For the record....

Since everyone seems okay with me jumping ahead on the fic game, I've posted part of the rewrites for Haven I did do, and I've posted it as a short story. There is a empty slot there for one, which is...almost done, but not quite, so I'll post that one a little later in the week. Two short bits to fill out some of the detail that's not in Haven presently.

I know this is confusing, but let's get meta, shall we?

The current fic posted is NC-17, so I warn you now. It's the haven smut that, if you've been in the fandom a while, or on my lj friends list for a while, you've probably already read. I wrote it ages ago. I just couldn't post it yet. I'd post it as an lj ficlet except that it's eighteen pages long, so that's probably not a good idea.

Innocence

Thanks for your time, thanks for listening, I'm going to bed. Love you all from the bottom of my Chicago crime lord little heart.

*smooches*

COS production notes

The true nature of Lucius and Draco’s relationship was surprising to young Felton.Ê “I always thought that theirs would be quite a loving relationship, since Lucius and Draco are both really mean people, but I think there’s actually something quite scary going on between them,” Felton observes.Ê “Draco always gets the rough end of the stick and is quite afraid of his father."

*weeps* Didn't we have this argument months ago? Does Draco hero-worship his father, or is he afraid of him? I was on the 'afraid of him' side for the longest time (witness Haven) and then I was convinced that this was likely not the case. I dunno, I still wasn't so sure, but my uncertainty made me basically write Lucius out of the rest of my stories.

So now Tom has assured us that, yes, Draco is afraid of his father. And I believe him too, cause they all have chats with JKR about their motivation, and we all know Tom hasn't read the books, so it's clearly coming from the director/author.

Oh god. This is the key to the redemption of Draco, it really is. I'm firmly convinced now that Harry will have to rescue Draco. I mean. Isn't that blindingly obvious? Harry is the hero, after all, and he goes around rescuing everyone else. He is merciful to Peter Pettigrew in spite of the whole 'you betrayed my parents and they died' thing.

Oh my God. This series is going to end slashy.

I mean, maybe not, outwardly slashy, but if Harry has to save him, and, I mean, at the age of 17 I presume JKR isn't going to marry him off or something, I mean, presuming he looks relatively unattached by the end, and as long as he doesn't die, that's gonna look slashy. All it will take is a little epilogue from us. Oh yes.

End of book seven: Harry witnesses some horrendous abuse, swoops in, rescues Draco from something dreadful, and they resolve their differences.

"I wish we could have been friends," Draco says, looking at his shoes.

"Well. Maybe we can be friends now." Harry looks at Draco's shoes too. They're nice shoes, after all.

Draco looks hopeful. "Do you think so?"

"Sure."

Draco smiles.

Harry smiles back. "Should we hug now?"

"Um..."

Harry hugs him anyway, giving the pinched-looking boy probably the first genuine hug of his life. After a moment, he lets go, and steps back a bit. "Did you just grope me?"

Draco smirks. "No, certainly not. Why would I do that?"

"Oh. I could swear someone just squeezed my bum."

"Maybe it was Voldemort."

"Voldemort is dead."

"Curious. Ah well. Another mystery. Life's just full of them, isn't it."

*sighs* Yes, it could work. It could!

Mem'ries....light the corners of my mind...

I was reminded today about the first person I ever fell in love with. Oy. The heartache. The sadness. The angst. The drama.

The year was 1995. It was summer. She was beautiful and charismatic and powerful but didn't think she was anything special. She thought she was ugly and boring and not very bright and not even very good at the things she was supposed to be good at. She had long brown hair that she pulled back into a ponytail all the time; she was totally embarassed at being seen with it down, and once when I braided it she loved it until someone laughed at her. Then she took it out and put it back in her usual ponytail. She had freckles, and had never had a boyfriend. She never, ever, talked about this.

She was a basketball player who quit her team that year because it was so competitive that it got ugly; she did and didn't regret it. She gained a little weight which her friends teased her about, but I thought, in all honesty, was mad sexy.

She liked me to come and play my guitar and sing to her and her friend, and I always sat on her friend's bed, because, well, I'm not stupid, and she was a raging homophobe. One day she complained about this. So I climbed, with my guitar, onto her bed in order to sing to her. This made her very happy.

Later she had her own room, and got very upset if I spent my nights off anywhere other than in the bunk above her. When she had a rough day I would come over evenings and sing her to sleep, which really blissed her out. When she got a painful sliver removed from her finger she curled up beside me and put her head on my shoulder.

Once, when I was staying with her over a weekend, something happened and they needed her help. (She was an important person at said place where we were both working, after all.) It was in the evening and we had been in the middle of something; practicing guitar, or something, talking, I don't remember, but it felt like a rather intimiate moment. I stood at her window and watched her walk down the beach with these girls who needed her, and half way across she stopped and turned and looked back. I knew she saw me. It was...I'm not sure I've ever communicated that much across space with no movement and no words.

A year later something switched over; she heard rumours, or got too close to me, or something, she just spazzed on me and couldn't deal with having me in the same room anymore. She was gossipy and vindictive and went out of my way to make life difficult for me. She was charismatic, it wasn't hard for her to do. It broke my heart in ways I didn't even understand at the time.

God, did I ever love her. And I had no idea. It wasn't until a couple of years later that I really understood. She probably thought the whole friendship was a lie, that I was really just trying to hit on her the whole time. I wasn't. I knew she was homophobic and I thought that if she liked me, well, maybe I wasn't so bad after all. But later I realized the truth, and you know? I still do love her.

And I just remembered it all today. I miss her, even though I have no idea what I would say to her if I saw her again. I think she moved to the US, or something.

Edited to say: This girl was in the US for a while. But now, she's not in her home town, which is about four hours away. She's in my hometown. Where is where I currently live. *freaks out*