no one, no one could replace her parents.

Ron had taken her hand and squeezed it, speaking awkward words of comfort. Poor Ron, he hadn’t been sure what to say. Both twins had offered up proposals of marriage to make her legally part of the family. Hermione had laughed, as had been their intent. George and Fred would have been horrified if she had accepted one of them. Molly thought it grand idea but Angelina and Susan had made it clear that if the twins weren’t going to propose marriage to them then they weren’t going to propose it to Hermione either.

And Harry? He had looked at her with an unfathomable sorrow in those lovely deep green eyes; it was the sorrow of one who understood what it was like to lose a family. And then dear, sweet, undemonstrative Harry had pushed past the Wesley’s and taken her in his arms and hugged her tight; hugged her as if he’d wanted to meld them together, to make them one in their loss and pain. He hadn’t made any promises or declarations, he hadn’t condemned or verbally scorned her parents, he hadn’t spoken at all and Hermione had been grateful. She’d almost broken then, almost. Instead, she’d buried her face in the crook of Harry’s neck and had held him just as tightly. They hadn’t needed words.

Shaking herself free of depressing thoughts from the past, Hermione turned her focus once more to the future. Her future. A future where, if she had any say in the matter, she’d make a difference in the lives of creatures considered less than worthy by some people in the wizarding world—people like that toad Umbridge—creatures who were denied living fulfilling lives with rights and freedoms all their own. Hermione knew all about prejudice, did she ever.

Her own existence at Howarts had been made unbearable by the likes of Draco Malfoy and his Nazi-impersonator thugs. His family, and others of the same ilk, who had been determined to keep the blood and sacred ancient lineage of witches and wizards pure by purging their world of the perceived taint of Muggle blood. They, whose own blue blood ran rampant with enough lethal poison to have killed any heart they might have been born with and she wasn’t even going to go into how it had despoiled their brains. Not that there had been much in that area to begin with, what with all that inter-breeding going on amongst the “prominent” wizarding families.

&&&&&&

Her internship time with Amos Diggory in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been invaluable. When she’d first met him she had been less than impressed; the fact that he’d crowed on and on about how his son had beat the Harry Potter to the snitch hadn’t helped his cause. But having worked with him steadily these past few months before her last year at Hogwarts, she discovered that there was indeed something more to him than a scraggily beard and an overblown sense of pride in his only son.

Cedric. Hermione sighed for the third time. Not a tired sigh as those before it, but an exasperated sigh. She might have been one of the few who barely acknowledged his existence while he was still at school; she’d been far to busy to indulge in those sort of hopeless crushes. Helping Harry had been her main focus; that and her studies. Besides, at that time, she’d been hankering after a certain gangly, ginger-haired, clueless boy. She snorted. What a joke that had ended up being.

Crushes might not have been her thing once upon a time, but she was more than making up for that particular failing in the here and now. Now she had plenty of free time to ogle and salivate after a tall, extremely gorgeous wizard who was in possession of a pair of beautiful, intelligent grey eyes; a more than lethal combination in Hermione’s unabridged book. Yes, as embarrassing as it was, Hermione Granger was crushing in a big way.

The first time he’d shown up at his dad’s office, Hermione had been holed up in a corner nose deep in scrolls and parchments. Once immersed in any type of self-education, she tended to be oblivious to her surroundings. Due to that fact, she barely noticed the creaking of Mister Diggory’s office door being opened. Their voices were nothing but a dim buzzing in her ears, hardly worth noticing. It wasn’t until she felt, actually felt a presence at her side that she looked up…and up and up!

“Hey, Granger. It is Granger, right?”

Hermione blinked. Was he being funny? There wasn’t a witch or wizard around who didn’t recognize Ron, Harry, or her on sight. He had to be kidding. She’d play along with Mister Diggory’s handsome bozo of a son.

“That’s right,” she stated concisely. “And, you are?”

Cedric grinned at her snotty sounding attitude. Taking him back to his third year strolling down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, listening to her spout those very words, in that very same tone, to a small red-haired Weasley with a spot of dirt on his nose.

“Cedric Diggory, of course,” he laughingly informed her, knowing full well she knew who he was just as he was well aware of her identity.

“Of course,” she mockingly replied. “How do you do?”

Crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest, he stared down at her, his lips twitching. “Very well, thank-you, and yourself?”

Hermione’s own lips ached to break out into a smile at the absurdity of their banter. “Oh, tip-top and in fine form.”

“You certainly are,” he agreed cheekily, eyeing her lush figure from head to toe.

Hermione fought down a furious blush and failed miserably. With the rosy hue suffusing her pretty face and her ink-splattered fingers clutching at her well-worn quill, Cedric thought her enchanting.

“Yes, well…thank-you,” she mumbled, nervously licking her lips.

Cedric’s eyes followed the trail of her tongue, fascinated by the wet shine it left in its wake. Her lips were not at all as he remembered. Back at Hogwarts when he had noticed her, it had been for her remarkable mind. If memory served him well, and it did, those lips, more often than not, had been stretched into a straight, stern line; probably had to be to keep Potter and Weasley in check. But now? Now that very same mouth was as red as a strawberry in season with its flesh full, ripe and looking more than ready for the plucking. He certainly wouldn’t mind sampling that sweet-looking mouth.

A sharp clap on the shoulder brought Cedric to his senses. “Well, Hermione, I see you’ve met my boy.”

Cedric grimaced as his father waxed on and on about his accomplishments, real and imagined, while Granger nodded and oohed and ahhed, clearly enjoying Cedric’s immense embarrassment.

“Really?” she breathed in apparent awe, but Cedric knew she was just humoring his father and poking fun at him. The little minx!

Clearing her throat, Hermione managed to slip in a word. “This is all very interesting, Mister Diggory, and I so wish I had the time to hear more about your son’s remarkable deeds.” Cedric cringed. “But unfortunately I have to get these books and scrolls back to their proper places.”

“Of course, of course.” Mister Diggory smiled in a genial manner. “Mustn’t overwork the best assistant I ever had.”

Hermione’s answering smile, had he been walking, would have stopped Cedric in his tracks. Had he thought her merely pretty? What an understatement, she was beautiful!

He reached over the back of her chair, pulling her robes free from their resting place. Shaking out the folds he held it up at her back, taking the opportunity to spare her bottom a more than passing glance. To his pleasure, it appeared to be as full and as delicious looking as her mouth had been. No skinny ass here. Fine with him. His idea of good time wasn’t worrying over whether or not he was going to crush a hip or pelvic bone made brittle due to self-induced starvation. Thin was not in, as far as he was concerned.

&&&&&&&&

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if Cedric Diggory had been checking out her bum! He most certainly was, Hermione noted with astonishment. She wasn’t generally the type that men gave the once-over, and here was Cedric Diggory doing that very thing twice within a half hour span of time. Remarkable. And Hermione had to admit, more than a bit flattering. Cedric was every witch’s walking wet dream and more than a few wizards’ too, she was sure. An image of Seamus flashed across her mind. She bit her lip to keep the giggles at bay. She had no difficulty remembering the late night discussions between her roommates on the issue of Seamus’ sexuality. Poor Parvati. She had been hopelessly infatuated with the Irish wizard, who had only had eyes for the one carefully settling her robes over her shoulders.

Was it her imagination, or had Cedric’s fingers brushed the exposed skin at the nape of her neck as he pulled his hands back from their completed task? She shivered and when she turned to thank him she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. He had a look on his face of a man who knew exactly how to touch a woman and get the reaction he’d just gotten from her. That sort of cockiness irritated her to no end.

Taking a step away, she drew herself up to her less than impressive 5’3” before giving him a sneer that would have rivaled a Malfoy’s. “Quite the little gent, aren’t you?”

Cedric didn’t know it was possible for someone so tiny to look down their nose at someone of his height, but she’d certainly proven him wrong. And the aristocratic sneer was a nice touch.

“No one could accuse my Cedric of being anything less than a gentleman,” Mister Diggory enthused. “His mother and I taught our boy to treat witches with respect.”

Pulling her cloak tighter around her throat, Hermione smiled at Mister Diggory while looking at Cedric with no trace of humor and no sincerity to speak of and replied, “Your son does you credit.”

Phew, thought Cedric. She certainly wasn’t pulling any punches. Quite the little firecracker, in fact, and wasn’t it just a perfect coincidence that Cedric was more than a little fond of firecrackers. They could be deceptively plain and unassuming on the outside, until a flame placed against the wick catches, sending a dismissive-looking spark to travel to its destination and then…stand back! Whistles and horns with an explosive blast of a myriad of colors and lights zinging about in all sorts of directions! To Cedric’s mind, Hermione Granger was a firecracker in the making and he had no trouble whatsoever in seeing himself in the role of the much-needed flame.

“Thank-you, Mister Diggory for allowing me to sit in on your meetings,” she said, offering him her hand. “You’ve been tremendously helpful. I’ll just drop these off on my way out, shall I? Save you the trouble.”

Taking her hand, Mister Diggory gave it a good shake, keeping in mind not to squeeze too heartily. “Hermione, you’ve been an apt and attentive assistant and I sincerely hope this won’t be the end of our association.”

“Hardly,” she assured him. Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp, saying, “I’ll be starting my last year at Hogwarts but I’ll have plenty of free time until then. A good month or so.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your NEWTS?” Cedric enquired. “If I recall, you were a great one for studying in advance. Almost paranoid, one might say.”

Cedric just had to get a dig in, had to. And by the look on her face, he’d succeeded admirably. He hadn’t had this much fun with a witch that didn’t require him getting naked and sweaty in ages.

In her best high-falooting, you-are-a mere-flobberworm-on my-radar voice, Hermione pronounced, “I’m secure enough in my intellectual capabilities, as my OWLS can attest to, that I find myself eager to learn knowledge firsthand from your father. He’s been an inspiration.”

“Oh, I know,” Cedric agreed, leaning forward into Hermione’s personal space. She had to struggle not to step back. He was far too close for comfort. And great Merlin’s whiskers, he smelled good! “Any progress on your little spew project?”

Hermione’s eyes glittered. How dare he make fun of one of her life’s ambitions? Crossing her arms in what Cedric noted was a protective gesture, Hermione stated through stiff lips, “For your information it’s S.P.E.W., not ‘spew.’ And I suppose to the unenlightened eye it would appear that very little progress has been made. I have faith that those of the Wizarding world will make every effort to broaden their minds on this subject.” Really getting into one of her dearest hopes, Hermione plowed right on. “House elves have been brain-washed into thinking that they have no rights of their own.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Cedric let her rattle on for a bit. Her enthusiasm was impressive, even if some of her notions were a tad dotty. It was clear that she had put her heart and soul into this venture and Cedric admired her for it. Sadly, she was more than likely doomed to disappointment. The elves themselves did not believe they were enslaved, so it was pointless to start a revolution where no one involved felt there was an injustice taking place.

“They’ve been subjugated for long enough. Now is the time to make a move. Now is the time….”

“You can get down now,” Cedric interrupted her zealous tirade.

“Down?” she asked, confused.

“From your high horse, from your soap box, from your pulpit and from your righteous indignation,” Cedric suggested softly.

Amos cleared his throat loudly. Personally, he disagreed entirely with Hermione’s assessment of house elves, but he remained silent on the subject. Other than that tiny anomaly, Hermione Granger was one of the finest witches he’d had the privilege of working with. He certainly wasn’t going to brand her as an upstart because of it. Although he wished she’d manage to keep her views to herself, as others in the Ministry weren’t so inclined to see past her silly notion. A hero of the War she might be, but that status wouldn’t protect her from the more powerful members who wouldn’t hesitate to squash her into the ground should she become a public nuisance.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione huffed, “I see you’re one of those who will need to be yanked into the more enlightened age.”

“Yanking implies force, Granger, and you can’t force people into doing or believing in anything they don’t want to. Forcing can only lead to disaster. You’d be no better than those pure blood arses determined for no good reason to ostracize and eradicate you and all other Muggleborn witches and wizards from magic and the like.”

Taking a step closer, she spat out angrily, “Don’t you dare lump me in with those heinous, malignant murderers!”

Bending so that they were virtually nose to nose, Cedric warned, “Then don’t yank me in that direction.”

Seething, Hermione turned to stomp away when her arm was grabbed and she was spun around to face Cedric once more. “Don’t get me wrong, Granger, I admire your passion and the fact that you want to elevate those you consider to be down-trodden, it’s quite commendable.” Hermione’s ire was somewhat appeased by his words. “But use that stupendous noggin situated above your shoulders. I’d really hate for anything unfortunate to happen to someone so lovely inside and out.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Cedric Diggory thought she was lovely? It was like riding a rollercoaster. On one sharp turn he made her want to slap him silly and the next, to kiss him silly. Kiss? Oh, Gods. Where had that thought come from? Merlin, she was losing her mind!

Cedric released her slowly, reluctantly. She really was something, he thought, and definitely someone he’d like to get to know better. Her dark eyes reminded him of a type of flower his mother was particularly fond of, the black-eyed Susan. And this close up he could tell she smelled just as sweet as one too.

Clearing his throat again, Amos cut through the building, tension between his son and Hermione. “You’d best be on your way, Hermione. Here you go,” he said, gathering up and handing her several large tomes and parchments.

She accepted them with a small grunt at their weight. “Yes, I have a million things to do. I thought I’d visit Diagon Alley early,” she rushed on, flustered by the intensity of Cedric’s gaze. “Books, quills and the like.” She was babbling like an idiot but couldn’t seem to stop. “I…I received an owl yesterday; I made Head Girl.” Hermione closed her eyes in despair. Now she sounded like she was bragging.

“That’s wonderful, Granger. I remember how excited I was when the owl arrived with the news that I’d made Head Boy.”

He was smiling, which was a good sign, making her feel better. Perhaps he didn’t think she was a horrible braggart after all. It annoyed her at how relieved she felt at the thought. Why should she care whether or not gloriously good-looking Cedric Diggory thought she thought she was self-important? She didn’t know, but she did.

“Well, off you go then,” Amos said, ushering Hermione to the door. “Will you be by tomorrow, Hermione? I have access to several books written by Newt Scamander which you might find interesting.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled, her hands literally itched at the thought of touching the books as she breathed, “I’d love that, Mister Diggory.”

Patting her on the back, Amos was smiled indulgently before saying, “Cedric, be a good lad and take a few of these parchments from Hermione.”

“Oh, no…,” Hermione protested.

“Don’t be silly, Granger. I was already planning on walking you back to the Ministry’s library. My father simply preceded my initial intentions.”

Reaching into the cradle of her arms, Cedric scooped out several items. It wasn’t intentional, he certainly hadn’t set out to cop a feel, but in his quest he’d managed to brush one of her breasts with the back of his hand. If the quick indrawn breath was anything to go by, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her, either. Their eyes locked.

An apology would have been in order but it wasn’t forthcoming because in all honesty, he wasn’t sorry. The contact, though fleeting, was enough for him to tell how firm but soft her breast had been against his knuckles.

“Let’s go, Granger,” Cedric ordered, his voice hoarse. Yes, let’s go before I do something really stupid. Like, push all those annoying obstacles that stand between us aside so that I can cup your breast in my hand, the way I really want to. Not momentarily, not briefly and not fleetingly but completely, totally and without reserve; so that I can test the weight of your flesh as it overflows in my palms. And it would, Cedric knew that it would.

Sweet Merlin! He’d never been more thankful for the thick folds of his robes. It was positively mortifying the degree of arousal he was experiencing by just thinking about touching Granger! He’d better put a halt to all this fantasizing or he’d be walking doubled over to that damned library.

Swallowing past the large lump in her throat, Hermione nodded dumbly, incapable of speech. She carefully avoided any further contact with Cedric, slipping by him in the doorway. She probably looked ridiculous, scurrying sideways like a blast-ended skrewt, but she was beyond caring. She just wanted to get out, get away, and not just away from Cedric the person but away from Cedric the man. The man who with a single, solitary barely-there stroke, had her knees shaking and shimmying as if she were on the Hogwarts Express when it had mysteriously gone out of control.

They’d made their way to the Ministry Library without saying another word, which suited Hermione just fine, considering she was just discovering how difficult it was to speak with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth and your mind whirling a mile a minute. Cedric hadn’t seemed all that troubled by the silence either. Perhaps he was just as uncomfortable as she was. He’d certainly looked uncomfortably flushed.

They’d uttered awkward good-byes outside the library door after dispatching their load onto the desk of a librarian who bore an alarming resemblance to a male version of Miss Pince. Cedric, who had been heading to the elevator, stopped so suddenly that several inter-office memos flying behind him got caught in his hair and under the collar of his robes. Disgruntled employees forcibly pushed him out of the way, muttering and glaring their displeasure.

Hermione thought he’d looked like an exceptionally good-looking Easter Bunny with the airplane shaped memos sticking out of head at such odd angles. Giggling, she plucked them from his hair, which, she noted, was as silky as it looked. By the time she had finished de-memoing him, they were both laughing at the silliness of the whole thing, dispelling the uneasy silence and tension that had grown between them on their journey to the library.

“Thanks, Granger,” Cedric said, trying to put his hair back into place.

“Here, bend down again,” she ordered, slapping his hands away. “You’re just messing it up more.”

Amused, Cedric did as she bade him and let her rake her fingers through his mussed hair until it looked relatively neat and close to how it had looked before he’d been ambushed by airborne memos.

“There, that’s better,” she stated, taking a step back and looking pleased with herself and her handiwork.

“I should thank you properly,” Cedric replied, sounding stiff and formal but the light in his eyes belied the tone. “It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione agreed, sounding prim and proper. “One should always utilize one’s upbringing to its full potential. Your parents would certainly want you to be the honorable gentleman they brought you up to be, don’t you think?”

Where Hermione had gotten the nerve to play along with Cedric, she wasn’t certain. But here she was flirting with him as if she’d flirted with hundreds of boys before. During her previous school years, flirting, in Hermione’s eyes, had been a stupid ploy that only silly little bints like Lavender Brown used to garner attention from the equally silly boys who fell for it lock, stock and barrel.

She never quite got the concept of acting coy, seeing it as a total waste of time when things could move along much more quickly if you’d just state clearly, simply and concisely whatever it was you wanted to say. But then, that advice had been geared into the avenue of her studies and keeping her own two silly boys out of trouble; not in the romantic sense at all. Hermione, in the midst of a flirtation now, could appreciate the difference.

“So, then…how about lunch?” Cedric suggested.

Smiling, Hermione replied, “Lunch sounds lovely.”

And it had been. Very.

The Winner Takes It All - Chapter 3 - Remus/Hermione

shell_77 — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 20:53:00 GMT

Title: The Winner Takes It All
Pairings: Remus/Tonks, Remus/Hermione
Characters In This Chapter: Remus, Sirius, Hermione
Warnings: Language/Some might percieve it Sirius bashing, but it's NOT! I LOVE SIRIUS! In this story he's a bit of a womanizer and damn proud of it!
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money
Author's Notes: I do not own Khalil Gibran's "Broken Wings" and I tweaked the quote a bit to fit my story better. I also do not own The Kama Sutra (lol).

Chapter Notes: Sirius eats brownies, gives Remus a crash course on women and informs a clueless Remus that once-upon-a-time a certain red-haired, intelligent witch who ended up marrying James Potter, had a major crush on an incredulous Remus.

The Winner Takes It All - Chapter Three

“The History book on the shelf is always repeating itself.” – ABBA

Mumbling past the bite of brownie he’d shoved into his mouth, Sirius asked, “How is she?”

“She’d probably be bit better if you’d left at least one brownie for her to enjoy,” was Remus’ rueful reply.

Waving the hand holding what remained of the last brownie, Sirius grinned, revealing cake-encrusted teeth before answering, “Well, mate…to my way of thinking, I just saved her from herself.” Taking another bite, he mumbled, “Mark my words, someday she’ll thank me when she’s still as slight as a thistle. Birds tend to pack on the pounds after they hit a certain age.”

“That’s a problem Hermione will most likely not have to worry over.”

Tilting his head to the side, Sirius mused, “I don’t know about that. The other day I noticed her thighs might have gotten a bit thicker. But, on the upside, her boobs looked bigger too.”

“Sirius Black!”

“What?” he asked, honestly puzzled at the censure in his friend’s voice. “It’s true. She was wearing those tight jean shorts and that purple tank top, bit hard not to notice, mate.” Remus sent him a sideways glance that could have shriveled a grape. Sirius pretended not to see it and barreled along. “Remember Serena Macklebee?” Remus nodded. “Light as a feather and then – BLAM—almost over night she was wasn’t so light anymore, heavy as a two-ton dragon. But did I mind?” he asked, sounding as if he’d been doing Serena the biggest favor by not dropping her on her large bum immediately. “Nope. And do you want to know why?”

Not really, Remus thought to himself.

“Because her tits went up about two sizes right along with her waist line.” Resting his elbow on the counter, Sirius continued, “They were magnificent.” Sighing dramatically, he stared off into space, apparently lost in the deep swell of Serena Macklebee’s ample bosom.

“That’s different and you know it,” Remus stated, pouring a small handful of chocolate chips into the mix. “This is Hermione we’re talking about so keep your eyes, and other things, off of her thighs and breasts.”

Chin in hand, Sirius eyed Remus with a great deal of curiosity as he stirred the chocolate confection. “Why,” he asked casually, “want them for yourself?”

Remus dropped the spoon and it clattered against the side of the ceramic bowl. Sirius gave a low chuckle at Remus’ apparent embarrassment, taking special note of the dark flush creeping up his friends’ neck. “I wouldn’t blame you, of course, she’s a pretty piece,” he teased mercilessly.

Clanking the spoon with unnecessary force to dislodge remnants of the batter, Remus spoke softly but with real anger in his voice. “First of all, Hermione is not a pretty piece, she’s a lovely young lady and you will treat her as such. Second, she looks on me as a friend, not to mention there’s that little obstacle of the age difference.”

Sirius airily waved that comment aside, replying with a “P’shaw.”

“I’m twice her age, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius raised his brows at the force with which Remus spoke. “And third and most importantly, I’m in a relationship with Dora!”

Rolling is eyes, Sirius drawled, “Oh, is that what you call it?”

“Sirius, mind your own damn business,” Remus said emphatically, waving the spoon threateningly in his direction. “I don’t poke my nose into your rather fleeting romances of the moment, so please accord me the same courtesy.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony. Short term they may be, they’re fulfilling for all parties involved.” Tapping his chin, Sirius wondered out loud, “What’s it been now? Two, maybe three years you’ve been seeing my cousin?”

“Three years; why?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“Three years is a long time, mate, and my sweet cousin’s not getting any younger. Don’t you think you ought to make an honest witch out of Nymphadora?”

Shocked into momentary silence, Remus whispered, still not quite believing his ears: “Well as I live and breathe. Sirius Black is suggesting that someone of the male persuasion actually settle down with one woman into domesticated bliss. Is the sky falling?”

“She’s expecting it, you know,” Sirius answered, suddenly serious. “I heard her talking to Hermione the other day.”

Remus’ head jerked up. “What did she say?” Remus asked in trepidation.

Crossing his arms over his bare chest, Sirius continued, “Dora figures that you’re going to surprise her on her birthday.”

Remus closed his eyes disparagingly. “That’s in less than three months time.”

“Uh huh.” Sirius dipped his finger in the bowl, pulled out a large dollop of chocolate goop, and sucked it off of his finger. “You don’t want to marry her, do you?”

There were times that Sirius could be quite intuitive. Why’d this have to be one of those times? And on this topic, of all things?

Sirius reached over and plucked the spoon form Remus’ limp hand, licking it clean. “She’s a good sort, my cousin, but a wee bit on the kooky side. And let’s face it, mate, she doesn’t exactly glide into a room, you know?”

Offended, Remus stated, “Dora is a wonderful woman and you’re just jealous because she’s prettier than you.”

“She is not!” Sirius exclaimed with a wounded look. “Everyone knows that I was graced with the outstanding good looks in the Black family.” Remus shook is head, amused by his friends’ boasting. “Merlin knows where I got them from; my nutter of a mother was as ugly and unappealing as her nature.”

With great relish, Remus retorted, “Regulus was a good-looking chap.”

“So he was, so he was,” Sirius agreed all too readily. “But it was me who was blessed with the brains to go along with this fabulous exterior, and I’m taller. I got the all-around package,” he finished with a triumphant grin.

Remus bent over and placed the tray of batter on the middle rack in the stove, just has Hermione had taught him. She’d informed him that the brownies would burn on the top without cooking properly if placed on the uppermost or on the lowest racks and she’d been right. He’d burnt a few brownies in his day before Hermione had educated him with that little tip.

“Stop right there,” Remus commanded Sirius, who had grabbed a large handful of chocolate chips and was heading in his direction.

“What?”

“There are quite enough chips in these brownies.”

“A few more wouldn’t hurt,” Sirius suggested, a pout already beginning to form.

“No, Sirius. Hermione won’t eat them if there are too many chips. Which,” Remus remarked with great astuteness, “is probably the reason you put extra ones in to begin with.”

“Chocolate is our friend, Remus.” Sirius cajoled, attempting to use Remus’ own weakness for chocolate against him.

Eyeing him sternly, Remus replied, “It isn’t going to work. Put them back.”

Sirius, looking crest-fallen, used his hand as a funnel and started to pour them back into the bag. It was done slowly, as if he’d hoped that Remus would change his mind. When Remus remained adamant, Sirius let the last few chips fall from his grasp.

“You’re pussy-whipped,” Sirius grumbled.

“Sirius, your mouth is atrocious; shut it.”

Shaking his head sadly, he continued, “I can even sort of understand being pussy-whipped in certain circumstances. I’ve even, once or twice, been bewitched by some outstanding pussy. But hell, Remus…you’re not even getting any and she has you whipped.”

Gritting his teeth, Remus snapped, “I said shut it, Padfoot! Hermione’s just upstairs and if she heard one word of what you’re saying, she’d be horrified, not to mention humiliated.” Remus paused before continuing. “Don’t you think she’s suffered enough humiliation at the hands of one Ronald Weasley?”

Screwing his face up into a frown, Sirius continued unabashed. “Well, it’s true! Hermione’s been here, what? Three days at the most, and you’re already kow-towing to her every whim.”

“Great Merlin,” Remus exclaimed in frustration, “it’s a blasted batch of brownies, Sirius! I’m not selling her my soul.”

“Turning your back on extra chocolate is tantamount to selling your soul!” The statement was totally absurd and they both knew it.

“Is this really about brownies?” Remus asked, the light finally dawning on him.

Sirius looked away and guiltily grumbled, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re jealous!” Remus remarked, astounded.

“Am not!”

“Are so!” Remus declared, the childishness of their back and forth comments not escaping his more mature mindset but unable to let it go. “But, why?”

“Well look what she’s doing to you!” Sirius barked loudly.

“Lower your voice, please,” Remus hissed, looking over his shoulder.

“If you’re so concerned that Hermione might hear us, why don’t you just cast a Muffliato spell?”

Cocking his head, Remus said nothing for a moment and then retorted, “No need. She’s in the shower. She’ll be a bit; she likes to take long hot ones.”

“Does she now?” Sirius asked, amused by his friend’s knowledge of Hermione’s hygienic routine.

“Don’t start,” Remus growled low in the back of his throat.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Sirius stated, “I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s how you didn’t say anything that has my dander up,” Remus replied waspishly. “It’s the insinuation you put behind those innocent words. Hermione deserves better than the likes of you making any sort of crass comments about her and her showers. ”

“I wasn’t even headed there, I swear!”

Giving Sirius a disbelieving glare, he grabbed a dish towel and, after wiping his hands on it, balled it up at threw it at Sirius’ head. Sirius caught it easily, dropping it and kicking it into the corner near the stove.

“You better hope Hermione doesn’t find out that you have Kreacher ‘working like a slave when you’re perfectly capable of doing your own laundry’,” Remus said, wryly quoting what Hermione had told Sirius two days ago when she’d discovered that Sirius had indeed been using Kreacher as his servant ‘without adequate pay.’ Remus grinned from ear-to-ear at Sirius’ slightly alarmed expression.

“Oh, Gods, please, please tell me you aren’t going to follow me around ‘suggesting’ what I should and shouldn’t be doing! We’re too old for you to be pulling that Head Boy shit.”

“For goodness sake, Sirius, why would I? It didn’t do much good the first time around and, though it seems an impossibility, you’re even more debauched than when we were in school.”

“I do make the effort,” Sirius proclaimed, puffing out his chest in pride.

Testing the setting on the stove, Remus commented conversationally, “Hermione and I are going into Hogsmeade to Flourish and Blott’s after the brownies are done.” Almost as an after thought, he added, “We might be stopping in at the Three Broomsticks afterward, there’s no reason for you to wait up for us.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius whined, “I wanted to go to the pub tonight, check out the birds; thought you could come along.”

Screwing his face up in distaste, Remus replied, “No thanks, it’s not my cup of tea.”

“You used to go with me,” Sirius snapped back. “Just last week, in fact.”

“To keep you company, Pads,” Remus proclaimed. “Not that you needed it; in four nanoseconds we were surrounded.”

A tidal wave of attractive witches had hit their table with the force of an out-of-control tsunami, washing over Sirius, bathing him in their presence. Sirius gloried in the attention, but Remus was not so happy with the onslaught of the putrid, aromatic odors coming off their bodies. To most men, Remus was sure, they smelled delightful. For him, it was a different matter altogether. His sense of smell was particularly well-honed due to his lycanthropy. Perfumes, colognes, body lotions and the like were often overpowering, marking a burning path down his nose and throat. In such instances he would experience horrible queasiness and head-aches that could have rivaled any hangover Sirius might have incurred during an evenings festivities.

“It’s like Lily Evans all over again.” Sirius bemoaned, sounding as if the sky really were falling.

Slapping his hand atop the counter, Remus groused, “Merlin, you’re infuriating. What is that supposed to mean?”

“In school, remember those days? In school you were always with Lily,” Sirius explained, clearly annoyed.

“I was not,” Remus denied, confused.

“Gods, Remus, of course you were. Walking with her in the corridors; leaving us behind more often than not. Hell, not to mention the fact that you were always sitting next to her in all the classes we shared….” Sirius’ voice trailed off at the perplexed look on Remus’ face.

“She asked me to,” Remus stated simply, as if the answer was as obvious as the aristocratic nose in the middle of Sirius’ handsome face.

“Why?” Sirius questioned relentlessly.

“Well, this is just a guess, mind you, but perhaps she wanted a study partner who would actually, I don’t know…study?” Remus shot back, really starting to get annoyed.

“Well, what about the library?” Sirius continued, himself annoyed at Remus’ obliviousness.

“What about it?” Remus demanded in exasperation.

“Don’t play stupid, man,” Sirius exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. “You’d spend hours in there. Alone. With Lily,” Sirius remarked, determined to not be put off.

“Alone, I believe, would be an erroneous statement. There were other students in the library as well. But, since you yourself, never set a foot in the place, it’s no wonder you were unaware of that little fact.” Raking his fingers through his sandy locks, Remus asked, “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m not the only one it bothered,” Sirius said with a scowl, ignoring Remus’ question. “James was annoyed every time you two took off somewhere.”

“James had no reason whatsoever to be annoyed. Lily was my friend, my friend, Pads. And that was all it ever was.”

“You fancied her though, didn’t you?”

“All right,” he conceded, sighing. “Yes I did, for a while, but we all fancied Lily; even you did, don’t try denying it!”

“I won’t, but it never got James into a tizzy when I flirted with her every now and again.”

“ ‘Now and again’? That’s the understatement of the century. You blatantly flirted with Lily at every opportunity.”

“And your point is….”

“My point is that James didn’t show any signs of being upset.”

“Of course he wasn’t. He knew damn well that Lily wouldn’t take me seriously…. Wouldn’t take me at all. Mores the pity, she didn’t know what she missing out on.”

“Oh, I’m sure she had some sort of clue and still managed to survive the loss. Lily was far too intelligent to be taken in by the likes of you. She wanted someone she could rely on and who wouldn’t be off chasing the next skirt that swished by.”

“Exactly! That, right there, is what I’m talking about. She depended on you. Relied on you. Not James, Moony…you. She related to you on some other level that she couldn’t with the rest of us, including James.”

“You’re being an arse. Lily was madly and completely in love with James. A moron of the highest order,” Remus looked pointedly at Sirius, “could have spotted it a mile off.”

Sweeping aside Remus’ comment, Sirius stated firmly, “She was…later. She would have settled on you, you know, if you’d just given her a sign that you were interested. It might have escaped your notice, but Lily had, had a massive crush on you since our 4th year.”

“You’re completely mental, Pads.”

“For someone so smart, you can be quite the dunderhead,” Sirius griped. “If you’d cast your mind back a good twenty-some years or so and look at the events from where you are today, it’s clear enough.”

Remus looked in the sink and picked up the empty pan of brownies that Sirius had consumed in his absence. With a concerned look in Sirius’ direction, he poked his nose in the pan and he inhaled deeply.

“What? What?”

“Just checking for any illegal potions.”

“Bloody hell, Moony! I don’t do that sort of thing. Now, Snivellus on the other hand….”

“Can you really blame me, Pads? Here you are dropping massive amounts of dragon dung at my feet, and you don’t expect me to be concerned?”

“Are you really this oblivious? Let’s look at the facts.” When Remus looked at him incredulously, Sirius continued, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a sorry state of affairs when I’m willing to talk about the facts of any situation. But I’m willing to tarnish my exemplary reputation of acting before thinking if that’s what it takes in order for you to see reason. Now, let’s begin. Lily sent back every Valentines Day card James ever owled her between 1st and 5th years and they were the most expensive, extravagant pieces of colored paper I’d ever seen.”

“So?” Remus asked, shrugging a shoulder. “Lily was always sending gifts back to James. The cards were the least of them.”

“True,” Sirius agreed. “But, you wrote a few lines on slips of plain parchment from time to time and she kept them for years.” Smirking in satisfaction at Remus’ bewilderment, he exclaimed triumphantly, “Didn’t know that, did you?”

“No…I didn’t,” Remus answered, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “I never wrote Lily any sort of love letters.” Remus peered at Sirius intently and growled, “You’re making this up!”

“Why, Remus…” Sirius demanded loudly, “why would I make something like this up? Huh?”

“If they were love letters, they were probably from James,” Remus insisted. “You’ve made a mistake.”

“Unless James’ name somehow translated into your own, than I’m not mistaken. They were yours, you signed them.”

“You read them?” Remus gasped.

“A few,” Sirius stated without the least bit of embarrassment at invading someone else’s privacy.

“Dammit, Sirius, you don’t go around reading other people’s personal correspondence.”

“You can rest easy, mate. They weren’t love letters. Just some notes where you were thanking her for being such a good friend, blah, blah, blah. Just the sort of muck you’d write to a girl.”

“Of course they weren’t love letters, you jackass!” Remus was still astounded that Sirius had not only read someone else’ mail but that he had, even for a moment, entertained the notion that Remus had written Lily love letters. “Anything else?”

“A few odds and ends. What looked to be a piece of hair. A bookmark with a flower on it. Silly stuff that birds keep.”

Remus had given Lily the bookmark, he remembered it clearly. The flower on it had been a calla lily in honor of the girl he’d presented it to. It had been her birthday and, as usual, he’d been low on funds and couldn’t afford to get her anything more expensive. He’d been slightly ashamed at the small token he’d made with his own hands and had given it to her rather tentatively. She’d seemed very pleased by it, even though she’d received other, more extravagant and beautiful gifts.

Could the hair have been a keepsake from his own head? Lily had often clucked and tsked over the state of his ragged and shaggy locks. More than once she’d made him sit through a hair cut, which had, generally, ended up looking worse than before she’d started out. Remus hadn’t the heart to refuse her offers whenever she’d dangle a pair of shears in front of him. How could he, when she so obviously just wanted to help? She would literally beam when he’d thank her on a job well done. Remus had thought nothing of it at the time; Lily had just been being her sweet self in helping out a friend. Hadn’t she?

“I found them in a book; Khalil Gibran’s Broken Wings. You surprised?”

Remus didn’t doubt that he looked surprise, because he was; very. Lily and he often read Khalil Gibran’s work together and Broken Wings had been a particular favorite of them both.

“Is it that fact that she kept them or that I actually know the name of a book?”

“Both, actually. What were you doing nosing around Lily’s books to begin with?” The fact that Sirius had looked at the title, let alone actually opened it, was monumentally startling.

A bit flustered by the question, Sirius offered in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, “Just curious, is all.”

Not in the least bit fooled, Remus looked at his friend and with one stern word demanded the truth: “Sirius.” Slowly drawing his friends name out into all four syllables, it was a sure sign that Remus wasn’t going to let it go until nothing but the whole truth remained.

Sirius winced. He’d barely, if ever, been able to put one over on Remus. The bastard was just too discerning, and for awhile, Sirius even considered that his friend might have been indulging in a bit of Legilimency. But Remus just wasn’t the sort of bloke to go knocking about in other people’s minds. He had far too many scruples. Sirius, on the other hand? Sirius definitely wouldn’t have had a problem with the having that ability.

“Well?” Remus demanded.

Clearing his throat, Sirius ruefully admitted, “Well, I might, might have thought it was a different type of Eastern book altogether. It was a perfectly normal mistake. They both started with a K. Was it my fault that I mistook that guy’s name for the title at first?” At Remus’ confused expression, Sirius sighed deeply. “Ever heard of the Kama Sutra?”

Choking in surprise, Remus squeaked, “You thought Lily had a copy of the Kama Sutra just lying about?”

“It wasn’t totally beyond the realms of possibility, Moony.” Sirius waved his hand in exasperation, leaving his comment up for speculation, a carrot that Remus jumped at immediately.

Red-faced, Remus retorted angrily, “James better not have told you about his sex life with Lily. There are things you share with your friends, and topics which are private and should stay between two people….”

“Or three,” Sirius quipped, trying to appease his friend with a dash of humor.

“It’s not funny! Gods,” Remus exclaimed once more, running a hand through his hair. “How could he do that to her? How?”

“Get a grip, mate.”

Remus totally shocked Sirius when he did get a grip; on Sirius’ hair, giving it a painful yank. “And I bet you enjoyed every minute detail, didn’t you?”

“Mate, you’re way out of line here. James was ever the gent, never said a crass thing about Lily.” Sirius was speaking the truth and he really hoped his friend had caught on to that little fact. He was more than a little worried that Remus was going to haul off and give him a bloody nose. “Not to mention that I don’t think the birds would like it much if I ended up having to walk around sporting a bald patch.” Sirius was more concerned for his hair than even he was willing to admit.

Remus hesitated before saying in a solemn voice, “I apologize, Padfoot.” And he really was sorry, but he’d seen red, literally. “But you do see how utterly wrong that would have been, don’t you?”

“Honestly? No, Moony; I don’t.” Sirius rushed into an explanation, cutting Remus off when he opened his mouth to protest. “James talked with me about a multitude of subjects and yes, once or twice, sex reared its ugly head.” At Remus’ threatening look, Sirius stated firmly, “We’re guys, Remus; we talk about that sort of stuff. Hell, it’s almost a prerequisite. But sex was least of it; more often than not, we talked about you and Lily.”

“Why?” Remus asked, truly baffled.

“Cripes, Moony,” Sirius groaned, “James loved you and he loved Lily. But he wasn’t blind and contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid, either. He saw clearly what you couldn’t. And what James really wanted was for Lily see him. But she never did, not once. Every attempt he made fell flatter than a pancake. It drove him nearly mental to see the girl he wanted so enamored of one of his best mates.” Remus went numb at the very notion that Lily had been interested in him, of all people.

“But he still tried, he never gave up,” Sirius went on. “Do you have any idea how many times he’d invited Lily to watch him play Quidditch?” Remus shook his head in the negative. “More times than I can count. And where was she? With you; either in the library or down by the lake, reading poetry.”

“Did you take up spying on the side?” Remus asked, annoyed that Sirius seemed to be laying the blame for Lily’s initial disinterest in James at his doorstep.

“Didn’t need to, I used to sneak into the girls’ dormitory underneath James’ invisibility cloak and sit on Stella’s Effleworth’s bed waiting for her. We had a thing for a bit.” No news there, thought Remus. “From that particular vantage point, I had to suffer through Lily singing your praises over and over. Just like that part that she’d underlined in that book. Some gobbeldy-gook about beauty and insights, and singing praises.”

Remus knew exactly which quote he was referring to. ‘Every visit gave me a new meaning to his beauty and a new insight into his sweet spirit, until he became a book whose pages I could understand and whose praises I could sing, but which I could never finish reading.’

“She’d go on and on.” In a mock-girlish voice, Sirius mimicked, “Remus is so sensitive. Remus is so intelligent. Remus doesn’t need to prove he’s a real man by showing off on some stupid broom.” Returning to his normal voice, he continued, “Nauseating after a while; let me tell you.”

“She said all that?” Remus was totally stunned. It was beyond unbelievable that the beautiful, popular, and massively intelligent Lily Evans had ignored James Potter, second most available and adored wizard—according to Sirius (who claimed to be the first)—at the Howarts school for witches and wizards, had fixed her heart on him instead. Unreal.

“And more. It was pathetic. It got worse after she found out the reason for your monthly sojourns into the Forbidden Forest. She used to go on and on to the three of us about poor Remus suffering from an incurable illness.” Snorting, Sirius continued, “She thought you were a tortured soul, mate. Her words, not mine. Merlin, she ate that shit up.”

“You think my disease was some sort of babe magnet?” Remus asked. “You are one sick pup, Sirius Black. There was never anything romantic between us. She was kind and accepted me, claws and all. I was grateful for her support and understanding, just as I was when my best mates became Animagi to keep me company during the darkest hours of each and every month. Besides which, I was well aware that James had his eye on her since 1st year and Idon’t go after the girls my best mates like, now do I?”

“That’s not fair!” Sirius denied the charge against him indignantly. “James didn’t even really like Evelyn! He was just using her to make Lily jealous. Failed effort there.”

Ignoring Sirius’ attempt to exonerate him self, Remus stated with firm conviction, “That was an example, Pads. I had never and would have never laid a hand on Lily in any type of inappropriate manner. Never! I wouldn’t! Couldn’t!”

“I believe you, mate, and so would James, if he were here. The thing is, she only gave James the time of day after she figured out you weren’t going to pick up on her not-so-subtle signals. And even then, it took two years for her to give up altogether.”

Confused, Remus commented, “I just don’t get it.” Sirius sighed; it was getting old, all this “I’m not good enough for any witch to love me” shit. Remus was far too hard on himself. “It never occurred to me that Lily wanted something other than friendship. In my mind, she’d always been James’ girl.”

“James knew that, Moony,” Sirius quietly consoled his friend. “He was a persistent devil and there was a part of him that refused to concede that he and Lily wouldn’t one day end up together.” Grinning, Sirius said, “He was pretty full of himself.”

Laughing, Remus exclaimed, “Now if that isn’t the kettle calling the cauldron black, I don’t know what is.”

“Be that as it may, I speak the truth and stay with me here, because here’s where it gets interesting.”

“I’m all agog,” Remus said, clearly not taking Sirius seriously and still reeling from Sirius’ disclosures regarding Lily and her supposed crush.

“Okay, smart ass, but here’s the kicker. I can see it all unfolding again; smack dab right before my eyes. Déjà vu at its finest.”

“What the hell are you spouting now?”

“Who,” Sirius asked, “in our little entourage, reminds you of Lily? Huh? And be honest here.”

Remus took a moment to think on it before saying slowly, “Hermione has similar attributes, I suppose.”

“You suppose!” Sirius repeated loudly. “Where do you get this ‘I suppose’ shit? It’s like she’s Lily Evans’ clone or something, at least in the brains department. She doesn’t look a thing like Lily.”

“Hermione has her own brand of beauty, quit looking at the surface,” Remus snapped.

“I do believe I commented earlier on the attractiveness of the young lady in question, so get that brownie spoon out of your arse. I’m merely pointing out that you and she seemed to have developed a similar relationship to the one you shared with Lily—with a few modifications here and there.”

“It’s perfectly natural that we’re close. We spent quite a bit of time together during the War, you know that. Our research was one of the key components to our salvation. Don’t turn it into some romantic interlude. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Moony. I like Hermione and she obviously cares for you, so I don’t have a problem with the two of you hooking up. Just don’t forget about your best mate here like you did when you and Lily would spend time together.”

“Are you for real?” sputtered a stunned Remus. “Hermione is devastated! The man she loves let her down, barely three days ago,” Remus reiterated. “The life she thought she’d be sharing with Ron has been totally decimated. Why in the world would I make a play for her now?”

Smirking to himself, Sirius caught the subtle difference even if Remus hadn’t. His good buddy hadn’t denied a romantic interest in the Queen of Swots, just made it clear that now was not the time to indulge in that interest.

“All I’m saying, mate, is that she could use a little TLC right now and an understanding, sympathetic ear to bend. Luckily, that’s right up your alley. Birds are grateful for that sort of thing. All that consoling garbage can often lead to more.”

Stupefied, Remus whispered, “You are absolutely incredible.”

Preening, Sirius agreed, “So I’ve been told by all the ladies of my acquaintance.”

“Don’t be an ass, Sirius. You know what I meant and it wasn’t a compliment.”

“All I’m saying is, there must be something wrong with your relationship with my cousin or you’d want to make the ultimate commitment to her. You should have seen your face, mate, when you heard that she expects a ring and a declaration of undying love and devotion to go along with it.”

Looking uncomfortable, Remus answered, “You know how I feel about marriage. It’s not something I’ve ever considered and you know why.”

“You can spout that werewolf bullshit all you want, but with the right witch, you wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“Since when have you become an expert on relationships? Mr. I-Wouldn’t-Know-How-To-Commit-If-My-Life-Depended-On-It!”

Sirius shuddered. “If I ever start spouting commitment nonsense please, I beg of you, as my best mate, have me committed.” Sirius pulled himself together and stated firmly, “It’s not me, it’s you we’re addressing here and you are the type to make a life-long commitment. Just not with Nymphadora, that much is obvious.”

“Oh really? And what makes you so certain?” Remus wondered, sure that this was going to be worth hearing.

“You don’t touch her in public, for one thing,” Sirius stated concisely.

“That’s it? That’s your major clue on whether or not Dora and I have a viable relationship? Wow,” Remus answered sarcastically. “Your insight is truly remarkable.”

“It’s true, though,” Sirius replied, before demanding in a haughty tone, “Name for me one instance where you’ve made any sort of effort to—I don’t know—show some sort of public display of affection. Just one.”

Remus grimaced. “I don’t believe in flaunting that sort of thing in front of others; it’s embarrassing, not to mention private.”

“Yet you don’t have that problem with Hermione. Why is that?”

“What are you talking about now?”

“Hermione,” Sirius said. “And touching. In public. You, touching Hermione in public. Clear enough for you, bright guy?”

“Are you naturally this much of a wanker or do you have to work at it?” Remus asked, dismissing Sirius’ observations.

“Now mate,” he said, wagging his finger at Remus. “If you have to ask, then you haven’t been paying attention; and you, supposedly my best friend, too.” Sirius placed a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Remus couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Natural all the way.”

Sirius grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth before sweeping his arm out and making a low, regal bow.

“It’s different when I touch Hermione,” Remus said, returning to his serious demeanor. “With her it’s out of affectionate friendship and that is acceptable in company. Dora and I are lovers, and those sorts of displays should remain in the bedroom, behind closed doors.”

Frustrated, Sirius started up again. “Moony, I don’t think holding Nymphadora’s hand is in the same league as ravishing her senseless in front of witnesses.” Leering, Sirius said, “Not that it would stop me any if I fancied a bird enough. I’d just take her round the corner and have my lusty way with her.”

“You are without a doubt one of the most disgusting wizards of my acquaintance.” But it wasn’t said with too much heat. One couldn’t stay angry with someone who didn’t go out of his way to hide his true nature. Though he’d never say it, Remus found it refreshingly honest in a world where most nobles hid their true natures behind the façade of upstanding, morally correct citizenship.

“But of course!” he agreed jovially. “But you love me anyway.”

Remus said nothing; it was true. Instead, he sighed deeply. The sort of tired sigh that overly patient parents make while dealing with an incorrigible child and failing miserably at controlling or disciplining them. Such was the theme of his life when it came to James and Sirius.

“Listen,” Remus said slowly, as if speaking to a half-witted child. “Giving in to your passions indiscriminately, whether it be with a person or at a specific place, is a loss of control that I would not be comfortable with.”

“Is it because you lose total control at least three days out of every month?” Sirius paused, a frown marring his brow. “That’s beyond your ability to prevent, mate. I bet my cousin doesn’t mind it much either. Don’t think I don’t remember how randy you get right before the full moon.”

Remus blushed. This was a topic he most definitely did not feel comfortable discussing. It was true that his libido went into overdrive around those times and there was nothing he could do to reverse this particular symptom of his abhorrent disease; he’d tried countless potions and spells, to no avail. Therefore, to his disgust, he had no other choice but to indulge in his baser instincts.

Sirius was correct, Dora didn’t mind in the slightest; she said sometimes that it was the best sex they ever had. And it was those types of disturbing comments which had made him uncomfortable and even a bit insecure. It made him question his ability to please her as a normal man. At times, he’d get so caught up in those thoughts while he and Dora would be having sex that doubts would assail him en masse to the point that his desire for her would dwindle, making it hard to stay hard. Lately, it had become an altogether too common occurrence.

Yet Dora never complained, and for that he was extremely grateful. She remained uncommonly understanding but Remus knew she wouldn’t be content with the situation indefinitely. Being held close and cuddling was all good and fine, but it was generally a lovely aperitif to the main meal as well as the sweet dessert.

He desired Dora. Who wouldn’t? She was amazing, one of the best Aurors in the Ministry’s employ, unique and positive to the extreme. She made him laugh and he really needed that in his life. On top of it all, for some unfathomable reason, she was in love with him.

Unlike, Ron, Remus did know the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. Remus loved Dora, completely; but he wasn’t completely in love with her. It was wrong, he knew, to continue the relationship when he didn’t feel the same. It might be cowardice on his part to keep it going, but he’d been lonely before Dora had made her attraction clear. He wasn’t ready to be alone again. Wasn’t ready to do without companionship.

It was horribly unfair to her, he was aware of that, but Dora had known from the start that he thought himself incapable of falling in love, and didn’t want to; not really. His affliction was burden enough for himself; he was stuck with it for a lifetime. He had no intentions of burdening a witch with it. But she’d assured him that it didn’t matter, that she wanted him anyway, and he, in his loneliness, had let a relationship spring up between them. Now, it appeared as if Dora thought she’d changed his mind on the matter of marriage. Had he unconsciously given off signals that he was ready for them to take the next logical step? It had been, as Sirius said, three years.

It suddenly struck Remus that he and Dora had been involved for relatively the same length of time that Hermione and Ron had been. And the correlations didn’t end there: neither wizard was in love with his prospective witch, while the reverse was true for the women. Both of them were outstanding in their own ways. They were both beautiful, both intelligent, and both striving to make this world a better place, Dora with her Auror duties—intent on overcoming the remaining dark forces—and Hermione with her endless list of causes, in her own fashion attempting to overthrow darkness by working tirelessly to bring awareness into the prejudicial minds of wizards and witches.

It wasn’t just house elves, either. She focused her energy on all who were considered lesser beings. She was hell-bent on gaining equal rights for the werewolf populace, the majority of which had no say whatsoever in being made into what they were. People tended to conveniently forget that little fact in their zeal to eradicate “dangerous” half-breeds. Then they had the actual gall to use that black-hearted devil, Fenrir, as an example for the reasoning behind the horrendous laws and stipulations put into effect for werewolves everywhere. An absurdity if there ever was one.

Goblins, though powerful in the own right (holding all banking transactions within their knobby fingers), were on her list too. Remus had chuckled when she’d filled him in on that little notation. They, like the centaurs, would not appreciate any effort she’d make on their behalf. Both species were made up of proud creatures who basically kept to themselves, protecting and caring for their own. Still, it was an admirable idea, though Remus had suggested they be scratched from the list. Hermione had pursed her lips and stood her ground, determined not to be swayed from her original plan.

If that weren’t impossible enough, she’d taken on the giants as well! Another group who kept mainly to their own lands deep in the hills, avoiding all human contact unless absolutely forced to deal with outsiders. Remus suspected that Hagrid’s half-brother, Grawp, was the initial impetus to Hermione’s plans for the giants. Who could blame her? He was a sweet, misunderstood, awkward, overly large child; he meant no harm. The problem was that he was very large, which gave many the mistaken impression that he was a danger to others, which wasn’t the case at all.

“Hello, anyone in there?” Sirius asked, snapping his fingers in front of Remus’ face.

Batting his hand away, Remus answered, “Yes, just thinking.”

“Dare I ask?”

“No…you don’t,” Remus said firmly. “You might blab every thought that enters that void you call a brain, but I don’t.”

“Okay, okay, relax mate.” Then, grinning widely, he suggested, “Keep your dirty secrets secret if it makes you feel better.”

Walking over to the stove, Remus asked, “Have I told you lately what an arse you are?”

Making a moue with his mouth, Sirius tapped it thoughtfully and quipped, “Not within the last five minutes. You’re slipping a bit in your old age.”

Pulling a mitt onto his hand, Remus reached into the stove, grabbing the hot pan and placing it on the counter before retorting, “You’re six months older than I am, you depraved, clueless idiot.”

Before Sirius could come back with a zinger of his own, Hermione entered the room, bringing with her the delicious scent of vanilla and lavender. If possible, the aroma rivaled even that of the yummy brownies currently cooling behind them. She was dressed in the very same shorts Sirius had commented on earlier, though she wore a different top to go with it. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Remus’ eyes flick briefly to her legs. Hermione didn’t notice but Sirius, a born watcher of women and their wondrous limbs and curves, recognized the subtle movement. Sirius wasn’t nearly as brain-dead as most people supposed. And watching Remus talk quietly with Hermione, had Sirius wondering who the real clueless wizard was out of the remaining two Marauders.