Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.

a/n no, don't kill me!

Clawtracks of a Star

By neutral

Chapter two - of ghost voices

That entire day felt dreary. The sun never did appear, and a few hours after breakfast, the skies had opened up and Moor House was creaking under heavy downpours. It was still November, not cold enough for snow, but the rain left a damp layer over everything that made them all feel as though they were wearing a thin layer of ice. By noon, they had all decided to camp out in the study in front of the fireplace, huddled in blankets with cups of warm tea.

These were the days Remus wished his transformations only involved hair growth. His joints were killing him.

Sirius' words had put a rather permanent damper on Remus' mood, and he spent half the day mulling over various books and the other half pretending he wasn't. If Harry had sensed—and Remus was sure he did; the child was always unnaturally perceptive—how worried he was over just a dream, the boy may avoid telling them things of this sort again. The fact that he and Sirius were worried was probably troubling Harry more than anything.

Should they be so disturbed by a dream Harry would not even remember? Remus wondered. It could be something trivial, like Dumbledore said. But for the past three years, their lives in the Moor House were peaceful, almost too peaceful, like a calm before a very disastrous storm. Perhaps some catastrophe would crash over them unexpectedly…

"Remus, make your move before the pieces fall asleep."

Remus started. Sirius was watching him intently across the chessboard, and Remus mentally chided himself. Act normal. Act like everything's okay. I'm only overreacting like the paranoid idiot that I am… Remus quickly glanced to the rug beside the fireplace, looking to see if Harry had noticed his lapse but the child seemed completely absorbed in his book.

"Oh, sorry. Where did you…?"

"Knight to E6," Sirius glanced at Remus quizzically. "You just lost your bishop."

Remus inwardly sighed. He must have been really distracted to lose a piece he had not meant to lose to Sirius. Of course, he wasn't playing terribly enough to actually lose a game to his friend—Sirius was god awful at chess, period, with no exceptions—but it was still rather unsettling.

"Am I winning?" Sirius asked with some disbelief.

"Not really, Sirius." Remus grinned, reaching for a mug of hot cocoa. "Pawn to B8. Pawn becomes Queen. Check."

Sirius perked up in his seat. "Wait! How did that happen? That was not legal, Moony."

Remus just looked at him over the rim of his cup and didn't even grant him a reply.

This was usually the time when Harry would intervene—Remus and Sirius had played enough times that it became almost an inevitable occurrence—and tell his godfather that the move was legal, and that Remus was three paces away from a checkmate, that Sirius should move his knight there and his queen there and would Sirius like him to play in his place?

Both Sirius and Remus considerately kept silent, waiting for Harry's soft voice to pip in, but it was quiet. Bewildered, Remus looked at the child's rug beside the fireplace again. Harry was still caught up in his book, though on closer inspection, he was blinking repeatedly and slowly inclining to one side. Remus couldn't help but smile; how many times had he seen Harry nodding off over a book, just like this?

"Oh," Sirius sighed, shaking his head slightly. He leaned over the side of his chair and gently patted the child's back. Harry sluggishly glanced up. "Hey Harry, time to go to bed."

Harry furiously shook his head. "Can't," he mumbled. "Moonrise is in an hour… I think."

Remus inwardly flinched. He never wanted Harry to deal with his affliction. He had an idea of how grotesque it must have been to see the twisting of the limbs and he remembered how Sirius, James, and Peter had first reacted. But the morning following that full moon three years ago and Remus had awoken in the cellar and seen Harry, only six at the time, huddled beside Padfoot and shivering madly because of him, Remus felt… he didn't know what he had felt. But it had been cold and painful and Remus had crumpled whenever the child's sorrowful gaze turned to him.

No, he didn't want the child with him on full moons. Harry felt too much…

"What?" Harry blinked at Sirius sleepily. "I didn't hear what you said…"

"I didn't say anything," Sirius told him quietly. "Did you drift off for a moment there?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, brow furrowing in consideration. "But I thought…" His next words were swallowed up by a jaw popping yawn.

Smiling gently, Remus patted the place beside him on the couch. "Come here, Harry. You look exhausted."

Harry climbed to his feet with great effort and stumbled over. It didn't look like he'd make it onto the couch without a few mistrials and Remus quickly hoisted him up.

"Go to sleep," Remus instructed and when Harry looked ready to protest again, quickly added, "You're going to spend the entire night sleeping in the cellar. What if Moony accidentally tramples Mr. Talons, hm?" He tapped Harry on the nose teasingly.

That was more sadistic than amusing… No, it wasn't amusing at all. It would be appalling if the wolf trampled or—gods, please, no—attempted to eat Harry's animagus form.

Harry weaseled himself under Remus' blanket—which somehow enlarged itself, no doubt from one of Harry's silent spells, when he wasn't paying attention—and curled up in a way that only Harry could, tucked between the armrest and Remus' side.

"Will you wake me up?" Harry asked sleepily, still determined.

"In the morning," Remus assured him.

The boy nodded sluggishly and his face disappeared under a fold of the blanket. Remus smiled; Harry must be really tired if he hadn't realized anything was wrong with that answer.

Remus looked back at the forgotten chess game and noticed Sirius watching him, leaning with his cheek against his knuckles, grinning in a fashion that set the alarms in Remus' head wailing in full blast.

"When you're wearing that smirk, I know you're mentally laughing at something at my expense," Remus eyed him suspiciously, keeping his voice soft.

"Manipulator," Sirius mouthed, glancing at the lump in the blanket that was Harry and then back at Remus. "Taking advantage when the poor boy's half asleep, you're evil you know."

"You prat," Remus whispered good-naturedly. "You would have done the same."

"No I wouldn't. I wouldn't have sounded so innocent while at it. No wonder McGonagall never did think you'd do anything wrong when you're the one who obviously cursed that rubber rat to stick on her tongue."

"Gods, Sirius, that was fourteen years ago!"

Sirius smirked. "I knew it. You did it."

"I deny it. Well, I… how did we start on this?" Remus frowned, shaking his head and trying to hide that incriminating blush that was overtaking his face, "Never mind. The point is Harry's tired. He was up at five this morning and he'll be the one up tomorrow making us breakfast. He deserves to sleep."

Expectedly, that ended Sirius' attempts to embarrass him more. Stepping around the chessboard—the pieces were quietly snoring—Sirius knelt beside the couch and tugged a corner of the blanket away. Harry had somehow twisted himself under the covers until he was sleeping with his stomach against the armrest and his arm dangling over the sofa. Softly, Sirius eased the boy into a more comfortable position and set his glasses aside. Harry was too deeply asleep to even make a sound.

"Is he dreaming, you think?" Sirius asked quietly.

"It'll be a good sign if he doesn't," said Remus. "But if he does, Dumbledore insisted not to worry about it."

"Not to worry about it?" Sirius echoed skeptically. "That's all he said?"

"He talked a lot about the Oath." Remus frowned, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against his knee. "He mentioned something about 'leaking' and how what Harry saw might be something that involves the two of us but not Harry."

"Harry can dream about our futures too?" Sirius whispered. He looked depressed by the prospect and Remus had to admit he shared that sentiment.

"No, not really," Remus said. "That's why he couldn't remember it. It wasn't meant to be seen by him. Dreams select their seers. Dumbledore was quite insistent about that."

Sirius shook his head with a sigh. "This is making me wish I took Divination."

"Don't. It was worthless. I never learned this until this afternoon," Remus admitted. "But what I could make sense of Dumbledore's explanations, mind you, his riddles were giving me headaches for quite some time—" Sirius grinned knowingly, "—we all have dreams of our past and future. Only, we can't remember them, and that's what sets us, Harry, and true seers apart. We dreamt, Harry saw our dreams through the bond that binds us, but we lack Harry's ability which was why he felt it and we did not. We've been over reacting all day."

"Oh," Sirius said eloquently, blinking rather dazedly, "that just makes me feel like an idiot."

"No, some interesting things did come out of this," Remus added. Rather unconsciously, Remus had fallen into that tone of voice which Sirius had dubbed 'meet Professor Moony' but Sirius was much too distracted to tease him on it. "Dumbledore said the Oath is strengthening for unforeseen reasons."

Sirius hesitated. "Is that…?" he trailed off into silence.

"It could mean anything, Sirius. It's been centuries since there was a documented Oath that was successful, but there was none in our situation. Dumbledore isn't sure about the true extent of its affects. On the surface, there don't seem to be many, but a lot of it runs below our consciousness."

Sirius' eyes darkened. "Its true extent is already clear."

"Sirius, it's unavoidable now," Remus whispered. "There's nothing we can do about it."

Sirius didn't reply but instead watched the child pensively. Harry looked younger without his glasses, Remus realized. Perhaps it was because those round frames seemed to give the illusion of rounder cheeks perhaps they made Harry look more scholarly, Remus couldn't decide which. But Harry just looked so… small…

Remus swallowed, trying to ease out the knots that were in his throat. "We should be happy that it kept you and Harry from dying, Sirius. It's borrowed time that we've been keeping."

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. "No, it's not… I just…" he broke off, breathing sharply. "Does it bother you that Harry's relieved we have this" Sirius gestured vaguely, "clincher?"

"Yes, always." Remus looked at his hands, so worn and aged compared to Harry's own. "But we have to remember it was what saved him."

Though one day, it will most likely be what will kill him, Remus realized. It was the curse to the Oath. It bound them as one, bound their lives as one, and if one of them fell they would fall as one. It was meant to be cast among people of the same age, not among people twenty years apart. When either he or Sirius died—though Remus had a sickening idea that it would be him, as his affliction shortened his lifespan considerably—he would drag Harry with him because those tangled in such oaths were not meant to live without the others.

They had doomed Harry to an early death…

"Remus," Sirius said sharply, looking at the clock over the mantelpiece, "moonrise is in ten minutes. We better go down to the cellar."

Remus paled, mentally berating himself. He had completely lost track of time and such slips were dangerous with Sirius untransformed and Harry sleeping nearby. He gently eased Harry away from his arm, grimacing when his aching joints protested. Remus couldn't hide some embarrassment and irritation when Sirius felt the need to help him to his feet, but accepted his friend's hand nonetheless.

"I'll put Harry to bed," Sirius whispered. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Remus nodded then leaned over to plant a light kiss on the child's forehead. Harry made some sleepy murmurs in response, and when Remus made his way to the cellar, he was trying to remember when boggarts had stopped turning into round orbs whenever he was near.

A face… who was it?

Harry tried to look closer but there was a buzz all around him, like the static on the telly Dudley used to watch a long time ago. Harry waved his arms, trying to push the fog away, but it curved around him like snow.

The man—it was a man, Harry knew instinctively—opened his mouth and began to speak.

'A…' the rest of his words was broken up by the drone.

'What are you saying?' Harry asked him.

The man's face wasn't blurring as much. Rather, it grew steadily clearer, and Harry realized why he couldn't make out his features. The man had none. He was wearing a white mask.

'…nt… ha… you…'

'What?' Harry asked, confused. 'Please, I can't hear you. Say it again.'

The man was reaching out, breaking away from the buzz around him and ripping through the fog. Suddenly, the man was standing in front of him cloaked in dark flowing robes, looking down at him through the holes in the white mask. Harry stared back.

'It's you…' the man breathed. His voice was hoarse but familiar.

Harry peered up at his curiously. His eyes captivated him. They were a pale blue, like ice chips, and Harry knew those eyes…

'You have Sirius' eyes,' Harry told him, smiling. 'Your eyes are just like my godfather's.'

The man sank to his knees. He was shaking. 'You. Why is it you again?'

The man sounded wounded. Harry reached out to reassuringly pat him on the head.

'You dreamt about me before?'

'For years…'

'Really?' Harry was fascinated.

'For three years…' the man looked at him with an emotion that Harry couldn't discern. 'But you're speaking to me.'

Harry was bewildered. 'Am I not supposed to?'

'You never did before.'

Harry didn't know what to make of it. 'Are you a Seer, sir?'

The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. He lifted his hand and, slowly, almost fearfully, he pressed his fingertips against Harry's forehead and trialed them down the side of his face.

'I never knew ghosts could be touched,' he breathed in wonder.

'I'm not a ghost,' Harry said.

The man flinched back as if burned and suddenly, he was trembling madly again.

'Go,' he said. His eyes were wild. 'Stop haunting me. Don't come into my dreams anymore!'

Harry took a few steps back. 'I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know…'

'Go away!' The man lashed out but his hand faltered and froze just before Harry's face. 'Go away…'

'Sir, I…'

'Go away!!'

Harry awoke with a hoarse gasp. It was dark and for a terrified moment, Harry thought he was still trapped in that dream with that strange, tormented man. But then, slowly, he began to notice the blankets tangled around his shoulders and the outline of his four-poster above his head. Squinting, Harry sat up and recognized the familiar and comforting surroundings of his own bedroom.

Automatically, he shuffled around his nightstand for his glasses—he always placed them there, and if he had fallen asleep elsewhere, then Remus or Sirius always placed them there for him—and pushed them on shakily. His hands were trembling. Harry stared at them with detached confusion. His hands never shook unless he had a vision, but that dream… what was that dream? It didn't feel like a premonition, a nightmare or even a figment of his imagination. It felt…

Harry shuddered. It felt as though he just had a conversation with a ghost.

But was that even possible? Harry furiously tried to remember any of Dumbledore's lessons that might hint at it, but his mind drew a blank. He barely knew anything about spirits, except that they were strongest during nights of complete lunar eclipses and…

'Revenge… its revenge…'

Harry froze.

'… he's haunting me.'

"Sir?" Harry called out apprehensively. "Are you here?"

Silence. Anxiously, Harry glanced around—more of an instinctual response really, because he already felt that his room was empty—and slowly tried to reach out with magic. Whatever apparition that had surrounded him earlier was gradually fading. Fragments lingered and Harry prodded at them tentatively. Who… Harry blinked. Sirius?

It was Sirius' presence that colored the room. Harry bit his lip. And why wouldn't it? This had been his room. And Sirius was probably the one who had tucked him in last night. Harry sank back against the pillows, rubbing his forehead. He must have been half dreaming when he heard those voices…

Though how long had he been asleep? Harry glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sat up sharply. There was a small orb hovering above his lamp—a charm he had placed there to remind himself of the moon phases—and Harry noted with a sinking stomach that it was nearly translucent. He had completely slept past the full moon! Remus had transformed back nearly two hours ago…

The dream and the voices completely forgotten, Harry scrambled out of bed and frantically dug around his closet for a spare blanket. Remus would need one; he always used the downstairs guestroom after transformations because the stairs were troublesome and Harry hadn't set extra blankets in it yet and it had to be cold… oh, how could he have missed it? It was one of the longest full moons that year! Well, not the longest, but… he still hadn't wanted to miss it…

Harry finally uncovered a thin woolen blanket and hauled it with him as he ran, barefoot and still in his pajamas, downstairs. He nearly tripped over the thing several times before he thought to levitate it over his head.

How had he slept through Remus' change? He never had before. It always sent him into a fit of shivers—perhaps that was why his hands were shaking after the dream? The feeling wasn't painful but terribly uncomfortable, like there was something squishy moving around in his joints. He knew the bits of what he could sense were just a fraction of what Remus was feeling. Harry tried to imagine the pain of having all his limbs bent apart but couldn't. It was too awful…

He ran past the living room—skidding on the rug and nearly falling all over again—weaving through the various corridors in the Moor House. The guestroom Remus always used was a rather secluded one beside the library, and Harry hurriedly hushed his footsteps as he neared it. He didn't want to disturb him if he was resting.

Cautiously, he cracked open the heavy door.

"…ur hand," came his godfather's voice. He sounded like he was speaking through a yawn. "You should have Harry transfigure the walls in the cellar into marshmallow."

Harry blinked.

"No," said Remus quietly. His voice was slightly hoarse, but he was speaking which was a good sign. "Then not only will Padfoot get sugar high, the house will sink on its foundations."

Harry opened the door a bit wider and peaked inside. Sirius was sitting on the spare chair beside the bed, rummaging through a drawer and looking very tired. He was pale and his hair was rumpled, and there were streaks of dust along his cheeks that seemed to add to the shadows under his eyes. He couldn't see Remus—he was lying on his side, facing the fireplace, and Harry could only see his back—but Harry had a sickening feeling that he looked much worse.

"Hm… something other than wood and dirt," Sirius said. He fished out several glass vials from the drawer and set them on the nightstand. "Your fingers look like rats chewed them."

Harry cringed.

"Hand," Sirius instructed, pulling out his wand.

"Oh no." Remus immediately hid his hands under the covers. "You're awful at those spells. I'll just take the potions, thank you."

"My healing spells are perfectly fine," Sirius patiently said, as if speaking to a very stubborn child.

"No, they are not!" Remus scooted back, hissing in pain when his abused muscles protested, and shot a warning glare at Sirius when he looked about to intervene. "The last time you attempted to heal anything, my rib was transfigured into a quill. Put that thing down!"

"Okay. Potions. Okay."

Sirius transfigured a stray novel into a pillow—to which Remus objected but was dutifully ignored—and tried to help Remus sit up. Or he would have helped if Remus hadn't shot him that patented Remus look which Sirius had entitled 'go away, you are insulting my dignity' and Harry had entitled 'I have this situation fully under control, you are dismissed, thank you very much.' Remus kept him pinned until Sirius quickly sat down again.

"What possessed Moony to try to dig his way to Mongolia?" Sirius asked after a pause, picking at an unraveling embroidery on the blanket. He watched Remus methodically drain the row of little glass vials on the nightstand out of the corner of his eye.

"No, I'm pretty sure if he were trying to dig to anywhere, it probably would have been Siberia. There are dozens of werewolf colonies in that region," Remus mused with a slight grimace. The last vial was apparently quite bitter. "But I don't know the answer. Ask Moony next month."

"Maybe. Well, anyway, thanks to you, we now have a Harry sized hole in the middle of the cellar."

Remus tiredly sank back against the pillows. He flexed his mauled fingers experimentally. "Is it that bad?"

"It's a good sized barbecue pit. We should take advantage of it."

"Sirius, there's not enough ventilation. We'd suffocate."

"No we won't. We could just move a few potted plants that could" Sirius made a hazy gesture, "burp out our oxygen."

Remus lifted his head, blinking at Sirius owlishly. "It's called byproducts of photosynthesis, and Sirius, what book have you been reading lately?"

"Some muggle gardening magazine…" Sirius examined the ceiling thoughtfully, "what was it… umm… Greenhouse something…"

"I give up. Sirius, try that and I'll call Madam Pomfrey into resuscitate you in an hour. Go on." Remus nudged the side of Sirius' head with an elbow and Sirius, grinning, tilted out of the way.

"Does it have to be her? Couldn't you call someone in from St. Mungos? Someone with less gray in her hair and preferably with larger—"

"Sirius, you're horrible," Remus groaned. "Don't ever go near anyone with high blood pressure."

"No, I meant that quite seriously…"

Harry made himself comfortable at the doorway. His two guardians seemed to have fallen back into their comfortable bantering—though their comfortable bantering was always a bit different when he was present; Harry was having some trouble understanding some of the things Sirius was saying—and Harry didn't want to intrude. He should go make breakfast…

But just when Harry decided not to be noticed, it seemed to completely backfire. Sirius looked to the partially opened door and suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Harry?" Sirius leaned over the edge of the chair to peer at the child. "What are you doing, standing in the hallway? It's freezing. Come inside."

Harry squeezed himself through the crack of the door. Sirius made room for him on the chair and he climbed on, blankets and all, and huddled into the corner.

"Harry, you're like a little ice cube," Sirius murmured, drawing him into a loose one-armed hug and lightly ruffled his hair (that was their every morning tradition. It couldn't be missed). "How long were you standing there?" A pause, and then slightly more uncomfortably, "What did you hear me say?"

"Something about Madam Pomfrey having too much gray hair," Harry noted quietly, and when Sirius blanched, quickly added, "Don't worry. I won't tell her you said that."

Oddly, Sirius didn't look comforted at all.

Remus smiled warmly at him. "Slept well?" he asked, carefully propping himself up.

Harry smiled back. But that quickly faded when he remembered why he was there in the first place. "I… I missed it. I'm really sorry. Are you okay?"

That was a meaningless question. He didn't look 'okay'. He was so pale that he looked nearly ghastly, and the bony angles jutting through his shirt weren't what normal people had. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, and Harry knew that once they left him alone, Remus would sleep like someone comatose.

But Remus still nodded. "Nothing happened. Apparently, according to Sirius' account, Moony did nothing memorable."

Harry bit his lip. "But I still shouldn't have missed it."

"Harry, see this?" Sirius asked, tugging lightly on a lock of Harry's hair. "It's going to become just like Moony's in five years if you keep this up. Oversleeping is a good sign, despite what books say about it."

"But Moony's hair is neat! It makes him look like…" Harry furrowed his brow in thought, "a would be Professor Dumbledore without the beard."

He had meant it quite seriously but Remus' lips twitched and Sirius dissolved into barely concealed sniggers.

"Don't let McGonagall hear you say that. She'll never bring you any more chocolate frogs." Sirius grinned, messily rumpling Harry's unruly mop again. Harry didn't bother to dodge his godfather's attempts to corrupt his hair.

"But you always buy more chocolate frogs than we can eat," Harry pointed out. "Remus had to set a lot of them free last month."

"A pity too," Sirius huffed. "There was a miniature Candyland coming into creation before a big, bad wolf puffed it down."

"Puffed…? Oh, you prat," Remus muttered, rolling his eyes skyward, "I never thought cannibalism was possible among carbohydrates but there was an active food chain growing in the pantry. The gingerbread men were devouring each other. I was beginning to fear that the chocolate frogs would start breeding."

"That's a good sign. We could have an everlasting supply of sugar right there."

Harry blinked. Speaking of sugar…

"I have to make breakfast!" Harry remembered suddenly. "I almost forgot about it. What should I—"

Harry quieted. The strangest feeling washed over him just then, like he was being buried in snow. For a moment—a second, a minute, an hour, Harry didn't know—everything stood in frozen silence and a pulsing drone, a whisper that felt like it was coming from far, far away, drummed in the back of his mind.

And then, it passed.

Harry shook his head slightly, trying to clear the cotton that seemed to have become his mind, and blinked furiously.

"Harry?"

Sirius' face drifted into view and Harry was disoriented, wondering why his godfather was so blurry. Harry peered up at him.

"Sirius?" Harry slurred out. His mouth felt stuffed full of cotton. "What happened?"

"Harry, you blanked out for a moment. Are you okay?" Sirius asked, very pale. Harry suddenly noticed that he was slumped against his godfather's shoulder, limp like a rag doll and half lying in Remus' bed, but Harry couldn't remember when he had moved.

"It… I felt something," Harry mumbled distantly.

"What did you feel?" Remus' head floated over him along with Sirius', watching over him anxiously.

"Numb… really quiet." Harry blinked. A part of him knew he should be frightened, but he just couldn't work out why. He vaguely thought something was familiar about the buzz that rang softly in his ears but… where did I hear it? It's so familiar… "Ghost."

"What?" Sirius voice seemed to echo.

Harry was having trouble making out his godfather's face. It was fading away steadily and Harry tried to figure out why but his thoughts felt heavy…

"I spoke to a ghost last night," Harry whispered. "I—"

'… fa… mo…ng…'

Harry squinted. "Who is it?"

"What? Harry, what are you talking about?"

'… burn it….'

Did Sirius say that? Harry wondered. It sounds just like him.

'…end it early. Force…'

'…no. We need to…'

"Harry."

'Then burn it. Burn it to the ground.'

"Harry!"

*

Fanart! Christy drew an adorable picture of the flashback scene in which Harry became an animagus. She also drew the scene from Hunting for Marbles, when Sirius, grinning rather manically, is leading Ron and Hermione off to the Moor House. Go see, then visit her website because she has some amazing works.

Replies to reviews posted on ACKisms: the link is on my profile (ffNET filters out http links so I can't really post it here)

The previous version of CoS never did flesh out the friendship between Sirius and Remus. It was just mentioned that they bickered a lot, but they were never shown in action. I always told myself it'll be shown later on, but considering all the conflict arising later, well… it didn't seem like a good idea. So some things were reshuffled a bit and worked around. The previous chapter two really resolved absolutely nothing. It just took up pointless space. I hope this rewritten chapter was more informative, and I hope you're enjoying it more than the previous version.

I'm sorry! I know a lot of you are pissed off I never got around to explaining how the hell Sirius got out of that fix. But considering the majority of CoS blabbered on about absolutely nothing, it should reach that point around chapter 10 to 12 in this version. I'm hoping to keep this pace a lot faster. Or perhaps it's still the same, considering the chapters are longer than they were originally. Hm…

As for Of Snow, well, I never did get around to finishing it, did I? The story was suppose to be a two part thing but I lost sight of the plot (and forgot what I had planned for it) sometime through the eight month break I took from the WS verse. There's a new plot for it in the works, but it's rather… weird, and I'm sort of afraid to finish it off because it brushes (doesn't land in, but it does brush on it a bit) on a WS taboo of sorts, but the idea already logged itself and I can't get rid of it. Nonetheless, I'll be uploading what I have of it soon as a separate story. The other part… well… that'll have to wait until around 3 am when I'm partially drunk on sleeplessness and feeling especially brave.