197AN:
I last updated this fic in Feb 2019, wow. Almost 2.5 years have gone by; how are you all? There's a longer AN at the bottom of the fic. Just wanted to take a minute to greet you. :D
So far (A complete recap, to make jogging your memory easier):
Once upon a time, in a Scottish school of magic and wizardry, there was a teenage boy named James who thought the word revolved around a certain red-haired witch named Lily. One day, after months and years of trying to get Lily to go on a date with him, James decided to vent to his friend and fellow classmate Sarah. A seemingly innocuous suggestion from the latter that the former might have a better chance at winning Lily's heart if he gained more experience turns into a charade where James and Sarah pretend to date, with Sarah being James' love-guru.
James and Sarah start fake-dating, with Sarah showing James the ropes. Sarah's best friend Alice is positively ecstatic that Sarah has a boyfriend, but her other best friend Marlene is wary about the Quidditch Captain — she doesn't believe that he's over Lily yet. Neither of them knows that it's all nothing more than pretense. Sirius and Peter are supportive of the new 'relationship', as is Remus, much to James' surprise. Sarah's arch-nemesis, Ava McKinnon (Marlene's cousin) is of the opinion that James is using Sarah, which is true in a way, but she's never going to find out that her conspiracy theory is actually spot-on.
Lily on the other hand believes James is a toerag that no one should talk to, and thinks Sarah has gone insane, seeing as she's now with said toerag. However, Sarah's lessons seem to be working, because these days, James can hold a complete conversation with Lily without the witch of his dreams walking off in exasperation and annoyance.
The more time Sarah spends with James, the more interesting (read: disturbing) things she learns, such as the fact that there was (maybe still is) a Ravenclaw boy who fancied(s) her. She also learns that James and his mates are nosy, and know everything going on everywhere, possibly by eavesdropping on innocent people and private conversations.
But what's more disturbing, Sarah realises, is those pesky teenage hormones. Maybe it's only because they're spending so much time together, but Sarah is pretty sure James is physically attracted to her, even if his heart is Lily's. And Sarah is confused because when she's with James, she can't stop blushing. At the same time, hanging out with him is easy, and the time they spend together feels very real.
One thing leads to another, and Sarah and James find themselves in Myrtle's bathroom, when Sarah slips and hits her head. She wakes up in the Hospital Wing to find out that she's had a concussion, and to find James sitting there by her side even though it's well past curfew. Thinking that the James she's seeing is just a figment of her imagination, she kisses him, only to discover that the James she has kissed is very much the real version — much to her mortification, and James' bemusement. James stays on for some more time to catch her up on gossip, and to give her company. (Neither of them acknowledges the kiss.)
Sarah is consumed with how weirdly nice James is being, considering that they're nothing more than friends. But then he takes the effort to make her an account of everything that happened that day when she hit her head, in an attempt to help her memory, and Sarah can't help but feel 'more than friendly' feelings for James. Ugh, what is going on?
And why is Alice holding her copy of the latest instalment in her favourite series hostage — doesn't she know that Sarah has waited for almost a year for the book?
Chapter 10
October 16, 1976
Saturday
I lie awake in bed, and curse myself for waking up at such an unholy time. Who wakes up before the sun even rises? Mum must have made the sedative portion of the Dreamless Sleep potion less potent — she thinks teenagers have a propensity to get addicted to such potions.
A quickly cast tempus shows that it's 5:12 am.
And it's so bloody warm and stifling, for some reason. I think the house-elves were over enthusiastic in stoking the fire.
Annoyed, I push my hair back and reach for an elastic band from the nearby table, when I see the stack of letters I'd left last night — letters from mother dearest. As a Ravenclaw, her first suggestion to tackle any problem, always, is to hit the books.
I try not to sigh at how long her letter is.
.
'Bear,
How do you get yourself into messes like these? I got through my Hogwarts education without being admitted to the hospital wing even once. How did you manage to slip on a dry floor and fall?
You're lucky that boy was around to bring you to the nurse as soon as it happened. Maybe I'm an irresponsible mother for saying this, but I don't want to know what you were doing with him on the abandoned second floor corridor. Is he the reason why you've been writing to me less than usual? (This conversation is not done, come Yule break, you and I will have a rehash of the talk. But until then, use the daily potion properly — there's free stock in the hospital wing. But remember, abstinence is the best contraception!)'
.
I roll my eyes as hard as possible, a hysterical giggle bubbling up inside me. If only she knew that James and I are fake-dating... Not that she'd approve of that either, but still. It's not like everyone can have the perfect love story like her and my dad. I think sometimes— you know what, never mind, I don't have the energy to be envious.
.
Coming to more important matters, can you believe that Dumbledore denied my request to come and see you? He said you're in safe hands. I told him Filch should polish the floors lesser. That's the only way you could have slipped. I worry for you, Sara-bear.
Since I can't have you with me, and I can't be with you either, I've done some research on what you're actually going through. Concussions almost always accompany head injuries, and your father's ascertained that you don't have clots in your head. That means no surgery, thank Merlin. But you do have memory loss, and that's what worries me the most.
The thing is, mild concussions do affect brain chemistry, most definitely up to a week, sometimes even longer. And memory loss is common, though often temporary. Even if the symptoms seem to disappear at the 36 hour mark, they will keep popping up again every now and then. The good news is, you'll be fine by next Saturday (at worst), my darling.
If you notice any of these symptoms, don't panic. But tell someone, or jot it down on a bit of parchment and then have someone accompany you to the school nurse. Don't panic. I've divided them into four categories:
1. Thinking and remembering: Not thinking clearly, Feeling slowed down, Not being able to concentrate, Not being able to remember new information, General disorientation
2. Physical: Rapid discharge of magic, Nausea, Headache, Fuzzy or blurry vision, Dizziness, Sensitivity to light or noise, Balance problems, Feeling tired or having no energy, Overpowering/underpowering charms
3. Emotional and mood: Easily upset or angered, sad, Nervous or anxious, More emotional, Inability to cast mood dependent spells like the Patronus charm.
4. Sleep: Sleeping more than usual, Sleeping less than usual, Having a hard time falling asleep
.
Just like that, everything that's been going on for the past couple of days starts making perfect sense to me.
It's all because of this bloody concussion!
Imagining that I could possibly be dreaming up James? It was because I was disoriented. My wand feeling so tingly all the time? Rapid discharge of magic. Sleeping all through last morning and not at all sleeping tonight? All explained. Getting worked up over James and Lily? I was upset only because of the concussion. Feeling that rush of warmth when James touched me? That was just me being easily excitable.
Everything, I mean everything, makes sense now.
So I don't really have a crush on James, it's just my brain chemicals messing with me.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Thank heavens.
I quickly peruse the rest of the letter. That woman who gave birth to me is a darling, because right now, I'm on my way to regaining my peace of mind.
.
I spoke to a couple of Cerebrum Healers, and they say you should be good to resume all magical work by Wednesday. The rapid discharges are only more dangerous in children who haven't been trained in spell-casting, so till then spend more time with Professor Slughorn earning extra credit instead of trying to practise spells.
I don't trust any of these mass produced potions, so I've brewed a bunch of potions that your father deemed necessary. I've written instructions on dosage and timings of said dosage on the labels of the bottles. I'd feel better if you resumed your illicit brewing only the week before Samhain. Please ensure there's someone with you at all times. I swear, you're only the reason why I have grey hair.
I expect you to write every day. I can only assume that the young feisty owl that's been delivering your letters over the past month belongs to that boy. Your father was impressed with the boy, in case you're wondering. I will form my own judgement when I meet him. Maybe we can invite him to our Yule log ceremony?
Put this old woman's mind to rest, and write me.
Love,
Mumsie.
.
First, let me tell you that she's exaggerating. Platinum blonde hair is only a stone's throw away from grey hair. Even if she did have grey hair, it would be almost invisible. Like my eyelashes and eyebrows. I use Muggle mascara and eyebrow dying kits. David's fiancée, Paula, introduced me to them, bless her soul.
Done with this letter, I eye the other parchment bunches. One is a classy envelope from Auntie Lana, and the other is from my godmother. The bulkiest bunch proves to be a set of drawings by my baby god-brother, who's convinced he'll become a magizoologist someday — all his drawings are of a small boy (presumably him) and a long blonde girl (presumably me) going to visit different creatures.
The adorable little tyke.
I can't stop grinning as I flip through them. He's the most adorable creature ever, I swear. I usually stay away from babies — they're either crazy or creepy or both, but little Rolf, despite being only four, is the best.
Before I'd bonded with him this summer, when he and his mum spent a few months with us, we hadn't been that close. I'd only seen him three times before — as a scrawny little pink bologna loaf after he was born, on his first birthday (where he'd jumped into his Pegasus-shaped birthday cake), and last Yule, during which his entire family had come to England again.
;;
A smile is still plastered on my face when the hospital wing door is thrown open, and in stagger James, Sirius, Peter and Remus, all of them looking a little worse for wear. The door repeatedly bangs against the wall, eerily loud in the absolute silence, as they stare at me and I stare at them.
"You're awake," says Sirius.
Like an idiot, I nod.
Sirius looks away, and none of the others meet my eye either.
And then Madam Pomfrey comes out of her private quarters, immaculately pristine as ever, chastising them for being so noisy. "Always have to make a loud statement, the four of you. Why can't you let yourselves in quietly, like other normal children? Davies is sleeping, the poor thing."
The four of them look at me briefly, before looking back at Pomfrey, except for James. He holds my gaze, and I notice with slight worry, that there's a cut running down his face. It looks painful.
I clear my throat loudly, and say, "Actually, Madam Pomfrey, they didn't wake me up."
Madam Pomfrey whirls around, her hand on her heart, "Bless you child, you gave me a fright. Did you have your potions properly yesterday?"
"I think my mum tampered with the potency of the Dreamless Sleep," I tell her honestly. She nods her head, understanding replacing her earlier accusatory look.
"Right," she says, turning back to them. James finally looks away, but that streak of defiance in James' eyes still burns me. What have the four of them been up to, that warrants such shiftiness?
I watch silently as she ushers them to four different empty beds. And then she starts her healing work, wiping Remus' cuts with Dittany. Of the four of them, Remus looks the most battered. He looks like he's been trampled on by a horde of hippogriffs.
James, of course, doesn't lie down on his bed, as instructed. Instead, he wanders up to me, and sits by my side, gently moving all the letters away.
"Did you read it yet?" he asks, gesturing to the booklet which is still on the table, and I shake my head.
"How did the four of you manage to end up here?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
He runs a hand through his hair, before answering hesitantly, "We were in the Forbidden Forest the whole night."
My mouth falls slightly open, because who in their right mind spends an entire night in the Forbidden Forest? There's a reason why it's forbidden.
"Why?" I croak out.
"Have you heard of Asian bleeding heart?" he says slowly, and I nod my head.
"Well, there's this prank we've been meaning to play on someone..."
I can see where this is going. Asian bleeding heart is a plant of the poppy family, whose concentrated flower essence can cause severe itching. And of course these morons were willing to risk their lives in order to give some unsuspecting wizard a rash.
"You're all idiots."
"Don't we know it," he says, grinning, before wincing.
"Does it hurt?"
He grimaces and nods his head, and I reach out for my wand.
"May I?"
He nods his head again, and I take a deep breath, before whispering a Purifico to clean the wound, followed by an Episkey. The cut is deep, and it takes three more tries to get the skin to knit itself back. Or maybe it's the concussion messing with my magic.
I've done this for Marlene after countless Quidditch practices, but it's never felt this intimate. Unable to stop myself, I drop my wand somewhere on the bed, and touch James' face where the cut had been earlier — now there's only clean, soft skin.
James holds his breath as his eyes flutter shut. My fingers are light on the raw pink skin. In a raspy voice, he says, "Thanks."
My voice is shaky when I reply. "You're welcome."
I sound breathless, like one of those brainless bimbos in one of the many D grade Muggle films I've watched. But James looks so tantalising, and—
"If you love birds are done romancing..."
I turn around to glare at Sirius, who looks supremely bored.
"And just for that, I'm not giving you any more Chocolate Frogs," I say pettily.
Sirius simply quirks an eyebrow at me, as though he's very charming, prompting me to roll my eyes at him.
;;
I thought I wouldn't be allowed to go back to my dorm till Monday, but I'm let out today, a little before dinner.
It's been less than twelve hours since I awkwardly explained to James that I hadn't read his compilation of "diary entries" from everyone yet because I was too busy gushing over my godbrother's drawings.
I'd even been enough of a dork to show them to him, and I think he'd liked them? I dunno.
Anyway, Alice is escorting me back to the Gryffindor Common Room for reasons unknown... It's not like I forgot the directions to the place which has been my home for the past five years.
"Soooooo, don't go bonkers on me, but Marly and I thought we could have a small get-together, yeah? To celebrate your coming back?"
"I just want to be left alone."
"Too late!" she chirps, and beams a smile at the Fat Lady, before dragging me past the portrait which happens to be the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower.
"Alice! The Common Room's that way!"
"We're not going to the Common Room, silly!"
"Wh—" I hold back my protest as we stop a corridor away, in front of this large portrait of a lion. I've actually seen this painting before in the passing, and I always thought he'd make a good Aslan.
"Pleurotus ostreatus," she says happily, and the lion blinks, before the painting swings open, and she shoves me inside.
"Surprise!" yell out the Prewett twins, with Sirius and Peter repeatedly blowing those Muggle party things which are like whistles which make noise when you blow. (I really can't recall the name. I used to blow them at David's birthday parties.) I just stand in the entrance way, a half-formed grimace stuck on my face.
"Not really a surprise, Prewetts, I told her there was a small get-together."
All my year-mates are there, along with a few additions, like Frank-idiot-Longbottom, Janice (probably invited by Lily), the president of the Hogwarts book club plus some of the club, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team (what?) and that Third Year girl who proclaimed her undying love for the Seeker during the previous game. And they're all smiling at me. I'm a bit disturbed by how scary the setup is.
"Uh, where are we?" I ask quietly and quickly, as Alice shoves me further in, nearer to the crowd of grinning Gryffindors, in whose midst, Marlene is holding two bottles of Firewhisky, one in each hand.
"Frank's Headboy quarters," she says with a touch of pride, and though I want to tell her not to be such a wimp and go running back to Longbottom, I'm grudgingly impressed, because wow, the place is pretty fantastic.
The bastard has a comfortable living room, a HUGE bookshelf, and two other doors leading off Merlin knows where.
Now I want to be Head Girl, I mean, look at the perks!
I know that it's impossible to be Head Girl without being a Prefect, and a sudden flash of something bitter streaks through me. Maybe if I'd studied harder, maybe if I hadn't wasted so much time on fiction and tinkering with potions, maybe, just maybe, I'd be the Prefect and not Lily.
But I've always had a blatant disregard for authority, and maybe that's why no one ever saw Prefect-potential in me. It still bothers me.
I realise I've spaced out only when Sirius shoves James into me, and I narrowly avoid being barrelled to the floor by an eleven stone mass of red — of course James is in his Quidditch t-shirt.
"So how are you?" he asks, scratching his neck, standing in front of me awkwardly.
I cross my hands across my chest, and reply just as awkwardly, "Good, good, you? Your face?"
He brings his hand to his face and touches his cheek.
"You did a good job," he says, and I nod my head, waiting for him to end this conversation so that I can go sit in a corner of the room. And maybe strike up a conversation with Ross — she's the President of the book club, and I'm kinda hoping she'll nominate me for the post when she graduates this year.
I realise that in the time that I've been eyeing Ross, James has been eyeing Lily.
Leaning up against him as though I'm about to kiss his cheek, I whisper in his ear, "Good boyfriends don't check out other girls when standing next to their girlfriend."
His eyes crinkle up in a sign of amusement, and he wraps an arm around my waist, which, I'm ashamed to say, gives me butterflies, even though I know it's all an effect of that bloody concussion.
"You'll make some guy very happy someday," he says oh-so-sweetly, and my gut clenches for a second, because I really, really hope his words will come true — the romantic in me hopes for a happily ever after with the one who's THE ONE for me.
This time when I lean up against him, I really do kiss his cheek.
I may or may not find that one true love which I fantasise about, but for now, I don't mind settling for that adorable blush which tinges James' cheeks.
;;
It's not fun being the only sober person in a room full of tipsy people. The only other sober person is a thirteen year old, who seems keen on watching her Seeker-boyfriend (who'd been a virgin to alcohol before tonight) with a sickeningly sweet expression.
I'm pretty sure James&co. smuggled in the alcohol, though I have no idea how they managed such copious amounts. Could they have bribed that nasty Filch?
I might have used this time to schmooze up to Ross, but she's busy talking to Jon, who'd arrived a few minutes late to this shindig. I'm surprised James 'approved' of inviting him, but then again, this whole thing was probably organised by Marly and Ali.
And speaking of those two, Ali's missing and Marly's flirting with the wrong Prewett twin. Or maybe they're talking about Quidditch — I can't make out from this distance.
I watch as more people come through the door and join this supposedly small get-together. Someone's turned the wireless up, and others are dancing rowdily, there are clusters of people playing various party games, and that's when I realise that I don't know most of the others. I recognise a couple of Ravenclaw prefects in the mix, and that's when it strikes me that there's not a single Slytherin in the room.
And Ava too isn't here, thank Merlin for small mercies.
As the cacophony begins to peak, my head begins to spin and my ears begin to ring. It's probably because of my stupid concussion — loud parties are probably not the remedy for head injuries.
Lucky for me, there's a charm that Lily'd taught me earlier this year when we started working on our Charms project. She'd said someone she knew taught it to her, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it was the Snape boy.
"Muffiliato."
It takes me one more try to cast the spell properly, and I smile in satisfaction as the noise around me transforms into bearable white noise. Of course, if people come too close to the sofa where I'm sat, I can make out what they're saying, but right now, I'm an oasis of calm in the chaos around me.
Initially it's fun, but after about twenty minutes of people-watching, it gets a bit tiresome.
Bored out of my mind with seeing strangers have fun, I get up and wander over to the bookshelf to see what books Hogwarts has seen fit to provide the Head Boy with. I pause on the way to snatch up a pig in a blanket from a floating tray. That's probably Peter's work — he's the one to go to if you want to cater any event in Gryffindor, because the house-elves down in the kitchen love him.
Munching on the snack and savouring how the flavours explode on my tongue after what feels like months of bland food, I eye Frank's bookshelves in distaste. It's all massive volumes of books on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy and Herbology.
Uggh.
The Herbology was probably to impress Ali, but still, uggh. Like could there be a more pretentious person than Frank Longbottom?
"I take it you don't approve of the literary selection," comes a quiet voice to my side, cutting through the fading white noise in my ears and I turn to find a weary Remus beside me looking at the bookshelf.
"Herbology is my absolute favourite, don't you know? I'm obviously gushing over how vast the collection is," I deadpan, the non-enthusiasm obvious on my face.
Remus quirks up his lips, but it's not a smile.
"It's not really my taste, none of the books here are," I tell him, and he nods his head placidly. I feel like I should make an attempt at holding a conversation since he was nice enough to approach me, and so I continue, "I guess I've always been like that? Fiction is easy to read; the words conjure images in my head and it's like watching a movie, but with me as the director. But nonfiction? The information is no doubt useful, but I find it easier to get into my head when it's practically applied. The concept feels more tangible then."
I'm not entirely sure if I made sense or whether I'd just blabbered whatever came to mind, but Remus is nodding his head in agreement and so I decide it's the former — I've made at least a modicum of sense.
Remus would know what movies are, right? I think he's a Halfblood like me.
"I'm more of an auditory learner," he says, touching his ear lobes with both his hands.
That's when I realise that he's not holding a drink, and that he's as sober as I am. I'm sober because of medical reasons, and I guess he is too. Usually when he falls sick, he stays at the infirmary for a few days, but this time, he's out earlier than usual.
"How are you feeling now?" I ask him, abruptly changing the topic — I've never been one for seguing delicately.
"On the road to getting better, as always," he says, a look of tired resignation on his face. "How are you doing?"
"Still a bit disoriented sometimes, but I'm getting there."
"And your memory?"
"Still as blank as ever. Maybe I'll remember it eventually; it was really nice of James to get those diary-entry type things for me."
Though I know that all the pinpricks of joy I feel at the mere thought of James' gift are only a result of my concussion, I can't help the blush that's crossing my face. I try to control it.
"James can't stop talking about you, you know? He's really chuffed to have found someone who likes Swivenhodge as much as him."
My blush heats up my cheeks further, and I wonder if I should apply cooling spells to my smarting face, as I clumsily reply, "Yeah, Swivenhodge is a pretty cool game."
I then notice that Remus doesn't seem to be looking at me anymore; his attention has been drawn away by something, or rather, someone, over my shoulder.
So naturally, I turn around a bit to see who it is.
It's Lily, laughing loudly with Janice and the Prewetts, a tumbler of (presumably) Fire Whisky in her hand.
And did I mention how gorgeous she looks?
Her hair, red like the leaves during autumn, frames her heart-shaped face perfectly, flowing down to her waist in gentle waves. She hasn't braided her hair, and it cascades like a waterfall.
And maybe it's because she's talking animatedly to her best friend, but her features are so alive and alight with joy. She looks almost ethereal in her beauty.
No one should have the right to look like that.
"You don't have to worry, you know?" Remus says suddenly, and I turn back to him to see him giving me a small smile.
Did he catch me ogling at Lily?
"Worry about what?"
"About Lily."
"What about Lily?" I ask, feigning ignorance. Does Remus know that I have no self-esteem when it comes to Lily? I'd never be able to face him again if he knew that Lily makes me feel inadequate.
"You think she's annoyed that you're with James, but she's just worried about you because James is very persuasive and she doesn't want you to get into trouble or get hurt. She cares about you a lot.
"Not that you have to worry about James, though. He really likes you, though he'd kill me if he knew I told you that."
Of course, Saint Lily cares about me — the universe wants me to feel guilty that I don't completely like the idea of James mooning after her, even though the rational part of me knows this is all because of the bloody concussion.
I disregard the latter half of what Remus has just said — I know the truth behind James liking me. I know that it's all pretend. Maybe James is a better actor than I give him credit for, if he's managed to get even his friends fooled.
"Sarah?" Remus interrupts my flow of thoughts, and I'm brought back to the present
"Uh, yeah! It's good to know that Lily isn't mad; I was pretty worried about that," I lie. The words feel cold on my tongue.
"You should read what James has made; it might jog up your memory, you know? He put in a lot of effort," he says, smiling kindly, and I nod back, the smile on my face feeling artificial.
Was James' supposedly thoughtful gift also a part of playing pretend? He surely wouldn't have done that last year, when we'd been just housemates and pretty decent friends. The only thing that's changed between then and now is that we're now fake-dating, causing us to spend more time together.
"I'll do that tonight," I promise, as a tray floats by with goblets and tumblers of Fire Whisky on it.
Remus jerks his head towards the tray and says, "It's no fun when everyone else is drinking, eh?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking!" I exclaim, grimacing.
"It's not booze, but I do have something that might make us feel better," he says, taking out a few Chocolate Frogs from his pocket.
"You're the best, Remus!"
This time when I smile, it's genuine.
x
End notes:
1. Regarding the concussion — I picked up facts from WebMD, mixed in a little magic.
2. Full moon in Oct 1976 was on the 8th, not on the 16th. Consider this literary license.
3. Had something to say about Muffiliato, but can't remember it for the life of me.
AN:
Remember the AN at the end of the previous chapter, where I said, "Chapter 10 is fully done, but won't be posted till I'm done writing Chapter 11." It took me 2.5 years to write chapter 11 — I rewrote it multiple times, and I finally managed to end up with something that I liked. I was supposed to post this chapter last month, as soon as Ch 11 was ready (as I mentioned on my Tumblr page), but life got in the way and I didn't have a chance to reply to reviews the way I wanted to.
So much has changed between Feb 2019 and Aug 2021 — here are some of the "good things" — I finished my BSc course (my second try at college), got a role change at work, and most importantly we got a new fur baby. When I lost my first pup unexpectedly (he was fine, fine, fine... and then gone) back in 2018, I was heartbroken and thought I could never experience that type of unconditional love again. I still love him and miss him, and I can't help but wonder how life would have been if he and the current fur baby had gotten to meet — I think they'd be best friends.
My mental health still sucks and there are a lot of bad days, but I think I've become a little better at managing it. I try my best to stand up for myself, and be proactive about looking after my mental health.
I know the pandemic's not been easy to most of us, and I hope you're all being gentle with yourselves. Be kind to yourself the way you'd be kind to your best friend.
Speaking of kindness, thank you for your kind reviews and PMs — whenever you check in on me, even if I don't reply at the earliest, your kindness and empathy doesn't go unnoticed. I will attempt to reply to Chapter 9 reviews within the next few days.
You can follow me at gr8rockstarrox . tumblr . com — feel free to ask me questions about this story or my writing (or anything else) any time you want, and I'll answer them as best as I can. I mainly post writing and life updates, and sometimes rant about TV shows.
Announcement: From now on, for every 100 reviews, I'll write a review fic based on what the 100th reviewer (or the 101st if the 100th one is from a Guest reviewer who hasn't left their contact details) wants, set in the past or in an AU of the Playing Pretend universe. I saw someone on Tumblr doing this and got the idea from them. (Would give credits if I could remember who it was.)
I hope you enjoyed this chapter; I wish you the best.
As always, reviews are love. :)