House of Insanity

umm hair color what?

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 07:09:37 GMT

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 10:38:27 GMT

....0.o?

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 10:34:56 GMT

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

(There's supposed to be tagging, too, but I don't care. I didn't get tagged and I'm not tagging either.)

"Uh..." Dairine paused. Certainly this place was what she had thought she had wanted - a big cosmopolitan area full of intelligent alien creatures. But at the same time, there were hardly any hominids, and she felt bizarrely out of place. Which was all wrong.

W00T!! Diane Duane, High Wizardry!

Naruto Fic!

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 20:42:59 GMT

Okay, I know I'm supposed to be working on my various fictions, but this just seized me. Tell me what you think, please?

Disclaimer: No , I do not own Naruto – except in Dreamland! Mwahahahahaha!!!
Main Characters: Temari, Kankurou
Summary: Drabble. Temari POV. The children of the Kazekage have some words that they just don’t say. No agreement, no deal; they just don’t say them.
Word count: 600

There were words you just didn’t say. Temari knew it, Kankurou knew it, and Gaara might have known it, if he even knew the words existed. But then, how could he know them? Gaara didn’t play with the other children – he couldn’t play nice. The only one he played nice with was uncle Yashamaru, and their uncle had told them that it was only because Gaara knew that Yashamaru knew how to hurt him worst.
Temari, in all her ten year old omniscience – to Kankurou’s eleven year old immaturity – presumed that meant that Yashamaru knew Gaara's tenketsu (the word for which Temari had only learned a few days ago).
But still, there were words you just didn’t say. Once, they hadn’t been forbidden. Once, Temari and Kankurou had said them everyday, and with smiles when they did so. Once upon a time, Gaara hadn’t been born.
Now they were forbidden; swept away as the first victim of Shukaku’s wrath. Now, Temari and Kankurou were constantly tired, taking it in turns with uncle Yashamaru to keep Gaara awake and moderately amused at all hours of the day.
Occasionally, they still smiled, but never like they had when the forbidden words weren’t restricted to memory. But then, Gaara never smiled either – not that they expected him to.
Kankurou was the first to break the unspoken ban. Temari was waking him from an afternoon nap over his school scrolls, and reminding him that he still had to eat, and make sure he did his homework, because Kankurou was a boy, and boys could never be depended on to do things they had to, because they were icky.
Kankurou, tired – she would later reflect – and probably angry over having been caught sleeping while he was supposed to be studying, snapped at her. “Yes, mother,” he glared at her, uncut brown hair ill covering the mirror print his open scroll had left on his forehead.
Temari paled. Kankurou did as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincere as only children can be.
“It’s okay,” she muttered, without thinking about it. It wasn’t, really. That was one of the forbidden words. One of many.
Mother, love, happy; examples of the whole. Those words were forbidden. Things would never be okay, because they’d never be able to say those words again. There was no mother to tuck them in to bed, or to remind Kankurou to do the things he never remembered to do on his own, or make them bento for lunch (Temari did, badly). So the words were forbidden: because they would never have a mother again, never be loved by a parent again, never be happy again – not like they had once been.
Kankurou, awkwardly, wrapped his arms around her, and Temari was horrified to find her lower lip trembling and her vision shaky with tears. It was far from the dignified behaviour required of her as the kunoichi she (nearly) was already. But she couldn’t stop it, and she cried. She cried like when she cut her knee with one of Kankurou’s – only partially finished – puppets, and her mother (no, can’t use that word, hurts too much) had put a band-aid over it, with a gentle kiss to her forehead, and a ‘you’ll be fine, love. Don’t worry’. The memory only made her cry harder.
When she pulled away Temari wiped her nose on her sleeve – which hurt – and the wiped at her eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” Kankurou offered hesitantly. She shot him a glare, a few more tears leaking from her eyes. That was two, tonight. It’ll be okay were all forbidden, too.

Yet another Fic! (10!) (Finally!)

Tue, 31 Oct 2006 21:07:11 GMT

Yes, yes indeed, I have finally finished chapter 10. It was difficult. Brat!Quatre's hard! ... in more ways than one!

Warning: LIME! 4xD. Henceforth, you are warned.

Um yeah.

A/N: Thanks to Princess Kathleen (on FF.net) who pointed out something I hadn’t thought to explain. While yes, Wufei would be in the same grade as the other G-boys according to the American system, the british system has an age cut off at September first. So Hermione, for example, is born on September 12th, and is only in the same year as Harry and Ron because of those critical eleven days. Wufei would still have been in the same grade as Quatre, but he doesn’t know that Quatre is there yet. So thank you for bringing that up, as other might have been similarly confused!

But Magic Doesn’t Exist! – Chapter 10

… = times passing, same POV, same scene

* = change of scene/change of POV

** = scene deleted, refer to livejournal account

*have a cookie* = emphasis, ie. Italics

/have a cookie/ = thoughts

Care of Magical Creatures is a crack up, Draco had said, you don’t want to take that one. The teacher’s barely more than a beast, and should be put down; but then, not all people are as sensible as we Malfoys. Those words echoing in his head, Quatre had not signed up for Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn’t like he couldn’t hire people to take care of any magical pets he chose to own.

He watched while Mr. Malfoy conversed quietly with the man meant to oversee Quatre’s OWLs. /Ordinary Wizarding Levels: OWLs/, he thought, /and NEWTs. How… clever./ The sarcasm was palpable even in his thoughts.

The man, Gerand Wersford, stood straight and tall, in green robes that were just a touch grey. Mr. Malfoy was annoyed, he could feel behind his ribcage, with the fact that his original choice of adjudicator had been previously occupied, sending his assistant instead. Mr. Wersford was, in turn, affronted and angry that Mr. Malfoy refused to acknowledge his worth. Quatre just wanted to get this all over with before he exploded from the tension in the room.

Draco hadn’t been allowed into the examination room, and Quatre wished he were there, because it would mean he would have someone to quiz him on things that would be on the exam.

He’d chosen to go with Ancient Runes instead of Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy just so that he would have a class with Draco. Besides, it wasn’t like Arithmancy was all that difficult. It was very similar to the advanced maths the tutors of his false memories had taught him. His fake memories were useful for some things, at least. He almost dreaded his next meeting with Professor Snape. No doubt it would be the return of his memories, and the destruction of his false ones.

That would be a shame: he knew he shouldn’t, but he actually liked his false memories. Though his sleep was often disturbed by nightmares of his past memories, and the memories themselves were terrifying in places, there were many that he found himself chuckling over as he felt himself discovering them anew: a quiet afternoon with ‘Duo’, ‘Wufei’s reaction to his library on L4 – a spacestation? Honestly. – and, he blushed to remember it, an afternoon with Trowa, lounging in the sun, languidly making love as they wasted away the day.

His memories of Heero were few, and often painful to think of. From what he could remember, he hadn’t spent much time with Heero, though he kept correspondences with all of the other pilots after the wars. Within a month, he and Trowa had grown tired of the idle life that his wealth offered, and joined Preventers with Duo – who had joined a few days prior – and were soon followed by Heero, who had appeared from the wood work of Relena’s security detail.

He nearly snickered to remember the laughs they had had at the girl’s expense. Really, she wasn’t that bad any more, and they knew that, but sometimes when the darkness of war had been too much to handle, a laugh about the girl who had stalked Heero so successfully that she could have won the war for OZ or White Fang if she’d had the inclination was what was needed to chase the dark away.

But then, ‘Relena’ was a figment of his imagination, as were the other ‘pilots’ and the wars, for that matter: a fanciful figment, at that. He put them away in his mind, and went over the incantation and definition of a Sonorus charm.

He ran through levitation, silencing, and his fingers were twitching through the wand movements of a full body binding when Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Wersford turned to him.

“Let’s get started,” Mr. Wersford said sourly, “Your theory exams will be spread out over the next week, with the practical exams the next week following.”

“What?” Quatre felt his eyes pull wide. “So long?” Could he last that long under the anxiety? “I won’t do it.”

“Pardon me?” Mr. Malfoy frowned as he spoke, his face twisting into an ugly expression that Quatre would later come to realize that Draco had never seen: it was cunning, angry, and made the darker parts of Quatre – the ones that haunted him at night – flare up in response.

“I’ll do all of them today. It’s better that way.” Quatre said, well aware of the scandal surrounding the Malfoy name. Father arrested for collaboration with a Dark Lord, only a few months escaped from prison, and hiding in his own house. It was part of the reason Lucius was so annoyed to have his first choice of adjudicator be ‘otherwise occupied’: the man was one of the few who would sneak Quatre’s results in among the other students’, and not report Lucius to the authorities while he was at it.

“Each exam takes three hours to complete;” Mr. Wersford informed him, “to complete nine exams worth is impossible for anyone.”

“Only if I take longer than two hours for each exam,” Quatre shot back haughtily. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d written for long periods of time: his mission in New Venice had taken four days and been comprised mostly of forging documents.

There was a large part of his mind that told him that they weren’t *his* memories, they weren’t *anybody’s* memories, and he *hadn’t* gone to New Venice, there *was* no ‘New’ Venice! How could *he* expect to write for eighteen straight hours, and still pass his exams?

Ignoring tactical laws, his words were based on the faint belief that he could do this, that he was capable. He had done harder things. “I’ll do the theory today, and the practical tomorrow,” he continued, and, at Mr. Wersford’s suspect expression, added “I’m ready.”

“Then the issue is settled,” Mr. Malfoy grinned smugly, sparking a faint… familiarity in Quatre. ‘Déjà vu’ the Duo of his memory would have called it. Quatre didn’t think such a simplistic term applied. It wasn’t so much that he’d seen that smile before so much as… it reminded him of… someone… telling him… something?

The shadow of the memory slipped away as easily as sand in an hourglass, and Quatre shook his head minutely.

“Administer the tests,” Lucius was saying. “Quatre will pass or fail on his own merit.”

*

The eighteen hours turned into hell by the time Quatre had reached the one quarter marker. His brain felt like it had turned to mush, or perhaps a supersaturated sponge. He pulled facts out, left, right and center, and Quatre tried not to let his thoughts stray.

His brain kept wanting to think about how good Trowa’s massages felt, and his body kept twitching under Wersfords gaze. His hand kept moving to grip a gun he didn’t carry. Did guns even exist? Or was that science fiction?

Realizing his mind had wandered again, he shook his head, and concentrated on the Arithmancy theory. Witch Helena Ingham desires to marry Muggle George Dawson, on the Seventh of October 1998. Suggest a more auspicious date, and explain your choice.

His hand cramped, and he shook it out, and small moue crossing his features as he puzzled out the question. A glance at the time said he’d been working on the Arithmancy test for 45 minutes. A quick flick of his gaze over the scroll told him he was well over half done. He massaged his cramped muscles himself, giving himself a quick moment to wish Trowa were real and there. He wouldn’t mind a kiss hello.

The answer came to him then: December 4. Same year. It was a better match to the numbers in both names, and accented their astrological traits better. Scrawling down a more complete answer, he glanced at the hour glass. Wersford must have turned it over, and the sand was a little less than half gone. His eyes widened. He only had half an hour to finish the rest of the questions!

He rushed his way through the rest. His brain, panicked by the time press, pulled facts out without feeling like a sponge and Quatre barely noticed when his hand bean to cramp again.

He passed through the rest of the tests in that same kind of state. His eyes were fixated on the page before him, his free hand braced the scroll when it wasn’t reaching for the next. His writing hand barely wavered as it dipped the quill in the inkwell, dabbed off the excess and wrote in smooth movements.

The eyes on his back were still burning into him, but his hands, otherwise occupied, stopped twitching.

*

Quatre awoke, shivering with anticipation. Today was the day. His practicals had gone about as well, he thought, as the theory. This meant, of course, that he was in high spirits, as his theories had gone wonderfully. The only things today would be missing, he believed, were Trowa, and mind blowing sex. Of course, he grinned, he could always have mind blowing sex without Trowa.

Having it with Trowa would be somewhat difficult.

He would just have to have mind blowing sex with someone else. He was fairly certain that Draco was willing… and if he wasn’t Quatre was pretty sure he could make him willing. Empathy was ever so useful.

He wondered, allowing himself a moment of reflection, what the Achmed Winner his memories supplied would think of his son even considering manipulating Draco Malfoy. He decided it didn’t matter. His memories weren’t reality after all, and he knew from Lucius what kind of a man his father was.

The Winners was the only family that the Malfoys considered themselves inferior to. The fact that they were far enough away that Mr. Malfoy never felt threatened was a major factor in that. Quatre, despite missing most of his memories, was picking up the game faster, he thought, than Lucius thought he was.

Inferior families were to be used, not respected. That, of course, was a crackpot theory, but one he could use. He was in the middle of a war (/again/, the back of his brain whispered, and the rest ignored), and whatever his family might think, he had principles (/For now/, the rest of his brain whispered, and the back ignored).

Lucius thought him to be weak because his memories were gone. Quatre knew Lucius to be weak for overlooking him as a threat. Not that he was going to reveal himself as one, of course not. He was finding that he actually liked Draco. And just in case whoever-he-was-normally didn’t agree with who-he-was-now, he wasn’t going to burn that bridge just yet.

Perhaps he could even strengthen it.

Quatre rose from bed, flicking his wand at the robes draped out over a nearby chair. With his word, they soared to clothe him, and he walked the halls of Malfoy Manor with a confident, measured stride.

Half a minute’s walk took him to Draco’s door, and he knocked briefly, before entering. Malfoy the Younger’s room. Light spilled into the room from windows whose shutters he flipped open with a word.

“Protegera,” his sunny smile never wavered as he cast the spell over himself. The filmy sphere snapped up around him, and the bright light of a full body bind bounced off it. Quatre lowered the spell, laughing at Draco’s reaction. “Really Draco, you’re such a drama queen,” he said, snapping the duvet off Draco’s somewhat prone form.

Blinking at the wand suddenly in his face, he gently took it from Draco’s fingers, and set it aside. He leaned over the blonde territorially, inches from Draco’s face. Temptation struck, and Quatre slowly lowered his lips to press against the other’s. Hands on his shoulders pushed him back, and Draco favored him with a sly smile.

“You’re a poof, then?” He asked, and Quatre shook his head.

“Does it matter? We’re both going to have to marry girls we don’t love, and probably don’t even like. Why not have a little fun?” The last was rhetorical, and Draco’s smile widened.

“I like that reasoning,” he said. “A wank will probably do us both good.”

“Exactly. Results are in today,” Quatre said offhand, running his fingertips over Draco’s chest. He pinched one nipple. Abruptly, his hand was locked in a tight grip.

“I’m not into that.” Draco’s voice was steel, and Quatre shrugged.

He pulled his hand away, and pinched his own nipple, gasping. “I am,” he managed to get out, the beginnings of an erection tenting his robe. One of Draco’s eyebrows rose, and he reached up under Quatre’s robe. Making Quatre gasp again, he smiled – not cruel, or smug, simply knowledge glad of its own existence – and pinched harder.

Quatre’s breath shortened into pants, and he reached for Draco’s penis. A few careful strokes brought it to a salute worthy of an OZ officer, and he ran a nail lightly over the vein that traveled up the underside. Draco hissed, and Quatre’s vocal chords mirrored the sound when Draco’s fingers clenched in a sharp spasm.

Finally (finally!) Draco reached for his cock, and stroked along with him in counterpoint. There might have been sound beyond the rough sounds of their breathing, and ‘so good’s, but if there was, Quatre couldn’t hear it. (Oh God so good) His empathy was mixing…. Draco’s pleasure (oh! Shit, don’t do that) and… his own. If the feeling… could be assigned a taste (he’d swallowed Trowa’s cum once he’d hated it but Trowa liked it liked it so much when he swallowed)… it would be….

It would be… (been too long)

Would… (not gonna last)

Be…

Burnt chocolate, he decided, brain slightly fuzzy while it came down from an orgasm high. “Fuck that was good, Draco.”

Draco stared at the ceiling for a long time. “Yeah,” he answered back, absently. His eyes blinked. “I’m tired now.”

Quatre chuckled weakly, and lay down beside him. He patted his robe slowly, and came up with his wand. /Fuck marks/, he thought, clearing away the mess, /they can wait until later/.

What doesn't kill you should be petted until fluffy!!

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 17:29:06 GMT

What type of Fae are you?

Most inane comments ever

Sun, 15 Oct 2006 22:35:30 GMT

I think I will post the stupidest of comments that I have seen. I'm only starting with one, as it caught my eye as particularly inane. I will add to it, and if anyone else wants to, please do. Just add it a little (three sentences, tops) about *why* it's inane.

From a fanfic summary: "How does magic tie in?"
My answer: well, your two main characters are... let's see... *mages*. That should give you a good indication, right there.

Please?

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 22:34:07 GMT

Okay, so I said I would do this, so I'm doing this. *dons frilly pink ballerina tutu, spray-painted neon pick tiara, and holds out spray painted pink moon wand*
Everyone who Visits This Livejournal must Fill This out, or in the Name of the Moon, I shall Punish You!
*throws everything remotely colored pink into the trash* *sigh* that's better. Now don't make me have done that in vain, people.

1. Your Full Name:

2. Age:

3. Single or Taken:

4. Favorit past time:

5. Prefer indoor or outdoors:

6. Hobby:

7. Dirty or Clean:

HERE COMES THE FUN ... ... ...

1. Tattoos and/or Piercings? What of and were:

2. Whats your philosophy on life?

3. Would you have my back in a fight?

4. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?

5. What is your favorite memory of us?

6. Would you give me a kidney?

7. Tell me one odd/intresting fact about you:

8. Would you take care of me when I'm sick?

9. Are you a tease?

10. Have you heard any rumors of me lately? What is it?

11. Do you/have you talk(ed) crap about me?

12. Do you think I'm a good person?

13. Would you drive across country with me?

14. Do you think I'm attractive?

15. If you could change anything about me, would you?

16. What do you wear to sleep?

17. Would you come over for no reason just to hang out?

18. Would you go on a date with me if i asked you?

19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?

20. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

It's all because of me

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 17:33:34 GMT

So I was rereading a favorite fic of mine, and suddenly something just clicked. and like, you know how T.S. Eliot and all of those annoying people have they're characters have 'epiphanies'. It was like that. I just *knew* that it could happen. So I wrote an essay about it, and posted it on the yahoo group dedicated to said fic. The authors of the story tore my idea apart, but they encouraged me (or anyone else who wanted to) to use the idea in a story. And there's an entire discussion board that came out of people's responses to my post, and Mel and Christy have taken a renewed interest in the story again! Chapter 32 might not take years!!! YAY!!!!
And it's all because of me..... *giggle*

Bugger

Sun, 09 Jul 2006 17:38:02 GMT

Okay, so chapter 10 is going to take a *liiiiiiiittle* longer than I'd hoped. I swear I'm almost done! And I have the next three or four almost completely written too, so I swear, when I update, it will be a *major* update. It's just.... you know that thing I mentioned that I didn't want to jinx in my last post? Well, it was a job (you know, one of *those*) and its laving me seriously tired out. Or was, at least. Techinically, I should be sleeping right now: I've had about 4 hours' rest out of the last fifty or so... but my body's decided to pretend that I don't need sleep to live, and that crashing for fifteen minutes is just as good as sleeping for eight hours. My brain isn't so sure about that, and I think one day I'm just going to crash. Just so you know, if there's another major pause where I don't update, I may be in the hospital.
Reason number two for the extra wait, the router for my internet isn't working, which means I have to a) work off my sister's computer (when I'm home, and she's not, which is nearly never), b)her computer can't access hotmail, which means that I can't get to the first half of chapter ten, and tie it in with the second half that I wrote over the course of my two twelve hour night shifts that I had last night and the one before, and c) did I mention I'm probably going to collapse sometimes soon?
Having a job is nice, but they keep shoving me with night shifts, and it's seriously killing me. I think I smoked more in forty eight hours, than I do in a month, normally. Bugger.

Tue, 13 Jun 2006 00:44:28 GMT

Okay, so I'm officially getting a tattoo tomorrow. I plan on getting it on the lower right side of my back right above my butt. It's going to be yume (夢), which, for those of you who don't speak Japanese, is the noun 'dream'. I think it's highly appropriate for a dreamer like myself, and I like the symbol, which is a bonus.

For those of you who were hoping that this update would be Chapter 10 of But Magic Doesn't Exist!... I'm sorry, but it's not. I'm about half done, but OWLs are not going as well as I'd hoped they would: the electives Quatre chose are, naturally, the few subjects in the books that we know nothing about, as Harry didn't take them. That's all the hints I'm giving, by the way.

Further, progress has been halted for the next week or so, for reasons that I don't want to jinx by writing it down, and will probably inevitably end in me having less free time than I did last week, but is good all the same, because I had so much free time I was beginning to have no idea what day of the week it was. Which, if you've ever had to name the day of the week, and drawn a blank, you'll know is never a good thing.

So there's my life update, and I'll get on Chapter 10 ASAP. I promise. You can put the pitchforks and torches down now.

Wed, 31 May 2006 22:40:26 GMT

Okay, I need peoples' advice here. I have an idea for a story. It's a pretty good plot (not my best, but not too bad either), with only one glitch that I won't need to work out for a while - and I have a pretty good idea how to do it anyway. Originally, it was going to to be a GW fanfiction, since it would allow me to mess around with the characters without fear of offending somebody. However, I'm considering taking the potentially offensive bit out (though it seriously screws up a major part of the plot) and making it into an original, as per the advice of my mom. She thinks I should write more originals in the pursuit of finishing an actual novel.
What do all you other people think?

Pixelface: Master of Brilliance

Tue, 23 May 2006 00:27:59 GMT

http://www.kyozoku.com/adoptsindex.html is simply brilliant. It's an entire *archive* of faces from TV, movies, animes, games... everything! It's even got Monk! I thought *I* was the only one who watched that show! Well, obviously not the only one, since it's on TV and hasn't been cancelled as far as I know, but still!

So go, my pretties, and know that if you don't visit that site, you are missing out on awesome avatar material.

Yet Another Fic! (9!)

Sat, 20 May 2006 02:35:40 GMT

Okay, so I *was* waiting on my local (er... not so local, but she was when I started the chapter) Snape expert for approval for this chapter, but I decided to fuck it, since I'm not really going to change much in it even if she doesn't approve (I'm lazy) and it's been about a month and a half since I emailed it to her and she hasn't responded. So... I'm just going to post it, and start working on chapter 10, and hope that everything works out. Erm... and also: it's come to my attention that Duo is *way* OOC. However, since I *like* Duo-OOC I'm going to keep him somewhat the same as I've been writing him. I will try to make him more in character, but no promises. Okay?
Oh! It's a little shorter than usual, but I think it's okay, because I put a lot of stuff in and I swear I'll make it up to you all next chapter. It's the OWL tests. *grin*

A/N: Ooooh… here’s a doozy: Severus Snape. Yup! This chappy’s coming to you from the prow (or prowl, or stalk, or swoop) of the SS! … er… did anyone get that? (insert random cries of ‘No!’ here) Yeah, it didn’t make much sense to me either. I’ll stop the boat humor now. Ahem. So yeah, this chapter’s from Snape’s POV, and involves a hell of a lot of planning on the Death Eaters’ parts, and not much fun stuff. Remind me never to write Snape POV ever again. Treading the line between good and evil is so difficult.

But Magic Doesn’t Exist!- Chapter 9

… = times passing, same POV, same scene

* = change of scene/change of POV

*have a cookie* = emphasis, ie. Italics

/have a cookie/ = thoughts

The pain in his arm was bearable. The laughter from the kitchen was not. Severus snarled as he prepared to answer the call. He’d have to brew the Unbreakable potion later: it was a delicate thing, requiring constant attention (which had been the point of brewing it: to distract himself).

“Evanesco.” And it was gone; all six hours of work of it. Severus sighed, and returned to the kitchen, where he swooped and glared, and generally made a nuisance of himself- as he’d done every day for years- God he hated doing this. Being alone with his potions was much preferable.

Potter, of course, glared at him, along with all the children from the Weasley house, and Granger. Barton, thank Merlin for the boy- being glared at all day, however much he deserved it, was a trying experience- passed no judgment, and the Maxwell boy’s lips twitched as he glanced between the man, and the Chinese boy. Severus was given to understand that he and the boy acted similarly.

He almost snorted at the thought: he and the boy were nothing alike.

“I am going out, Mr. Barton,” he dismissed the others with his actions, “ensure these children are fed, and in bed by a reasonable hour. If there are any transgressions I am to know about them immediately upon my return. Is that clear?”

Barton nodded, but the Weasley boy glared, asking angrily, “Why’s he in charge?”

Severus sent a glare his way that had been known to wilt the resolve of even students who had long since graduated. “If you would think, Mr. Weasley, you would realize that Mr. Barton is the eldest among you. As your next caretaker will not arrive for a day, yet, and I have just grown supremely tired of your presence in this house, I am taking the reprieve that I have been offered. And fifteen points Mr. Weasley,” he added as an after thought, already turning away, “for cheek.”

He could feel the boy’s glare at his back, as he strode from the house, checking carefully before emerging onto the London street; he apparated almost immediately to the grand estate that served as the Death Eaters’ headquarters.

He slipped his mask out of one of the deep pockets in his cloak, and put it on, fastening the cloak tighter around his body, and pulling the cowl over his head. There was no one to see him anyway. The Ministry had been searching for this manor since before Voldemort’s first defeat. The Ministry, however- Severus had found- was filled with incompetents, and worse, corruptible ones. Not one had come even close to finding the manor, and Severus was yet to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing.

The manor itself was a decrepit, odoriferous affair- at least from the outside- with wind smashed windows and barren branched trees. Cesspools of filth putrefied, and Severus knew for a fact that that Toddy and Figgy, the house elves consigned to the manor, were nearly daily punished for trying to clean up the grounds. He nearly sympathized.

Once inside, however, the work of the house elves became apparent in the alluring mosaics and magnificent architecture. The further down one traveled, however, the less attractive the surroundings became, until one found plain stone cells, a dungeon worthy of Voldemort’s and a potions lab that few wizards, and only two students, had ever had the privilege of working in.

Severus was very proud of Prince- now Snape- manor.

He strode into the hall, where Malfoy – senior and junior – were waiting with the Crabbes and the Goyles. A third boy, thin and pale like Draco, as familiar as any one of the mental defectives that passed for his students, stood in the midst of them. Severus raised an eyebrow at the sight of Quatre Raberba Winner, beloved of Trowa Barton, and heir to a multinational muggle pacifist corporation, and then dismissed him in favor of regarding Lucius. He removed his mask before speaking.

“What, exactly, was the purpose of disturbing my work, Lucius? I was in the midst of brewing the Unbreakable our Lord requested for *your* son. I hope you are satisfied knowing you have ruined six hours of work.”

“You can always brew another, Severus,” Lucius said, and waved a hand in the Winner boy’s direction. “My son found this boy on our property. He claims to be a son of Abdul Winner, but his memories have been altered to a point where we are unsure what is true, and what is fiction. Achmed would like you to restore his memories.”

Severus nodded, judging what would be safe to say. This situation was, at least, interesting. “Surely you can do that yourself?”

Lucius’ expression turned sour. “The spell used was very advanced. My attempts to return his memories to him have come to naught. They only uncovered memories along the same lines as his altered ones, and I can find no trace of anything different. They were altered by a true master.”

Severus smirked. “Then it is good that you have come to me, a true master, and not some” he sniffed imperiously “inferior potion brewer. I have had cause to meet the boy before, and I can assure you that, altered memories or no, he *is* a Winner.”

Quatre Winner’s eyes rose to meet his. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you, then,” he said, and his gaze dropped again. Severus had to hold back a sneer. There was all the teenage melodrama coming to the fore, as always. No doubt the boy was thinking along the lines of ‘It’s all my fault I can’t remember a thing. If I was better in some way…’. And then – thank Merlin he didn’t seem the type to be sorted into Slytherin – he would have to deal with it in class.

But the real question was not how annoying the child would be once he reached school: the real question was how much to tell the boy. Surely he couldn’t tell him the truth. If Lucius were to ever find out that the boy was a muggleborn from the future (and Severus mentally sneered at himself every time he found himself thinking that particular phrase) the boy would be killed instantly. Severus had no doubt that the boy *would* tell Lucius: he was a Gryffindor type, and Gryffindor types never knew when to keep their mouths shut.

Similarly, he could say nothing about the boy’s companions, or that all but one of them currently resided at #12 Grimmauld Place. Such an admission would either compromise his position with Voldemort, or put all four in danger of being used against each other.

“It was a long time ago we met, Mr. Winner,” he lied smoothly, “I’m not surprised.” He turned his attention to Lucius again. “I would like to speak to the boy in private, if you don’t mind,” he said, and at Lucius’ suspicious look, added, “some of the symptoms of potion based memory loss can be… embarrassing, as you well know.” He flicked his eyes down Lucius’ body, and left the rest up to the man’s memory- or at least the little he had recovered.

“Do you think I would deprive the boy of his dignity?” Lucius glared, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Of course not, Lucius,” Snape said. “We’ll be in the next room.”

Snape cast a silencing charm on the room the minute he entered, and closed the door behind Quatre. He waved his waved perfunctorily over the boy’s front, muttering ‘perlego’, spun him, and did the same with back. No, there was nothing wrong with the boy. Nor, incidentally, were there any hanging Listen In charms, or Report Back hexes on him. Excellent.

“That wasn’t very friendly,” the boy chided him, waving a hand to indicate that he meant Snape’s actions in the foyer, and not his rough treatment just now. He’d make an excellent addition to Gryffindor: maybe force that idiot trio to think a little before assuming Slytherins were evil.

“Have a care when speaking to your elders,” Snape snapped, searching the room carefully. He might be the master of the manor, but the manor itself hated him – he and his half blood- and usually left a few nasty surprises in every room in case he came to ‘visit’.

“Well, it wasn’t!”

“When dealing with Lucius Malfoy, you will find, boy, that he is a snake in the worst senses of the word: cowardly, far less poisonous than you think, and more than willing to let everyone outside his family come to harm. Being associated with him, as you are, is exactly why I wished to speak with you in a private setting,” Snape said, having satisfied himself that sitting down would be a safe action. “Sit.”

Quatre did, looking mutinous. “Mr. Malfoy has been nothing but cordial to me, and in times such as these, such kindness ought to be repaid in like, not with vicious words, and implied mockery.”

“Did a Gryffindor borrow your tongue, boy? You’re speaking nonsense. Times ‘such as these’, as you say, require sharp thinking, and even sharper wit. Do you even know what you’re getting into?”

“Of course,” Quatre said, but Snape had spent his life- a not unsubstantial thirty eight years – learning to sense lies as they were spoken, and there was nothing even resembling surety in the boy’s voice.

Feeling rather gracious today, he softened his voice: “Your memories are not as badly off as some might say, Quatre Raberba Winner. The friends you had, for example, have made an appearance in your altered memories, and you believed yourself a Winner when asked, did you not?”

The boy nodded, hesitantly. “From what I have seen, your character remains the same. Your memories may never come back boy, but one thing you must know is that forgetting your past can be for the better.” It had certainly been for the better for Black and Lupin, when they’d conveniently ‘forgot’ that they’d tried to kill him in seventh year. Bastards.

It was too bad, really, that the Winner boy would never be sorted into Slytherin: he was polite, not entirely full of himself, and proud enough to stand up to Black’s mother, even.

“How did you know?” Quatre asked.

“Know what?” Snape responded. The boy might, of course, end up being the first non-Slytherin he liked. That was provided the Barton boy wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. He probably wouldn’t be: none of those boys looked the type. Perhaps the Yui boy… smart, cunning, willing to use others- even he had heard the story of Yui stealing ‘Deathscythe’s’ parts. Whatever a ‘deathscythe’ was. He wondered idly if it was the same as a regular scythe, and how in Merlin’s name it had parts. It wasn’t a particularly complex design, after all, just a blade, and a curved-

“About my friends.” Quatre cut into his thoughts, oblivious to the fact that Snape had changed subjects in his mind. “You said we met before, once, a long time ago. You couldn’t, therefore, possibly know everything about who I was, or even who my friends were! You didn’t use Legilimency,” the boy used the word so knowledgeably Snape could readily believe he had actually been born into the wizarding world “so that rules out that option,” the boy gave him a look he’d seen on Granger’s face often enough. “So how, exactly, did you know that my friends stayed the same in my memory?”

Merlin, the boy was sharp. Or perhaps Snape had simply been dealing with Potter and his ilk too long: Weasley wouldn’t have caught that. But then, Weasley hadn’t been trained from a very young age to be a business tycoon.

Snape’s more than adequately equipped mind ran through the possible answers, and found… absolutely nothing that wouldn’t give away more than he could afford. Damn.

Instead, he raised his wand, and focused his mind on the memory of the last few minutes. “Obliviate.”

The boy started, blinked, and then stared at him with a slightly confused expression that Snape was used to seeing on the faces of children his age. “What did you want to ask me?” he asked, and Snape fired off a few of the most embarrassing questions he could think of.

Quatre squirmed, and blushed, but answered the questions. Snape smiled inwardly: sometimes, he felt like it was his life’s mission to embarrass those around him. It was a good thing he enjoyed it.

Nodding sharply, he asked one more- simply for shock value- “Have any boils formed on your penis or buttocks?” He nearly gave the game away by snickering at the shade of the Winner boy’s face as he shook his head violently.

“Good,” he continued. “Come with me.” The boy was a little slower to follow him than he’d been before, but returned to the foyer on his heels nonetheless.

“A Witch Hazel and Comfey based memory restoration potion will suffice,” Snape said. “I’ll begin once I finish the Unbreakable you wanted.” With his eyes, he dared Lucius to challenge him. The man, much to Snape’s disappointment, did nothing of the sort.

“Thank you, Severus,” Lucius said, nodding graciously. “Come boys,” he said to his child and the Winner boy, “let’s go home.” His eyes promised revenge, and Snape met them easily: he had nothing to fear. They flooed away, and Snape left.

The apparition to Hogsmeade required next to no energy at all, and he made a quick stop in Knockturn Alley’s apothecary, Newt and Wort, for more Albizia and Monk’s Hood. The amount required by an Unbreakable was staggering.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was still standing, which he considered an improvement over the visions of destruction he’d been having: he *had* left the idiot trio relatively unsupervised. The Maxwell boy opened the door from him, and gave him the space necessary for to get into the house.

Severus briefly considered telling the boy that one of his companions had been located… but then, the boy was the embodiment of Gryffindor idiocy, and would probably rush to ‘save’ his friend from ‘the evil Slytherins’ – never mind that the boy was perfectly happy where he was – and would likely get himself killed, and Severus did not relish the idea of explaining *that* to Dumbledore… or Lucius.

Besides, he had a potion to brew.

A/N: So you'll review, right? You know, what you like, what you hate, what you think I could do better at. Seriously. My Muse-o-Matic is powered by reviews, so your suggestions will be majorly appreciated. E-Cookies *will* be given as a reward. So... Pleeeeeeeeeease?

On To The Next Chapter!!

Oh Dear God...

Tue, 09 May 2006 15:55:31 GMT

I think I've been traumatized for life. I'm fairly certain I walked in on my dad (my *seventy one* year old dad) *masturbating*. *shudder* Not a sight I needed to, wanted to, or might have been healthy to see. *shudder*
The image is stuck in my mind now... it won't go away... HELP ME!!

Ichi ichi ichi!!!

Mon, 08 May 2006 22:20:34 GMT

(Or rather...) Itchy itchy itchy!!!!!! *whimper*
My arms... my poor arms... and legs... and back... and stomach... I think the only things spared are my thighs and face.....

I helped my parents get their house all ready for the Open House they were holding on Sunday, and I think it must have been the cleaner (I was stuck on bathroom detail)to make nearly my entire body break out in incredibly itchy... er ... bumps. Seriously, they cover everything. I can't go five minutes without scratching!

Speaking of which...

Four calls

Mon, 08 May 2006 20:26:50 GMT

I think I may murder him. Four calls in less than an hour... Note the grinding teeth. Sometimes I hate my father. Sometimes I feel guilty because I really wish he was dead. Most of the time, however, I don't. Take it as you will.

All Your Base Are Belong to Us

Sun, 30 Apr 2006 18:36:28 GMT

Oh God.... I'm helping my sister correct essays for the class she's TAing... the horror. There's this one student... *every* sentence (and I'm not exxagerating) has at least one spelling mistake, and one grammar mistake... *every* paragraph was written badly enough that I could feel my IQ melting.... the best sentence- I swear to God- was "This term [Reactionary Revolution] not only cansels each other out but it can also be seen as a big explanation for what exactly happened". And it only goes downhill from there.
The worst is: I'm not. Allowed. To do. *Anything*. About it. At all!
It was an in class essay, and the students were therefore under pressure, and the teacher said that no marks would be taken off for spelling/grammar mistakes. This kind of situation makes me want to A) hunt down the person and murder his face; B) Go insane (and not in a nice way); or C) burn the paper, and pretend I've never seen it. Options A and C are out, since murdering a person's face is generally considered illegal (except in parts of Texas, but they let you do *anything* except be gay there), and the guy signed a paper that showed he handed it in. Which means that my IQ melted, and I tried to spell 'French' with an 'i', 'allowed' without an 'e', and 'write' with an 's' in the comments section. I also wanted to tell him to learn English, but Frances veto-ed that because the professor looks them over. Damn.
And so I finish with a quote: "To simply put it; revolution is a complet economi rupture. IF this was the case why did,
'there [remain] in 1814 a willingness on the part of the elites in Mexico and Peru to remain loyal to Spain' (Burkholder and Johnson)."
Oj Gos.. Thu Horur

How Skewed Is My Perception?

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 02:45:06 GMT

First off, I wanna say that I'm almost done chapter 9 of BDME, so you can rest easy: I may even finish it tonight!
But more importantly, something (actually, several somethings) happened today to make me reevaluate my self worth. Okay, maybe it's just not today, and I just haven't been paying attention before now.
I went to the doctor's appointment- a successful one: I managed to talk without falling back on the 'I'm fine, leave me alone' mentality I depended on in the first one- and got a prescription for anti-depressants. They made my kinda sick, but not *nearly* as sick as the sleeping pills did, so I'm probably gonna stay on it.
I think I probably failed my exam- I didn't study nearly as much as I should have, mainly because I couldn't concentrate. The doctor says it's a symptom of my depression, and I'd like to agree. I'm not normally that bad about getting dirty during crunch week. And somehow... I'm not worried.
On the way home, I saw a guy that looked a lot like my older brother, so much so that I mistook him for Dan until I got about 5 feet away. When I apologized (for what, I don't know, but it seemed like the right reaction to probably confusing the hell out of a stranger), he said 'You're beautiful, it's okay'. I kinda brushed that off, since I was reminded of 'Ten Simple Rules', where the beautiful people get special consideration and likve in a wonderland, and that's just not me.
But I remembered, further along my way home, that a homeless guy called my gorgeous a few days ago (which I also dismissed, because he was three sheets to the wind, and that word should never used in conjuction with 'child'). And last summer (wearing the same shirt I am now), some playboy and I had a one night stand. Which should mean I'm mildly attractive. Again, I dismissed it, because I'm probably still scarred from the number of times my grade school peers called me 'ugly'- self esteem was never my strong suit- and because we were *both* three sheets to the wind.
Finally (returning to the recent past), I was about twenty feet from my apartment when three pretty hot guys *catcalled* as I walked past them. They *catcalled*. I think I was pretty good at hiding my shock.
So, since beauty is generally a societal judgement (be it physical, mental, or soul... er... ful), I'm wondering: am I? I've never thought I am. On the other hand, my visit to the doctor's has proven that I'm just the slightest bit lacking in seratonin. Which begs the question: are all the other things I feel are crap not really?
Take my writing as ann example: yesterday I was invited onto a guild on Gaia, by a user I *didn't know*. And it's not like a just didn't recognize the name. I checked the email address against my MSN Contacts. I consider myself a mediocre writer, but most of my friends, Frances, and my parents sing my praises. Are they not just words? Is there really something there?
Now I'm wondering.

Tue, 18 Apr 2006 20:17:45 GMT

Are you a Seme or Uke?

.... I don't think so.

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 23:56:44 GMT

[Unknown LJ tag]

You Are a Dreaming Soul

Your vivid emotions and imagination takes you away from this world
So much so that you tend to live in your head most of the time
You have great dreams and ambitions that could be the envy of all...
But for you, following through with your dreams is a bit difficult

You are charming, endearing, and people tend to love you.
Forgiving and tolerant, you see the world through rose colored glasses.
Underneath it all, you have a ton of passion that you hide from others.
Always hopeful, you tend to expect positive outcomes in your life.

Souls you are most compatible with: Newborn Soul, Prophet Soul, and Traveler Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

What Kind of Soul Do You HAve?

You Should Be A Gemini

What's good about you: witty and energetic, you're simply the most fun to be around

What's bad about you: you're flighty - losing interest in people and projects quickly

In love: you enjoy the "honeymoon phase," but after that it's hard for you to stick around

In friendship, you're: likely to have many groups of friends, with many different interests

Your ideal job: mime, guru, or cartoonist

Your sense of fashion: casual and simple

You like to pig out on: fast food, especially burritos

What Sign Should You Be?

Your Seduction Style: Prized Object

The seduction game you play is tried, true, and still effective: hard to get.
You know that the best seducers turn the tables - and get their crush to seduce them.
The one running has the power, and you're a challenge that is worth the chase.

You are a master of enticing and pulling back. Giving a little and taking some away.
You are controlled enough to know rewards come after a long seduction dance.
Even though you want to call, email, or say "I love you" first - you don't!

You're style is the perfect mix of hot and cold - so much so that you have many suitors.
Think Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's ... or any of those creepy guys from the Bachelor.
You're skilled at inspiring a chase. The real test is picking the person to slow down for.

What Kind of Seducer Are You?

You Are Strength

You represent both fiery energy and steadfast will.
You are innocent and naive - yet unafraid and undaunted.
Perhaps you don't have the most powerful physical strength...
But your mental powers make up for any amount of muscle.

Your fortune:

Lately, you have been a pillar of ethics and moral strength.
And while things may be difficult, your faith in yourself will come through.
You may need to conquer the animalistic nature of yourself or others, with gentle force.
Although this may seem like the darkest hour for you, victory is near.

What Tarot Card Are You?

You Are a Purple Flower

A purple flower tends to represent success, grace, and elegance.
At times, you are faithful like a violet.
And other times, you represent luxury, like a wisteria.
And more than you wish, you find yourself heartbroken like a lilac.

What Color Flower Are You?

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"I dunno, press the button and find out."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Your Lucky Underwear is Purple

Dreamy and idealistic, you envision great things for your life. Your lucky purple underwear can make those dreams come true!
You're a busy little butterfly. You have the most projects, interests, and friends of anyone you know.

You also have a flair for the dramatic. Sometimes too much drama comes in to your life and brings things to a stop.
If you want to focus more, and flutter less, put on your purple underpants. They'll help you get the important things done.

What Color Is Your Lucky Underwear?

Your Inner Child Is Angry

You're not an angry person.
But when you don't get your way, watch out.
Like a very manipulative kid, you will get what you want.
Even if it takes a little kicking and screaming.

How Is Your Inner Child?

(Oooookaaaaaaaay......)

I can't deal with it

Fri, 14 Apr 2006 14:01:39 GMT

I just can't. Really. I can't deal with the twice daily phone calls that leave me crying because I so pathetic. I can't deal with the emails, or the phone, or even just knowing that's he's alive because it's all so fucking depressing. I just wanna sleep. That's all I wanna do anymore, and he's even taking that away, with his fucking phone calls with the the 'be strong' tripe, and the 'getting outo f the house and being recreational will cure *everything* bullishit. and then he tells me he's going to call again. so I *know* he's going to, and he *knows* I know, which means I can't flush my phone down the toilet, or 'forget it in my coat'. I just can't deal wait his anymore. I'm going to get a drink. Or two. And maybe a few of those crappy sleeping pills.

A Complete Disaster... I'm Fine!! snort

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 01:38:33 GMT

So the doctor's appointment my sister forced me to go to was a complete disaster. The doctor (a nice lady, I'm sure) would ask me questions, and I'd... freeze. And there would be two answers in my mind, like some sort of video game 'what do you say' questionaire: one, the truth, and the other, a not-quite-truth. I'd go to say the truth, and the other one would come out. I totally did not expect it to be this bad, I mean, I went in there knowing it was a new doctor (my old one is on maternity leave), one I'd never met before, and being pretty certain at least a few things of what I said wouldn't be the truth, but *everything*? I don't think I managed to say one completely truthful thing that entire fifteen minutes. I tried to tell her, I really did, but... It just wouldn't come. How the hell do you say 'yes, I think I'm depressed', 'the last time I thought about killing myself was last night when I opened my email inbox and saw an email from my dad', 'I swing between being incredibly happy and nearly crying at the drop of a pin at random intervals, usually when I have to talk to anyone in authority', or even 'I'm sorry, I can't talk to you; I don't think there's a doctor in existence I trust enough to say this shit to' to a person you don't know? Can some tell me that?

I'm most compatible with WHO??

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 13:52:47 GMT

Now... let's see if this works:

Your Quirk Factor: 80%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal.
No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Quirky Are You?

You Are a Smiley Face Cookie

You're happy go lucky. So happy, in fact, it's a little past the point of normal sanity.
You usually make those around you smile ... when you're not creeping them out!

What Kind of Cookie Are You?

Your Inner Blood Type is Type A

You seem cool and collected, though a bit shy.
You are highly driven and a perfectionist, but that's a side you keep to yourself.
Creative and artistic, you are a very unique person who doesn't quite fit in.
People accept you more than you realize, seeing you as trustworthy and loyal.

You are most compatible with: A and AB

Famous Type A's: Britney Spears and Hilter

What's Your Inner Blood Type?

What's Your inner Blood Type?

Your Superhero Profile

Your Superhero Name is The Fire Beetle
Your Superpower is Complements
Your Weakness is Body odors
Your Weapon is Your Wind Catapult
Your Mode of Transportation is Zip-line

What's your Superhero Name?

What's Your Superhero name?

Oh man... he's going to murder me...

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 13:23:54 GMT

I swear... if Wufei were alive, he would murder me. I think he might manage it anyway, if he ever finds out what I'm doing to his character.

Oh yeah, you don't know: I'm putting Chapter 9 of BDME on hold for a little while, while I figure out how I'm going to characterize Snape.

In the mean time, I can't believe I'm actually working on the 13x5 I was thinking about doing, except (for the sake of Liz's brain - I think it's a'sploded one too many times already... that's just not healthy) it's not so much an angst fic as a 'what Duo does when he finds out' fic.

I think it won't be so bad, but I suspect I may have to run for my life if Wufei ever finds out.

The Random Naruto Meme of Doom by Keybuh
Name?
Age?
Your soulmate is none other than...	Sasuke
But you end up getting hitched with...	Naruto
Guess how many kids you have?	12
The person who's always had a crush on you...	Asuma
Your eternal rival is...	Haku
And one day, he/she decides to...	Makeout with your boyfriend/girlfriend. (=O The nerve of that whore.)
But you get revenge by...	Stabbing them in the eye, with a spork.
One of these days, you're so gonna kill...	Anko
But, for what reason?	They annoyed you to no end.
And finally, your cause of death...	Itachi decided to kill your right in the middle of your hawt, kinky seckz session.