Months of Monotony
Fred and George Weasley, not for the first time, miscalculated their post-prank escape route and now are trapped between the new bog stretching down the corridor and Filch who’s storming their way, already cursing and sneering and will find their alcove hiding place in minutes without a miracle of some kind. They share a sorrowful, resigned look, knowing they’re in for either loss of their quidditch privileges or grounded over the holidays by their mother.
Neither expects a miracle to be a first year Hufflepuff with cute, shaggy hair and honey-brown eyes redirecting Filch through a shortcut to get to the other end of the bog where Filch’s cat is currently batting at a glowing whisp attempting to lure the cat into wading through the rank waters.
”How is there even a whisp in the castle?” Filch demands, storming through a doorway that’s an obvious broom closet and somehow popping out another door that’s closer to Mrs. Norris who’s not taking any crap from a whisp that shouldn’t even be able to survive without fog to nourish it.
The girl shrugs, points the best route to his cat and once Filch rounds the corner, she waves a bit urgently to the twins to get while the getting’s good. They flash her silent, grateful nods and sneak away. While investigating the the day after, both boys are confused to find a total lack of a shortcut anywhere on that floor, let alone in the broom closet.
It won’t be the last time they need a quick save, but during the next Hogsmeade weekend, they do repay her with a whole box of Honeydukes sweets.
It's been nearly a full month at Hogwarts as a student and while I'm happy for the simplicity of life here (especially a child's life here), I'm beginning to miss adult conversation. There's only so much I can harp on with the others about the best professor (Flitwick and his chipper outlook is hard to dislike as is McGonagall for her dry, sarcastic wit), and the worst professor (there's a steady race between Snape and Penumbra), but there’s no classmates I have all that much in common with. I can't even really remark on the growing pains of magical parents and siblings since, officially, I'm listed as an orphan from the outskirts of Surrey.
Aside from my now bi-weekly meetings to keep Dumbledore (who's discordant mental energy ebbs and flows depending on the day) updated on my (so far) unknown tasks, I'm without any sort of challenges to confront and the lack has me somewhat concerned that I'll die of sheer boredom.
More and more, I find myself in the library, reading and rereading tomes of absolutely everything (the history section and it's utter lack of truth makes me equally sad and mad), and when that stops working as a suitable distraction, I seek help.
***
"My brain is so bored," I sigh-whine, slumping onto a lab station stool after my Tuesday Potions class. "Please help."
Without moving an inch, Snape looks up from grading his papers to arch an eyebrow at me.
"I do have some cauldrons that need cleaning," he allows, but there's a teasing smile just behind his fake-annoyed smirk that doubles its amused factor when I grumpy-scowl back.
"You're a terrible person," I lie, slumping onto the tabletop. "My mind is going to crack without some sort of conversation that's not about boys," I hold a finger up for emphasis, "quidditch," I add another finger, "horrible professors who assign too much homework," another finger, "homework in general," another finger," and family," I conclude, staring at my hand like these five fingers explain how unfair the universe currently is. "None of which I can offer much to and I'm going to die of monotony long before any disaster strikes," I groan.
He hums, but has returned most of his attention to his papers, though I'm certain it's so I don't see him mentally, cruelly chuckling at me without an ounce of sympathy. I bury my face in my arms, probably looking pathetic and unworthy of decent mental exercise.
"Finderhigh," he mumbles a moment later, seeing as how I'm not fleeing his presence already (like any normal student would). "The un-worked tether problem that the Ministry's finest have been working on for the last two centuries. Or whether or not Landry's potion-base theory is solvable, if you want a true headache. But at least you won't die of boredom," he offers, and I raise my head enough to peer over my sprawled arms. He's still focused on his papers, but his grumpy face, now half hidden behind a sheet of dark hair, seems to be hiding something that might be sympathy. (Or possibly a twisted smile at how my brain might genuinely break over this sort of challenge work. At times like these, it feels like a bit of a tossup.)
Still, I think on it for a moment, eyes cast upward to the shelved books lining the ceiling and-- they're really good suggestions, actually, even if half the predicted and possible Landry solutions require advanced arithmancy to solve, but... they're essentially the magical equivalent of the muggle Millennial Problems. Truly advanced, but also: boredom-busting brain candy.
I might die of a brain aneurysm, but Snape's right: at least I won't die of boredom. I nod my sincere thanks, leave him to his papers and head for the library on a Landry-based mission.
Two days later, I have the castle deliver him a copy of early thesis and theory start off equations and their base-proof track possibilities. (Three major ones, that I could follow, though the second I listed seems the most feasible.) Then I endure the weight of his curious stare all throughout dinner that only ends when I finally cock an eyebrow at him over the masses of students until he finally looks away.
By Saturday afternoon three days later, my notes are back, sitting on the foot of my bed and proofed with questions and possible sticking points to explore further by both Snape and Vector, the arithmancy professor. (I don’t mind Vector much, but he’s seemed nervous around me since that disastrous dinner with Penumbra, as are some of the other staff. I’ve made a point of keeping clear of them, mostly, for the sake of keeping the mellow peace.) I don't bother hiding my grin when I dig into the next steps in my bits of spare time and send my notes off again and this time, they return proof-read by Dumbledore as well, who offers his own insights and queries on the theoretical forks in my proof roads, and so on.
Wash, rinse and repeat and five and a half weeks later, Vector sends the completed Landry solution (and it's assorted, extensive proofs) to colleagues in Germany, the United States, Tokyo, and Amsterdam, thrilled at having been allowed to put his name on it alongside Snape’s and has since kept smaller arithmancy challenge puzzles available for my brain's pleasure. I thank him kindly but don't visit his class often since he seems to have developed a purely mental crush on my magical brain and Snape's taken to scowling at the man on the rare occasion he's seen us chatting in the halls. Still, sometimes I’ll find a new puzzle, either arithmancy or new, potion-based arithmancy possible equations waiting under my breakfast or lunch plates for me to let my brain chew on while I'm still feeding myself and it’s a pretty fair system to keep my brain from (seriously, I don't doubt it could happen) dying of sheer boredom.
Once it’s accidentally discovered, my Hufflepuff roommates seem one part awed at my easy grasp of arithmancy and one part pitying that ‘Dumbledore has decided an extra (though private) course track my first year is warranted’. Either way, it gives me a reasonable excuse to hunt down my much-needed adult conversation.
I mentally juggle Finderhigh's unworked tether puzzle for a weekend, then opt to let it go since the obvious solution comes by way of using ether anchors for fixed points (I'd seen it done in two other realities, and I'd destroyed a third's attempt because they were well-meaning morons who damn-near tore their reality to shreds.) I stand by my early statement to McGonagall; best to leave the ether, officially, an unproven theory.
***
I'm back in Snape's after class three weeks later, slightly less slumping on a lab table, but only because it gives me a great view to see his potion work in action while he experiments with (and it's a fantastic goal, honestly) something along the lines of a potion-style universal translator, but for dead or ancient languages, both spoken and written. As he works it step by step, I toss in the occasional observation of what the binding agents seem to be doing, visually, and where some ingredients and random steps might be doing more harm than good.
"Geometric?" He repeats dubiously.
"To my eye? Yes," I murmur, tilting my head a little, then purse my lips. "And right now, northern cat claw is a whole layer of double-bound triangles that are only resting atop the more potent tri-bound, interlinked and cubed juniper root. But just resting, not interlinking like they should, which could mean problems for whatever you add next."
Snape purses his lips and glowers lightly at the contents of his cauldron while he thinks. "Cat claw and juniper usually bind reasonably well," he sighs, still frowning.
"Then maybe they're just in the wrong order?" I suggest, head tilting again to more 'hear' the potion than see it and find a tiny discordant note that shouldn't be; it sounds like it's growling, very softly. "How fresh was that cat claw? Was it stored with anything else?"
At this, Snape's expression clears and he rolls his eyes, muttering about idiot students as he stalks into his office, rattles some things around and returns with an annoyed scowl. "Looks like one of my seventh years thought Northern cat claw and Southern European wolf dander belonged in the same bin."
I blink at him, then narrow my eyes at the office door. "I have easy ways of discovering who, if you'd like to smack them upside the head for basic stupidity," I offer and he smirks but shakes his head, already starting the spell that will undo the last additive.
"No need," he finally says when little globs of powdered cat's claw begin rising from the cauldron like little soap bubbles he waves toward a drying rack on a side table. "He finished school last year." One by one, the little bubbles pop to let the powder dry fully, but just seeing the geometrics of such a basic ingredient has me frowning again and on my feet to inspect it closer. "What?" He finally asks when I'm all but nose to the drying rack.
"Wrong dander," I murmur, my nose twitching faintly before I inhale, slow and deep, then swallow hard and jerk my head back to avoid inhaling any more. "That's not wolf dander," I grumble, my voice grating slightly as my wolf instincts surface. "That's werewolf dander. And a very, very unpleasant werewolf, too."
Snape's at my side, now also scowling at the powder. "Better to destroy it, then," he huffs unhappily, wand already raising when I lift a hand and simply snap my fingers, vanishing the whole lot of it. Snape blinks, then cocks an eyebrow at me. "And that went... where?"
"Volcano in Indonesia," I admit, my voice re-leveling to its normal tone. "It was very, very unpleasant," I defend, shrugging.
"Hmm."
"And the rest of those two stocks in your office?" I inquire, peering past him.
Now he slumps. "It's the last I have of either," he sighs, scowling harder to hide what looks like a mild pout and this time, it's me who rolls my eyes.
"It's a school," I point out, carefully not smirking. "A place to learn."
He raises an eyebrow at me.
"This time, it's you who'll be learning," I inform him, letting my smirk flicker here and gone when he scowls, unamused, "that when you've got the best of intentions, the castle is happy to help. Castle? Would you mind--" is as far as I get when a small bundle of fresh-ish Northern cat's claw drops from the ceiling onto Snape's desk while a stone from the wall by Snape's head grates harshly as it sucks itself in, dropping down to reveal a small, sealed jar of powder, half-filled and neatly labeled. Snape looks a bit awed when he carefully lifts the jar out, then grins the world's tiniest grin up at the ceiling, then murmurs a soft 'thanks'.
By dinner time, the potion is off to a good start, even if it's only working for Escorian and High Sumerian so far, but Snape and I both have new ideas on where to venture next to add the next languages. Bonus: both my brain and sanity survive another week.
***
The second month in, quidditch tryouts and practice season becomes the new castle-wide distraction, as do unofficial House scrimmage matches that inspire a minor (mostly friendly) prank war that no one, students or teachers, escapes from totally unscathed.
How someone was both stupid enough and gutsy enough to hex Snape so his robes (and any others he attempts to wear) into blinking neon yellow and electric blue is anyone's guess. After undoing it (it'd been a long weekend for him, the poor guy), I teach him the very best self-spelling boomerang and whiplash karma works that I know as well as offer a wearable charm that will tell him if any non-potion related spells, charms, hexes, jinxes or curses are happening in the classroom, without exception. (He looks entirely too pleased with the charm and for a few long seconds, I worry until I reason that he's yet to take any punishment too far in my books.)
(Andrew Carr, 2nd year Slytherin, might now be enduring the most miserable year of his existence, running errands for every teacher in the school and scrubbing cauldrons after dinner every night for nearly a month, nevermind what his own dorm mates are subjecting him to for having hexed their Head of House. Somehow, I doubt he'll be hexing anyone for any reason in the foreseeable future, in school or out.)
Happily enough, my roommates also benefited from my unique anti-hexing/jinxing/cursing knowledge that soon left Hufflepuff largely out of the war entirely. (Few Hufflepuffs actually minded, since it made it easier to enjoy the remaining pranks from the mischief twins of Gryffindor.)
Despite my efforts to remain out of everyone’s limelight, Penumbra begins to get twichier with every new interaction, in class or out, that we share and I start to worry for him in earnest. Then I spend a weekend actually invisibly stalking him in an effort to discover the cause and beyond his aura nearly vibrating with paranoia, I can't really find anything, which is very, very odd. Because there has to be something, right?
(That it's most likely his general proximity to me and my overflowing excess of magic is becoming more likely by the day, and with that damned secret-keeping/history-hiding spell still in effect, I can't quite work out how to tell anyone without making myself look like a deliberately guilty party. Two of the Founders had that same problem, after all.)
But I do keep checking, because despite my worry, there's still a chance it's something else and no amount of logic will dissuade my back brain/instinct from the notion that it's honestly not me, this time. Or, it's not only me, this time.
***
In the third month, Quidditch season officially begins and it's a nice, if temporary, change up because the sport had been drastically different in the old days. It'd been a lot bloodier in the old days, too, so all in all, it's a fair distraction that helps me round out my mental schedule. Despite 'officially' being in a different house, I applaud Gryffindor’s steady efforts that finally improve with the addition of two new 3rd year beaters - the same prankster twins who continue providing the whole castle with inventive (if sometimes destructive) incidents that even most of the staff secretly enjoy. Sadly, the two being team beaters also limits their pranks since quidditch privileges can now be revoked as punishments. (But only if they're caught.) (They never are.)
It's also, unfortunately, been three full months of Penumbra, who's continued, focused attention on me has finally started some uncomfortable, whispered rumors that have, despite being the victim of Penumbra's childish ire, put me in a less-than-flattering light. Something is just-- off. (It's not just me. It's not.)
But, while I haven't mentioned Penumbra's bullying or newly-acquired nervous ticks outside his classroom, someone evidently has since he's more and more often getting 'audited' by a fellow professor, officially to 'evaluate' his teaching methods, which only makes his class ten times worse when the auditors aren't there. It's not long before I'm voluntarily sitting alone in the last row so that no other students end up targeted by proximity. The man seems a little worse every day and while I still can't see anything magically affecting him, there’s something— and it's past time to get him some help; I'm thankfully not the only one who thinks so.
***
"Miss Devons, you'll see me after class," Snape announces, a slightly judgemental eyebrow lifted at me that makes my lab partners all squirm in discomfort (the very reason he does it at all) while I simply fake my own nervous nod and shrink in my seat. As he's turning away, I can see him rolling his eyes at my performance, but I've seen it so often by now, he may as well save his tiny, dramatic responses for someone who can't see right through him.
"The Headmaster is growing concerned," Snape admits after shutting the last student out of the room (who whispered a bolstering 'good luck!' as he ducked out and away toward freedom), "about Penumbra's behavior toward you."
"That'll make two of us, then," I sigh out, finally letting my worry show. "There's nothing magically obvious on the outside and I've checked, even on the weekends and at various times of the day. Whatever's happening, his proximity to me seems to make whatever the cause worse, and I honestly can't tell why," I confess, massaging my temples and eyes to ease a bit of the ache.
Snape frowns, visibly thrown, like he'd been sure I was either the cause (still possible) or was merely waiting with a solution. "How accurate is your... magical vision?"
Ugh and yikes. It's an easy answer that's tough to explain because the only deeper and more accurate vision I could get would be on a psychic scale or a soul-scrying, neither of which I'd generally recommend, since I personally consider them invasive attacks if either are aimed at me.
"Very," I say honestly. "With a standard surface aura scan, I can get overall power levels, sometimes abilities, fluent languages, general demeanor, even basic likes and dislikes. But my vision isn't completely flawless unless I delve into what I generally consider 'no go' areas. Specifically, psychic viewing, like dream walking or legilimency, or deeper level to what I think of as 'soul scrying', because to me, they're very, very invasive unless they're invited, which is rare. It took nearly two hundred years to train them out of my normal sight with good reason."
Snape visibly flinches a bit at the word 'legilimency', then brushes it off, as do I because while his aura is pretty telling, it's shaded from me, more often than not and I won't be shaming him for any gifts or talents regardless because they're just different aspects of what makes him, him.
And I like the him that's honestly him.
"Soul scrying?" He repeats, arching an eyebrow up. "How is that different than what's in the mind?"
"There's usually a metaphysically tangible, but varying connection, between the two-- It's like what Moody saw in Dumbledore and I, with the scar from the demon? Had it been me who'd seen it first, I wouldn't have mentioned it without permission of whoever had the scar. The soul can carry a lot of marks that tag certain events, both good and bad, and deeply personal connections made in a person's life. They don't even need to remember or realize those events for it to have an effect on who they become over time.
"I'm not sure what it's like for Moody, but for me, if I focus on those points for long enough, by which I mean: for longer than a few seconds, I see the events and memories that caused the marks, which is exactly why I don't deliberately look and why I trained that particular skill as far out of my 'normal' view as I can get it. Moody, I think, might view his ability in a different light, but it's not something I'll do without a life and death reason, and even then, I'd need to know without a doubt that it's life and death sort of serious."
Snape looks unhappy. I imagine I look the same.
"Gah," I huff, slumping. "I know it sounds cold, but... Penumbra might be getting a little twitchy and unhinged, but that on it's own won't kill him. And for psychic scanning, for me, only with permission without life and death reasons. I've personally, forcibly revoked everyone's ability to get to my psyche, though that's largely because of my own personal experiences, awkward trauma and all—"
"Awkward trauma?" He repeats, voice somewhere between dry and incredulous with a face to match.
"Eh," I huff. "Some dark realities breed dark humor," I explain. "The running joke was 'How bad can it be when it's all in your head?'" I ask airily, rolling my eyes, then snort lightly at his responding expression of 'How stupid were those people?'. "Doesn't get much more awkward than trying to promote that mindset so even the worst experiences seem normal, nevermind the obvious break from basic logic. So, with Penumbra..." I wave a hand in belated conclusion, then go back to rubbing my eyes.
"So you've checked every way you're comfortable with checking?" He sighs.
My answer is firm and easy. "Yes."
Now Snape looks a little disappointed.
"But," I add, "there's still alternative ways to see if there's a definitive cause to those recent changes. I'd personally rather he be aware of the methods before they're enacted, as well as have them supervised by someone who knows him better than I do."
Snape's jaw tightens unhappily. "Like a blockery charm?"
"Or a daily acsillic test, maybe a few times a day, to see if there's other, outside influences at work that might be something as unique as a magical allergy. It'd be extremely rare, but I'm betting there's healers who would attest to their feasibility. But I'd think a blockery charm is a good place to start, especially if he's aware of exactly how it works; maybe get him better rest and hopefully it'll take me down a notch or two on his suspect list for potential evil in progress, or whatever he thinks I am."
"Hmm," Snape says, agreeably, but still looks disgruntled, scowling at the empty, answer-less air.
"What's that look for?" I ask, my usual nosy self butting in a bit. "Are my stringent moral codes disappointing you?" I tease and he rolls his eyes.
"No,” he huffs out, then pauses. "Maybe," he admits, frowning, and I smirk. "It seems to be you he's focused on," Snape points out grumpily, like that explains it all.
"I've noticed," I add, all wide eyes and nodding exaggeratedly.
"Could this be a part of whatever task you're set for?"
My default answer is no, but... "I want to say no," I offer slowly, "but... there's something new that I'm not seeing. Something I'm blind to right now, but feels like the very edge of the actual unseen problem that he's not a part of..." I'm so non-focused on anything in an effort to let that 'edge' be a little clearer that once I do refocus, I'm straight back to clueless as to where I'd seen the hint of clarity on that edge and it probably shows.
"Obviously," he finally says, dry as the desert and looking just shy of hair-pulling frustration, which is understandable because I am too, by now, and now with literally double the headache.
"I say take Dumbledore all the available options, see if he agrees they could help, then talk Penumbra into them. If I have any part of any of it, he'll reject them outright." I blow out a breath. "I won't soul search him myself without better evidence than just these symptoms, but that doesn't mean he won't agree to someone like Moody doing it, if Moody can. He might be the best option anyway, if for no other reason than every one of these possible mental and magical attacks? They all leave magical fingerprints, one way or another. Nearly everyone and everything has their own unique set and those, I usually can trace. And so can Moody, I'm sure, if he knows what he's looking for."
"I agree," he murmurs with a nod and I'm halfway off my stool when I pause, then slide back to sitting. "Something else, I take it?"
"Yeah," I say slowly, "just... try to keep an open mind," I warn and he frowns harder, but nods. "In the way of auras, they can't lie. Ever, really. They can be cloaked or hidden or shaded neutral, but when they're visible, they don't lie. And about one in every three days, something is really wrong with Dumbledore's."
Now Snape straightens with attention, but he says nothing, so I go on.
"I thought it might be demon trauma, like a scar? Because the timing seems to match, as far as I know. Then Moody stopped by the other day and proved it's not by way of sapping the discordance right off Dumbledore's aura during dinner."
"Sapping?" Snape repeats, eyebrows lifting.
"I'm not sure if it's he and I both being readers or not, but we're both recyclers--" I pause at his baffled expression, then elaborate. "We soak up negative energy, essentially, by literally no will of our own. It's almost closer to a biological reaction than a metaphysical one, but not something that can be turned off, unfortunately--"
"Does it hurt you?" He interrupts worriedly. "Or Moody?" He adds, like an afterthought.
"Not--" I pause, thinking on how to word it. "Mostly it means we'll never have boring lives," I admit, "because when our immediate environments run out of the negative energies, something new moves in to fill the void, keep things interesting, recycled neutral energy leaking out everywhere and the cycle goes on."
"So it does damage," he surmises, even grumpier now and really? That's what he took away from that?
"Not usually, no," I argue. "Moody willingly being an Auror has caused most of his physical damage--" Snape rolls his eyes, lips parting to (no doubt) snark his argument and I talk a little faster, to cut him off. "In my case, though, it's that my unwanted chunk of raw magic is clogging my recycler a little, hence my shiny, new, never ending headache."
He narrows his eyes. "And you're only now mentioning it? How long has that been happening? And how bad does it get? Is there--"
Something about his tirade of worry has me grinning a little stupidly until he runs out of questions and settles for scowling until I answer at least one of them. "Well, had I known you were so well trained in psychic metaphysics and hybrid biology, I'd have spoken up sooner," I chide lightly back and his scowl downgrades to a mildly grumpy frown. "While it might be a bit clogged, it's still functional," I insist, "and I'm fine, honestly. Right now, I'm more worried about Dumbledore, because when that discordance in his aura is at its peak, he practically radiates distrust... and some paranoia."
Snape sucks in a slow breath. "Like Penumbra," he guesses quietly.
"Not exactly like, but similar, I think," I agree. "Different influences, maybe, but the effects seem to be pointed the same way."
Snape paces away, thinking, then returns. "But Moody helps?"
"For Dumbledore? When he's in close proximity, yes, but only two seats away at that same dinner and Penumbra's aura didn't waver at all. There was no sapping happening while just being in the same classroom with me has it spiking all over. Like an over-caffeinated hedgehog," I add and Snape rolls his eyes, but smirks a little, too.
"I'll talk to Moody," he offers, "unless you'd rather?"
"Better you, I think." I counter, sliding off the stool and then sling on my bag. "Moody's understandably noticeable and I'm still off most everyone's radar and would rather stay that way for a while longer, if possible.
He nods once, a clear but mostly friendly 'fine, go away now'. I'm nearly out the door before he stops me again.
"Off topic, but out of curiosity... is there any rhyme or reason you're not perfecting my potions classwork? It would be simple enough for you to."
"Does anyone ever actually perfect your classwork?" I counter, only half teasing and he huffs impatiently, but I plow on. "I'm still trying to blend and perfection isn't blending. But, if you'll look back, you'll see the first quiz, I only missed the first question. And on the first lab, I only didn't perfect the second step. And on that absurd test that no first year would've perfected without cheating, I only miscalculated the third question."
"Your point?" He drawls, failing to hide his curiosity.
I shrug and grin a bit slyly. "My methodology is a prime example of organized chaos." Then I slip out the door and leave him to riddle it out himself.
***
I wasn't sure he'd see my perfectly imperfect mathematical humor until his next pop quiz.
Well played, Professor.
The fifth question is so stupidly, rudimentarily simple, anyone who misses it is clearly an idiot of the highest caliber. He scowls at us all with his usual fervor, but when his gaze flicks my way, I can see the teasing laugh in his eye and only barely hide my own smirk with a soft cough into the sleeve of my robe.
Very well played indeed.
***
The talk with Moody apparently went well enough to have him on a new rotation duty that now includes Hogwarts and I'm relieved to see Dumbledore's weird discordance no longer raises more than half of its previous average.
My conversations with Snape (and sometimes McGonagall and Flitwick) continue to bolster me, somewhat, into surviving dull week after dull week with my sanity intact. A week before term's end, a final quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was neck and neck until almost 10 p.m. and nearly everyone was hoarse from yelling. That two of Ravenclaw's players (seeker and beater) collided mid-air and subsequently lost the match was actually terrible, but their team, as usual, were fairly amiable about the loss.
I made no bones about openly, if quietly, congratulating both teams on their collective skills and that somehow sparked a dual-team, late-night kitchen raid party (the elves were positively thrilled to be included in the celebration) that left both our houses honestly congratulating the others and like they should, friendships between the houses grew. That Hufflepuff's captain and Ravenclaw's Seeker both ended the night with doe eyes for the other made it all the better.
I'd have appreciated the night more if I'd known that the next day would be so much harder.