DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.
This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.
Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.
Chapter 15 - True Understanding
October 11 - 15, 1996
“Conjuration,” Albus Dumbledore said seriously, “is the highest form of the art of Transfiguration. It is also the most difficult to master, because it is not simply a matter of changing the shape of one thing to another, but of calling forth the shape you desire from the very air, with nothing more in the way of building materials than will and power alone. A shortage of the latter will cause a conjuration to be less substantial than the witch or wizard might hope - no more tangible than a dream, or at least, as quickly to fade. A shortage of will on the other hand, is no less devastating, for it will give rise to flaws in the work - stone that is half-melted, wood that is warped. No, both are essential elements to the task, but even then, there are certain things which can never be conjured. Magic, for all its wondrousness, has limits - for we, after all, are not gods, but mortal men and women.”
He paused, giving the class a very penetrating look before adding, “No matter what our power may tempt us to believe.”
Shirou wondered if it was just his imagination that Dumbledore seemed to linger on himself, Takara, and Galen as he said that - and then corrected himself, because it almost certainly wasn’t. Odd that the old wizard chosen to focus on him, first, though . . . He shook it off, and paid close attention to the lecture. This was the subject he’d been waiting for all these years - the methodology that connected this world with the possibility that was Unlimited Blade Works. Paranoid observations - however important they might prove to be - could wait a while.
“As with many of the more powerful aspects of magic,” Dumbledore continued, “wand movements are inconsequential. The Patronus Charm, for example - or an Unforgivable Curse - do not correspond to any specific sequence of motions. Only the incantation matters, and even that, not nearly so much as the intent behind it. As I said, it is the will that drives the spell, more than anything else. However, as with those other spells, the limitations of conjuration are quite severe. Just as a Patronus Charm requires unbridled joy, and the Killing Curse an overwhelming desire to destroy, conjuring an object - or at higher levels, a creature - requires an innate and total understanding of the thing you wish to conjure. A conjured fish, for example, will not endure long without gills - nor will those gills truly work well unless you understand how they function in the genuine article.”
Given how often they turned inanimate objects into living creatures, or vice versa, that seemed a little strange to Shirou - but then again, maybe not. Usually, their lessons consisted of “living creature to inanimate object,” or “living creature to another living creature.” Turning a guinea pig into a guinea fowl wasn’t that big a stretch, after all - both of them had working respiratory systems, bones, musculature, other vital organs . . . Very rarely did one have to actually create anything new in a Transfigured creature, simply rearrange and rescale what was already there.
Whereas in conjuration, we’re building it all from literally nothing, rather than just reshaping one form of the system into another. Yeah, I can see where it makes sense to really know what you’re doing before you try it.
“Then, too, there is the question of power,” Dumbledore continued. “Many Transfigurations fade over time, as the magic which sustains them vanishes. This is equally true for conjured things - and one of the reasons that Gamp’s Law speaks of the five things it does, when stating what cannot be conjured. A truly permanent conjuration, so far as I know, has yet to be created. These, then, are the reasons that conjuration is so truly rare in our world - the vast majority of witches and wizards lack either the power or the understanding to do anything truly useful with it.” His eyes twinkled as he smiled, adding jovially, “Though of course, there are exceptions.”
Like me, Shirou thought. If I can’t create swords, then it’s official: this universe well and truly sucks.
“As this is a difficult skill to master, for the reminder of this term, when conjuration assignments are given to you, silent casting is not expected of you,” the old wizard informed. “After the New Year, however, it will cost you some marks, should you speak the incantation aloud - which, by the way, is ‘Creare.’ Now, we will begin with one of the easiest items to create in terms of complexity, as it is both simple and malleable: a basic block of clay. As a material, clay is not exceedingly useful, though far from worthless in its own right. More to the point, it is a precursor to the more durable, and more difficult stone. Similarly, it can lead to the conjuring of earth, which is a necessary element in the understanding of conjuring wood.” He clapped his hands. “Now, picture a block of clay in your minds . . .”
The lesson stuck in his head all day, and Shirou mentally compared the steps as Dumbledore explained them to his own process for recreating weaponry. There were similarities, but distinct differences, as well. A bit of practice in the Room of Requirement over the weekend, however, revealed exactly how large the differences really were. Going through his normal routine step by step, he quickly discovered that trying to replicate a weapon’s “age” was taken literally - creating an 800-year-old sword created a sword with eight hundred years’ worth of tarnish and wear in it. Trying it on a 200-year-old family honour blade he’d once had the privilege of restoring, however, created an exact replica. The difference appeared to be in that he’d actually handled the weapon, as opposed to merely seeing it.
By itself, that would’ve been a big enough limitation to his arsenal, considering that most of the weapons he “knew” were Noble Phantasms created by the Grail, echoes of the original tools - or weapons that he’d seen others wield, rather than handling them himself - but there was even more to come. His one attempt to create a magical weapon had backfired, literally. The sword had exploded in mid-formation, and it was a testament to the reflexes his friends had helped drill into his teenaged body that he’d been able to bring up a Shield Charm in time. The failure baffled him for hours, and he finally consulted Ilya about it that night, as she knew the most about both worlds’ types of magic - which, she promptly told him, was the problem.
“The magic you’re trying to recreate in the swords is wholly different from what exists here,” his wife said patiently. “Other than maybe something from the Elder Wand, there is nothing equivalent to the explosive power of Excalibur in this world. A multilayered shield like Rho Aias is unheard of, as well. I’m not saying it’s not possible, with enough time and research - but in trying to copy the enchantments here, you’re basically trying to rewrite the laws of magic as this world knows them. And the system can’t cope with that - or at least, it’s not configured to be able to, right now.”
Shirou considered that, before repeating carefully, “So you’re saying that in order to Trace or Image any of the weapons in my arsenal - if I don’t want just a mundane copy that looks like the real thing - I either have to find an equivalent Charm or Curse to mimic its properties, or do enough spell research to create one?”
“Pretty much,” Ilya said with a sympathetic smile. “But any enchanted weaponry here, you should be able to handle, right?”
“Let’s find out,” he muttered, focussing on the memory of holding the blade in his hands - of its weight, its texture, its balance . . . And its puissance. Finally, he stated clearly, “Creare Sword of Gryffindor.”
It took concentration, and no small amount of time, but he eventually brought it forth - not the scarlet-bladed weapon in the Headmistress’ office, but the silver sword he’d called forth in the Chamber of Secrets . . . And he was exhausted.
“Not something I can do often,” he gasped, “but I think - I think - I got the basilisk venom component.” He released the spell, causing the copied sword to vanish, and still panting heavily, added, “No way to know without a Horcrux to test it on.”
“Still,” Ilya murmured, “if you can master that trick, we’ll potentially have three weapons available that can do it - Takara’s katana, your copy, and the actual Sword of Gryffindor.”
“Handy to have around,” Shirou agreed. “If it works. And it’s going to take a lot of practice.” He was silent for a moment, concentrating on evening his breathing back out. When he spoke again, it was a far more normal tone. “Still, I’m pretty happy - it’s not as much progress as I’d like, but it’s a definite beginning.”
“It’s not the only beginning today, either,” Ilya murmured, giggling. Her eyes were bright and dancing as she looked at him, her expression almost literally aglow with happiness.
“You look even more pleased than you did last week - when you actually woke up without throwing up,” he observed, unable to resist smiling himself. “What’s got you so excited?”
“It’s finally happening, Shirou!” Ilya all but squealed. “You can see it, feel it!”
He blinked, and prompted, “Ilya?”
She seized his hand with an impatient haste, though her smile was still in place, and pulled it - along with himself - towards her, laying it against her robes.
“I’m growing, Shirou,” Ilya said excitedly, running their joined hands down her torso, along her newly curved abdomen - faint but clearly discernable to his touch. Her eyes sparkled as she took in his expression at the sensation.
“We’re growing,” she whispered.
The rational, Archer-oriented part of his mind pointed out that this first, absolutely unmistakable sign of Ilya’s pregnancy was the Beginning Of The End. Hiding her condition would henceforth become much more difficult, and eventually impossible. As of right now, the clock was irreversibly counting down to the point where it would eventually become public knowledge - with all the good and bad that fact implied . . . The more husbandly, Shirou-oriented part, however, ignored that in favour of the fact that was now undeniable, and literally tangible.
“I’m going to be a father,” he whispered, as the knowledge suddenly became fact for him.
“I’m going to be a mother,” Ilya whispered back, her tone wondrous - almost reverent.
The only possible way for Ilya’s smile to get any wider would require that her face split in two - but he understood it. She’d been born to be a sacrifice to the Grail War, and had been one. In all the years she’d lived, to her, this moment would’ve been a dream impossible for even the Grail to grant. But right here, right now, it was happening. She had a husband - and soon, she would have a child. It was real, and it was theirs.
Shirou looked at her, and said honestly, “Even at our wedding, you didn’t look as beautiful as you do right now.”
Ilya smiled, and said in a low, silky tone, “Well, you still look tired from your conjuring attempt just now - and honestly, my breasts are still awfully tender . . . But after saying that to me, there’s no way I’m letting you go back to your dorm tonight.”
“So far, Ronald, I can’t see any mistakes,” Hermione admitted. “I’ve marked a few different word choices, which ought to help clarify your points - but this seems to be an excellent draft.” She arched an eyebrow. “I must admit, it’s a rather stunning improvement over last year.”
He flushed red to the tips of his ears. “Yeah, well, Mum’s something of a slave driver when she wants something done - Ginny’s got to have mentioned it to you once or twice, hasn’t she?”
Hermione made a noncommittal sound which might be taken as agreement - Ginny had mentioned the infighting that occurred among her siblings from time to time, and she wasn’t about to hand one of them potential ammunition.
“No way I could avoid learning a few things - she’s a lot scarier than you are,” he continued, adding hastily, “No offense.”
“Why would you think I’d take offense?” Hermione asked curiously.
“Well . . .” He hesitated. “With the way Ginny acts sometimes, and the way Salvatore does, I figured it was kind of something you all did - you know, make yourselves out to be a real scary bunch. Scarier than the Death Eaters, and all.”
Hermione paused. Did she, or they, really seem like that? After considering it for a moment, she was forced to conclude that to an outsider, maybe they did. After all, Galen had been called the Mad Dog of Gryffindor long before he’d been outed as a werewolf, and Takara still had a bit of notoriety clinging to her from her very public killing of that Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament - a lot of people tensed up any time she handled a blade.
“If so, we don’t do it consciously,” Hermione answered him at last, considering the thought carefully. It had never really occurred to her before - but it all depended on one’s perspective, she supposed . . .
“Well, then,” the redhead said hesitantly. “Um . . . I don’t suppose you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”
That brought Hermione up short. “What?!”
“Well, I thought since Salvatore’s still banned and all - isn’t he?” he said quickly. “If not, you don’t have to . . . Never mind.”
She stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded - but the invitation struck a nerve. Ever since fourth year, Hermione had wondered how in the world she could’ve possibly fallen in love with, much less married, Ronald Weasley. Having seen her actions in the movie adaptations of her time at Hogwarts - particularly in this year - she was especially puzzled. Confunding a competitor, during a tryout? Why had she done that? It wasn’t as though she could’ve told him she had! And rule-breaking made a certain amount of sense when people’s lives were at stake, but over a Quidditch spot? More to the point, if she loved him, that showed that she certainly didn’t have much faith in his abilities!
No, the extent to which she’d gone to win the redhead’s affections flabbergasted her - because she could see no real reason to bother - and yet . . . And yet, Hermione reasoned, there had to be something about him that caught her attention - something that made her continue to think that he was worthwhile, even through all the pain he’d put her through.
And if I can believe that about Galen, why not Ronald? the British witch asked herself.
It would be an experiment, Hermione decided. An attempt to prove or disprove the validity of Galen’s perspective, as it was her primary source of information - and, as she’d just seen, perception frequently differed from reality. And she wasn’t really doing anything wrong by it, since Galen hadn’t exactly declared his interest. And who knew? Maybe reminding him of the alternative would prompt him to actually say something definitive about the status of their relationship. Either way, Hermione hoped, she would finally understand one of the two boys.
“I’d be delighted to go with you, Ronald,” Hermione said at last. “Thank you very much for asking.”
Although I think I’ll neglect to mention this to anyone until the actual weekend, she reflected. Far less trouble that way - and I’d hate for him to be killed before I actually find a reason for it.
Takara glanced over at where Galen was sitting, eyes intent upon his Defence textbook. Given that the subject matter this year involved Dementors and Inferi, she couldn’t really blame him - both were creatures that they were liable to have to fight, in time. Inferi could be destroyed by fire, they knew, having seen Dumbledore do it - but they weren’t really aware of much about them beyond that. To Takara’s mind, they were zombies, mindless, strong, and not really affected by anything that didn’t render them down to sludge or ashes. And as for Dementors, Galen’s weakness was still there. Despite the unique properties of the Wand of Passion, no matter how much of heart and soul he threw into it, the full, corporeal Patronus simply refused to materialise for him. It was a weakness that none of them - maybe not even Galen - fully understood.
He puts enough power out even in the incomplete form to help us conjure ours, and he’s created shields that blunted the killing power of a basilisk’s gaze. There’s no reason for the charm to fail . . . Except for what Ilya said - that somewhere deep down, he won’t let himself be happy.
The Japanese witch frowned. Truth be told, Galen didn’t seem to “let himself” do a lot of things - foremost among them, Hermione. Oh, he’d improved a great deal over the summer. He acknowledged it when she took his hand, or smiled when she was trying to catch his attention. He’d even flirted, a little - but something was still holding him back from outright declaring himself, or asking her about a relationship. And Takara was very much afraid that it might be her.
I’ve always known he loved me, but if he’s in love with me, what do I do? she asked herself. She’d been working with Hermione on overcoming some of her prejudices, and had hope that one day, they’d be gone, because there wouldn’t be a need for them - lycanthropy would be cured, or at least controlled, and she need never fear what a relationship with Galen might bring . . . But even without the werewolf, there was Hermione to think about.
I’ve never really looked at anyone else but Galen or Shirou - and as much as I hate to admit it, I think it’s always been Galen, and always going to be . . . But she’s the same! Galen’s the only boy she’s ever paid attention to, the only one she’s considered! If I take him from her, then . . . But if she takes him from me . . .?
She shook her head. What might happen between herself and Hermione wasn’t the issue here - first, they had to know Galen’s feelings. And Takara decided that now would do. They were alone in the common room - Neville and Hermione were out on patrol, Shirou was off to Ilya’s, and Ginny and Luna were in their dorm. Anyone else wouldn’t recognise, much less break past, a Muffliato, and the rain and fireplace would muffle the buzz the spell created, so nobody ought to realise that it was there at all.
Muffliato . . . Accio textbook, Takara thought, stabbing her wand at her target - and she was gratified to see the heavy tome sail out of Galen’s hands.
“HEY!” Galen cried in surprise, and outrage. The latter was stronger with his next words. “Takara? What the hell - ?!”
“Quiet,” she snapped, and he blinked, staring. “I’ve decided that it’s time we had this out, once and for all.”
“Had what out once and for all?” Galen demanded. “Takara, you’re not making any sense - ”
Takara cut him off. “Do you love Hermione? Are you in love with her?” She stressed the last sentence, knowing that he made an important distinction between the two. The Japanese witch channelled her inner owl as she glared at him, and from the way his face froze, it obviously had an effect. “The truth, Galen - the whole truth, for once!”
“. . . You’re serious,” he said quietly, voice laced with some surprise.
“Deadly serious,” she said sharply. “You’ve been dancing around this for years, Galen - she’s getting tired of it, and so am I.”
“Maybe it’s better if you are,” he said softly.
Takara shook her head fiercely. “Wrong answer. I want a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ Galen - are you in love with her?”
He was silent a long time, and then sighed wearily, “. . . I don’t know.”
For a brief moment, on hearing the familiarly evasive answer, fury pounded through her veins so strongly that her vision blurred - but by now, she knew when he was teasing, or lying - and this time, he was sincere. As insane as it seemed, he truly didn’t know. Finally, Takara ground out, “WHY?”
“There are any number of reasons,” Galen muttered, closing his eyes. “Leaving aside the fact that I’m literally old enough to be her father -” Suddenly, he snapped, “DON’T look at me like that, damn it!”
Takara started at that, because his eyes were still closed, but he continued on, regardless, “It is the truth, Takara - whatever I look like, in my head I’m nearly thirty-seven years old, and if I actually looked my age, they would throw me in prison for thinking about her the way I do. And given the way convicts generally treat paedophiles, I wouldn’t last long.” He shook his head. “Neither of you really get that. You were a teenager, you didn’t have far to regress - and Shirou’s wife is age-appropriate. I was dealing with desires for a girl who was not quite twelve when we met - all of nine, if you want to bring Emma Watson’s actual age into it. If I’d told you that during the Triwizard Tournament that I was fantasising about sleeping with Gabrielle Delacour -” He opened his eyes, and smirked at the grimace that crossed her face
“There, you see?” he challenged. “It’s not so easy to just shrug off when the age difference is obvious, is it? And to me, it always was.” Galen shook his head again. “It took years for me to get past that, to really accept that despite my extra memories, I was basically a teenager, that I was starting over - but I think I’ve managed it now, mostly. Galen and I have come to an accommodation, more or less.” He looked at her intently. “Of course, that brings its own problems.”
“. . . Me,” Takara said softly.
Galen sighed. “When I first met you, I thought you were beautiful. As we went through the War, you were more than that. Brave, clever, kind - your parents’ daughter in every conceivable way, and also intrinsically yourself. What I loved in them, I found in you, along with a uniqueness that made you wonderful in your own right . . . And for that I loved you, as much as I was capable of the concept. But here . . . God, Takara, you’re Galen’s version of Sarah: a first love that’s never faded, not ever. Sarah I haven’t seen in over thirty years, but her memory still sends a warm feeling through me, every now and again. She wouldn’t know me if we met now, I know that - and I probably wouldn’t know her - but she was my first friend in the entire world, and I will always love her, for that.
“But you . . . “ Galen shook his head. “For a pair of pretty kitty eyes, I’d tear Heaven out of the sky and send it crashing down to Hell, if I had to. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you - and that applies equally to Hermione. Both parts of me agree on that much, because I’ve learned to love you as Galen has - and he’s learned to love her as I do. It’s part of why I think it can’t be love at all - because how can it be the same for both of you, if it is love? And the answer is, ‘I don’t know.’ It’s part of why I think I have it wrong, that it’s more likely just lust, and obsession. That I’m being the quintessential pathetic little fanboy, wallowing in self-indulgent fantasies.”
Takara looked at him steadily, studying him as only a girl who’d known him a lifetime - who’d watched him out of love, long enough and deeply enough to really read him - could. He was telling the truth, but . . .
“What’s the other part, Galen?” she whispered. “It’s more than just that, I can tell.”
He closed his eyes and sighed again, a bitter chuckle coming at the end. “That’s actually Hermione’s fault, in a way. I got disillusioned with the series in general when I started rereading it, asking questions that some fanfic authors I’d run across had - and finding as few answers, as much frustration. I’d never thought much of Hermione’s being with Ron, even the first time around - but after a second reading, I didn’t understand it at all, and nor could I tolerate it. As we waited for the last couple of movies, I said as much to my parents - that I didn’t understand how she could possibly choose to end up with someone who’d treated her so badly over the years.” His eyes opened, and looked haunted. “And my parents responded that they’d known Hermione and Ron would end up together from their first meeting - because that was how relationships worked.
“They honestly believed that, Takara,” he whispered. “My parents, who’d argued, as couples do, but never like that, believed that it was expected of a couple in love to act like that towards one another. And in that moment, as my model for an ideal model for a happy marriage confidently espoused something so anathema to my own beliefs, I understood that everything I’d thought I understood, or ever believed, about love and relationships - was wrong. It had to be, because if they truly agreed with the appropriateness of that kind of pairing, then I’d somehow misunderstood everything I’d ever observed about them in the last thirty-odd years . . . Horribly and completely misunderstood it.”
His expression was anguished. “I can’t fix that, Takara - I don’t know how! And the damage I could do in trying, either to her, or to you, to myself - to anyone and everyone . . .”
Galen shook his head fiercely. “I don’t know what love is, Takara. If I can misinterpret things that badly, then I honestly, and quite obviously, don’t have a clue. But I won’t risk hurting you - either of you - because of that. It’s the only thing I can still be sure of, whatever these feelings really are . . . Hurting you will kill me, and I won’t - whatever it takes, I can spare you that, at least.”
Takara felt bewildered as she tried to process all she’d been told. To a large extent, she found that she agreed with Galen. If the Salvatores were anything like his original family - and Galen had implied that they were - then she could certainly understand his confusion. They certainly didn’t seem, from the point of view of her experiences, to be the type of couple that considered arguments which frequently resulted in tears a sign of a healthy relationship, nor did they engage in them - and her parents certainly didn’t. But more than that, she tried to consider what it would be like for Galen, to build his beliefs on that foundation - and find out, after decades of certainty, that he’d completely misjudged his parents. That one of the core pillars of his own beliefs was wrong. How could he not question himself, then - he could he not question everything? If he could be so wrong about that, after all . . .
If his parents’ relationship is a working one - and it is - and it’s really based on those beliefs, rather than his own . . . Takara thought, shivering. Yes, it made sense, now - she had at least a glimmer of understanding as to why he’d hesitated so deeply, for so long, and why he was still hesitating. But . . .
Now it was Takara’s turn to close her eyes, and take a deep breath. She knew that whatever she said next would dictate where any of the three of them went from here. She couldn’t fix what was broken inside him - she wasn’t that powerful. But her next words might mean the difference between his eventually healing, or those broken pieces being ground down until he destroyed himself. She understood that she had that much power, at least - and it was more than he’d ever allow most people to hold over him.
“. . . I can’t speak to the part about relationships,” the Japanese witch said at last. “I’d like to, but I can’t - I don’t have much more experience with dating than you do, and none of it deals with being a couple over time. But I’d like to think that I know something about love - and it’s enough that I think I can say a couple of things with certainty.” She looked at him steadily. “The first is this - that keeping Hermione guessing like she is, whatever your intention, is hurting her, and that it hurts me to see you both in pain. Talk to her, try to explain - but don’t keep her wondering about what you really think, and feel. I’m not saying she’ll fully understand it all - I’m not sure that I do, either - but no girl likes being uncertain about whether or not the boy she’s in love with loves her back. Maybe you can’t give her the answer she wants, but she needs and deserves some kind of answer.”
Galen licked his lips, hesitating. “I - ”
Takara silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips, her voice whisper-quiet and steel-hard as she said, “I’m not finished.” She drew in another deep breath, and continued, “The second thing I have to say is just as important. Maybe even more important. I’ve been watching you as long as you’ve watched me, Galen - here, you’re my first friend, too. I’m not saying you have a perfect understanding of it, but I think you do know what love is. At the very least, you feel it - because if you didn’t, neither would we.” He looked bewildered at that, but as her hand was still over his mouth, didn’t speak - which gave Takara time to take another deep breath, and move forward.
Miranda Granger called it a “boyfriend kiss.” Takara had kissed him like this once before, years ago - but that was Nanaya, not really herself. Hermione had kissed him like his once before, years ago - but at the time, the circumstances hadn’t been such that she’d been able to really enjoy it. Now was an entirely different story. This kiss wasn’t given out of subconscious hunger, or a sense of obligation - it wasn’t driven by impulse, or laced with pain. It was born of her desire to ease his pain, his confusion, even if only for a moment. It was the culmination of years of attraction, and affection, and a desperate need to show him, if only once, that they were there. That they existed, and that it was because of who and what he was - because he believed as he did.
She put all of herself into this, pressing against him until she could feel the contours of his form against her own, bury herself in the smell and sounds of him. Takara might not be able to fully accept her feelings for him yet, and she might eventually surrender him to Hermione for the sake of their own happiness - but this moment, this once, she would let him be hers, and let herself be his, and dream . . .
As she pulled away, she pressed her hand over his mouth again and whispered, “That’s love, Galen. Believe in this, if nothing else - that’s love.”
The Japanese witch bolted up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory at a flat-out run, not wanting to give him any chance to speak, or to catch her and demand an explanation. She didn’t dare, because she didn’t know if she could explain it, even to herself. All Takara could be certain of was that if Hermione ever heard about this, she wasn’t liable to take it well . . .
And that for the first time, Takara thought that she truly understood her godmother.
Additional Writer's Notes: One last hurrah before school starts tomorrow. I've no idea what my schedule will be like, but I will try to update at least once a week.
. . . Yes, that incident really happened - and yes, it completely skewed my world-view. Add that to my lack of practical experience, and you can understand why I'm a little hesitant about writing romance. Nevertheless, I hope this seems at least partially realistic.
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Originally Posted by hatori
