Summary: Things are looking up for Harry Potter. He’s engaged to Ginny, he has some good friends and he’s finally learning how to have fun. But what adventures must he go through before he can finally recite his wedding oath? Sequel to my previous story ‘The List’. I suggest you read that one first or much of this will be confusing.
Rating: R
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: The List
Published: 2012.08.12
Updated: 2012.11.07
The Oath by Brennus
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - If you want to get into it…
Author's Notes: Chapter One- If you want to get into it…
Harry groaned softly as he dragged his poor, aching feet forward another step. He had no idea how long he had been in this place and was starting to lose all sense of reality. He was beginning to wonder how much longer he could last.
To his left, his fiancé, Ginny Weasley, trudged along with a vacant expression on her face. Sensing him looking at her, Ginny turned her head and gave Harry a weak smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. Harry was worried about her. She was clearly near her breaking-point and he didn’t think he had the strength to catch her if she fell. Damn this place.
Shuffling along, the pair of them entered a white room with overly bright lighting. Objects were scattered around the place seemingly at random. Harry felt himself stiffen as he contemplated what fresh tortures awaited him. He obediently moved in front of the first object, his resistance having been broken hours before. He and Ginny looked expectantly at their captor, awaiting instructions.
Their tormentor turned and looked at them with a bright smile. “Oh, now this is a very interesting piece of work. The artist really has a wonderful sense of scale and challenges your perception of what you are seeing!” she said happily. Harry looked at the small pile of black and white boxes which supposedly were the ‘interesting piece of work’. Frankly, he had seen his Godson Teddy create more interesting things while he was being potty trained.
It was their own fault. They had been happily sat at the large kitchen table at the Burrow, Ginny’s family home, drinking tea and eating slices of Molly’s delicious fruit cake when Hermione arrived through the Floo. She had been furious at her fiancé, Ginny’s brother Ron, who had promised to accompany her to an art gallery that morning but had suddenly had to deal with an ‘emergency’ at the shop. Apparently, Hermione had been looking forward to seeing the exhibition for months and clearly didn’t believe Ron’s excuse for a moment.
Foolishly, Harry and Ginny had taken pity on the bushy-haired girl and agreed to accompany her, on condition they go somewhere nice for lunch. Hermione had been ecstatic and had promised them a wonderful day out. Unfortunately, it appeared Hermione’s idea of wonderful was significantly different than theirs.
Harry's suspicions were first aroused when, after Apparating to London, she led then to the Tate Modern Gallery. It was an ugly building that Harry always thought should have vultures circling above it. On entering the sparsely furnished building, their worst fears were confirmed. The art on exhibition made absolutely no sense at all to either of them. Hermione, however, was in seventh heaven as she eagerly moved from exhibit to exhibit. She took in every small detail of each piece, consulting her handbook and giving extended lectures about ‘shape’ and ‘form’. The secret to modern art was, apparently, understanding the meaning the artist had put into the work. Every piece had a story, and you had to understand what it was trying to say to you. After staring at a piece of canvas that the artist had apparently just randomly thrown some paint pots at for ten minutes, Harry felt the message that was being conveyed was ‘I can’t paint’.
Hermione was without mercy, however. She led them from floor to floor, lecturing them as she went. Very little of what she was saying made any sense to Harry and Ginny, and how she managed to spend nearly twenty minutes in deep contemplation of what appeared to be an unmade bed was beyond them. They had walked miles round the gallery and Harry, who was not adverse to a bit of walking, had aching feet. His brain was numb from Hermione’s constant commentary and bored rigid looking at artwork that he thought a five year-old might be slightly embarrassed at producing. At one point they had even been presented with a cow, cut down the middle, and preserved in formaldehyde. Hermione had thought it a meaningful reflection on modern society and Ginny had thought it a waste of a good barbecue.
After trudging about for hours, Ginny pulled Harry to one side. “I’m bored out of my mind, Harry,” she complained. “I can’t stand much more of this. I’m on the verge of killing Hermione and hanging her body on a wall somewhere. With a bit of luck everyone will think she’s one of the exhibits.”
Harry suppressed a snigger. “You’re right. But remember, if you kill Hermione, I’ll have to arrest you. I’m sure that will upset your Mum.”
“I’m glad that my Mother’s opinion of you ranks higher than concerns of your future wife spending the rest of her life in Azkaban,” Ginny grumbled.
“Hey, I’ve seen your Mum angry,” he countered. “Seriously, I think it’s time we reminded Miss-encyclopaedia-on-legs of our condition for coming to this hellhole today.” Ginny’s face immediately brightened.
“Lunch! We said we had to go somewhere nice for lunch. Maybe if I can get drunk enough I can stand walking around the rest of this madhouse,” Ginny said happily. Striding forward with renewed purpose, they caught up to Hermione.
“Right, we have decided it's way past lunch time, Hermione. We’re both really hungry and fancy some pub-grub,” Harry informed her. Hermione’s face fell.
“But we still have so much more to see, Harry! There’s a café on a lower floor where we could grab a sandwich, that way he won’t lose too much time,” Hermione suggested. Harry groaned but Ginny was not going to be denied.
“No, Hermione. Our condition for coming here was that we would have a nice lunch somewhere, not some mass produced, plastic-wrapped, overpriced sandwich. I want proper food and a drink. Besides, one of our favourite pubs is just over the Millennium Bridge, so it won’t take too long to get to. It was the place Harry took me to on our first-ever date.”
For being such an intelligent and practical girl, Hermione was also something of a romantic. On hearing that they would be going to the location of her friends' first date, she relented and they were soon making their way out of the Gallery and across the substantial footbridge. After a short walk in the direction of St Paul’s Cathedral, they soon arrived at the pub. Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief.
They descended to the basement area and found a suitable table. Harry went to the bar and returned with drinks for them all: lager for him and Ginny, lemonade for Hermione. Hermione declared her need to visit the little girl’s room and headed to the toilets. As soon as she left, Ginny leaned forward and muttered urgently to Harry.
“I’ve changed my mind, Harry! I don’t care how drunk I get, I’m not going back to that bloody art gallery,” she said desperately.
“In that case, you get to tell Hermione that we’re not going back,” Harry informed her. Ginny groaned and started lightly banging her head against the table.
“Why can’t that girl just lighten up and just get drunk occasionally like the rest of us?” Ginny complained. Suddenly, her head shot up and a wicked grin appeared on her face. “That’s it, Harry! We just need to get Hermione so drunk she won’t care about going back to the gallery.”
“Good luck with that,” Harry said, pointing to Hermione’s glass of lemonade. “I really can’t image her suddenly agreeing to start a heavy drinking session at lunchtime. It just doesn’t seem like her, you know?” Ginny was not to be deterred.
“I have an idea,” she declared, before vanishing to the bar. A minute later she returned with a glass containing an inch or so of clear liquid. Taking Hermione’s glass, Ginny drank an equal amount of lemonade before replacing it with the contents of her new glass. She then placed Hermione’s drink back where it was and hid the empty glass on a neighbouring table. Harry looked at her suspiciously.
“What did you put in Hermione’s drink?” he asked Ginny.
“Vodka,” his fiancé replied calmly.
“What!” Harry exploded. “You spiked her drink?”
“Yup.”
“That’s a pretty low thing to do to a friend!” he accused her.
“Harry, answer me honestly. Do you really want to have to go back to that bloody art gallery? And if not, can you think of any other way of getting out of it?”
Harry started to reply but realised that he most certainly didn’t want to go back, but for the life of him couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. Once Hermione had decided she wanted to do something, she was relentless. If Harry and Ginny bailed on her now, they would never hear the end of it. Fortunately, Harry was spared giving a reply by Hermione’s return.
“Sorry I was so long,” Hermione apologised. “There was a queue at the loo.” She then took a large sip of her drink. Pulling the glass away from her lips, she looked at it critically. “This lemonade tastes a bit funny to me,” she declared.
“It’s organic, Hermione,” Ginny lied smoothly. “I think they crush their own lemons here. Much better than that tasteless, mass-produced stuff, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” Hermione replied, obviously delighted with the idea she was drinking something home produced. “I just wasn’t used to the taste. It’s got a bit more bite to it than normal lemonade, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, it most certainly has,” Harry mumbled, earning him a kick under the table from Ginny. While Hermione took another sip, he contemplated the moral ramifications of allowing the girl to continue to drink from the spiked glass. After all, he was an Auror. He shouldn’t be allowing this sort of thing, should he?
While little angel Harry told him he should immediately put a stop to this, little devil Harry told him that would be a very bad idea. While it was likely that Hermione would react very badly to being told she had been slipped alcohol, Ginny would be furious at him for ratting her out. Hermione might be upset at him for a while, but Ginny would likely physically harm him, probably in a place he really didn’t want to be harmed. She would also certainly stop his bedroom privileges, which was definitely something he didn’t want to have happen. In the end, little devil Harry won easily. The fear of him not getting his leg over on a regular basis being too much for even little angel Harry to stand. Harry kept his mouth shut.
To distract the ladies from further discussion regarding the benefits of hand-pressed lemons, Harry grabbed several menus from a stand at the side of the table and enquired what everyone wanted to eat. Ginny took a menu from his hand while giving him a look that clearly said that she understood that he had decided he would say nothing to Hermione, and he should keep it like that if he wanted to avoid castration. He quickly dropped his gaze to the menu.
“I want a burger,” Ginny declared. “A big, juicy burger, preferably the size of my head. And chips. Oh, and a pot of garlic mayonnaise to dip the chips in.” Whatever faults Ginny had, taking a long time to order food was defiantly not one of them. Hermione, however, clearly did not approve of her choice.
“That’s not a very healthily option, Ginny,” she said critically. “You eat far too much red meat as it is. It’s not good for you.”
Ginny fixed her friend with an unfriendly stare. No one kept a Weasley away from the food of their choice. “Hermione, which out of the two of us would you say was the fitter?” Ginny asked.
Hermione huffed at the question. “Well, you are, obviously. You’re a professional sportswoman and I sit at a desk all day.”
“Exactly, Hermione. I play sports and do physical exercise everyday. I burn off loads of calories and I need my sustenance. When I stop playing, I’ll pay a bit more attention to my diet.” Ginny said. Harry doubted that would be the case. All the other Weasleys seemed to eat like horses but never gained any weight. They must have a very fast metabolism, he guessed.
“Huh,” snorted Hermione, with the usual lack of good grace she always displayed whenever she lost an argument. “Well, I’ll have the pasta bake.” She flung the menu down on the table as if it had offended her, which in an indirect way, it probably had.
“I think I’ll join you, Ginny, the burger sounds good,” Harry confirmed. He started to stand so he could go to the bar to place their orders but Ginny stopped him.
“I’ll get these, Harry, my treat,” she offered. “I might as well get another round of drinks while I’m up. Hermione, why don’t you have a proper drink this time? A nice glass of white wine will go nicely with your pasta.”
“No thanks, Ginny,” Hermione responded. “I don’t really like drinking at lunch-times, and besides, I don’t want my senses impaired when we go back to the Tate Modern.”
Harry swore he saw Ginny twitch at the mention of the gallery and he could also see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to think of a response. Suddenly, an idea popped into Harry’s head. He turned towards the bushy haired witch. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, Hermione,” he informed her.
“What do you mean?” she replied, looking confused.
“Well, what I mean is, all art is subjective, right?” He had heard Hermione say something like that earlier. “It’s largely down in individual interpretation?” Hermione nodded, looking at Harry like he had grown another head.
“In that case, how art is perceived is down to the perception of the individual. That person will project their own tastes and experiences on the artwork, no matter what the intention of the artist is.” Harry had no idea where he was coming up with this stuff. The fact Ginny was staring at him open-mouthed suggested she didn’t either. “Well, that being the case, a person with strong personal character traits is more likely to project their own interpretation over the artwork and possibly miss the true purpose behind it. You, Hermione, are very intelligent and have a very analytical mind. If anything, you over-analyse everything and are maybe seeing things that just aren’t there.”
Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “Are you trying to say I’m uptight?” She asked accusingly.
“Err, not exactly. What I’m getting at is that art should have as much of an emotional impact on the viewer as an intellectual one. It should appeal to the heart as much as the brain. The rational, analytical side of your brain is much more prevalent than your instinctive, emotional side and you could be missing out by not experiencing the other side of things.”
Hermione appeared to consider that, possibly trying to decide if she had just been insulted. She then looked at Harry questioningly. “Okay, let’s assume that I do have a habit of over-analysing things. What do you suggest I do to free up this more emotional side of my consciousness?” she asked.
“Just relax,” he replied, springing the trap. “Having a few glasses of wine will help you.” Next to him he could almost fell Ginny’s glee at his well-reasoned argument.
Hermione, however, was not fully sold yet. “I don’t know, Harry. I mean, I see your point, but it just doesn’t sound like the way I would approach things,” she said hesitantly.
“Exactly!” Harry cried triumphantly. “You need to try something new. Think of it as a scientific experiment, if you like. You could even go back to the artworks that you viewed before, to see if you have a different perspective on them. After all, as a famous Muggle philosopher once said, if you want to get into it…you have to get out of it!” To the best of Harry’s knowledge, no Muggle philosopher had ever said any such thing. He had, in fact, taken the line from one of Sirius’s old Hawkwind albums, but he was fairly confident that Hermione was not a regular listener to the space-rock band.
Hermione just looked at him blankly for a second before a determined look came onto her face. “I’ll have a small white wine, then please, Ginny,” she said. Harry grinned.
2 hours later
Harry looked over at Hermione, who was currently tapping the upended bottle of a rather nice South African white over her glass. She had managed to finish the bottle entirely by herself and Harry smiled at how well his evil plan had worked. Hermione had not mentioned the art gallery once in the last hour. He could only marvel at how his speech regarding art interpretation had worked. It was, after all, just a load of bollocks he had made up on the spot. Fortunately, as he worked for the Government, talking bollocks was something he was well practiced in.
Ginny was currently sipping her pint of Guinness, a drink she had recently become very partial to, and was looking sympathetically at her female friend. Hermione had spent the last forty minutes complaining about how thoughtless her fiancé Ron was. As Ron was Ginny’s brother, it was obviously a subject she could relate to.
“I mean, Ginny, my own fiancé, the man I’m going to marry, and he can’t even be bothered to come with me today. If he’s not interested in something, then he doesn’t care that I am. He’s so selfish!” Hermione’s speech was becoming a bit slurred and she seemed close to tears.
“He’s a git,” Ginny confirmed. She was becoming rather mellow and wore a happy smile of someone who had just avoided doing something they really didn’t want to do.
“Ron knew I’d been looking forward to going to that exhibition for ages, and what does he do? He blows me off! Crisis at the shop, he says! Have to take care of it immediately, he says! Skiving off so he doesn’t have to come with me, more like! Merlin knows, if anybody needs a bit of culture, it's Ron.” Hermione wailed miserably.
“Ron’s thick,” Ginny stated. “And do you know why he’s thick? Its cos’ he’s a bloke!”
“Oh, thanks a lot,” grumbled Harry. Ginny sniggered and leant over to kiss him.
“Harry, just because you are a bit more enlightened than most blokes doesn’t mean that the rest of them aren’t thick,” she purred.
“By ‘enlightened’ do you mean ‘just do everything that you tell me to do’?” Harry asked.
“Same difference,” she giggled and kissed him again.
“See! Look at you two. Always snogging in public. I’m jealous of you, Ginny!” Hermione moaned.
“What? You want to snog Harry?” Ginny asked, looked a bit offended.
“Eh? No, I didn’t mean that! Well, I might have a bit; he’s not bad, is he? But I meant Ron. He never shows any affection to me in public. Merlin, he shows precious little affection to me in private.” Hermione explained. Ginny frowned.
“What do you mean, Hermione? Is the physical side of your relationship no good? I’m surprised, we Weasleys are normally a passionate lot.”
“Well, not exactly. I mean, we do have sex. But do you know what the problem with it is?” Hermione asked. Ginny shook her head and looked at her friend expectantly. So did the couple at the neighbouring table, who apparently had decided Hermione and Ginny’s conversation was more interesting than their own.
“It’s predictable. Too bloody predictable! Always the same; climb on, bang away for a while, climb off, fall asleep! Always the same. He never tries anything new. I mean, he wouldn’t even try putting on those handcuffs I bought…”
Harry leapt into the conversation at this point, to the obvious disappointment of the people at the neighbouring table. “Okay, Hermione! That’s a bit too much information. Have you tried talking to Ron about this?” Harry asked, ignoring Ginny who was cackling merrily.
“Oh, he doesn’t listen.” Hermione sounded tragic.
“You should go and tell him right now!” Ginny cried. “I expect there was no crisis at the shop either. I bet you can catch him sitting around reading Quidditch magazines as well!” This seemed to inflame Hermione.
“You’re right!” she cried. “Let’s go there right now!” Hermione stood and started heading for the exit before Harry and Ginny realised what she was doing. Quickly chugging the last of their drinks, they hurried after their somewhat unsteady friend.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Ron Weasley leaned against the end of the counter of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, idly leafing through the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly. It would soon be closing time, but the shop still had a number of customers browsing the shelves, including a group of school-aged boys who were laughing among themselves and a couple of attractive teenage girls looking over the Wonder Witch product line. Ron grinned at one of them and she giggled before looking away with flaming cheeks.
All in all, Ron had enjoyed a good day. He had been trying for weeks to think of reasons to get out of going to the boring art gallery that Hermione had been going on about. Eventually, he had persuaded his brother George, who was currently at the other end of the counter reviewing the day’s takings, to make a Floo call that morning to report an imaginary crisis at the shop. Hermione hadn’t been happy, but he had a valid excuse not to go to the gallery. He had then spent a lazy day lounging around the shop with a large lunch in the Leaky Cauldron thrown in. Soon, he would head home with a made-up story of how much time he had spent trying to sort out the problems in the shop. He smiled contentedly.
Suddenly, the front door of the shop was thrown open with such force that several nearby displays were knocked over. An angry and quite tipsy witch stalked into the shop with a face like thunder. Ron’s legs immediately turned to jelly as he recognised his fiancé Hermione Granger advancing at him with murder in her eyes. Ron quickly slid the Quidditch magazine under the counter hoping Hermione hadn’t noticed it. He was out of luck.
“RONALD WEASLEY,” Hermione raged, “YOU TOTAL GIT!”
“You tell him, Hermione!” shouted a voice. Ron then noticed his sister Ginny and her fiancé, Harry Potter, had followed Hermione into the shop. They both appeared to be finding the whole thing funny.
“Hermione, love, I was just finishing up here. It’s been a bugger of a day and…” Ron began but was soon cut off.
“Don’t give me that! I know you’ve been doing sod all! Think I didn’t notice the Quidditch magazine? I bet that’s all you been doing all day, reading that!” Hermione snarled.
“What? No, I’ve been really busy all day, haven’t I, George?” Ron appealed to his older brother, who was watching with an amused grin. Verity, the other member of staff present, had started trying to shuffle as far away from Ron as possible. As Ron met George’s eyes he had a sudden feeling of panic. George had been pretty reluctant to make the Floo call that morning, would he be prepared to lie further for him? Apparently not.
“Sorry, Ronniekins. I agreed to call you this morning with that made-up story about a problem in the shop because you kept whining on about it, but I never agreed to anything more than that. You, Ron, have spent the day sitting on your arse and generally getting in the way. If you’d helped out a bit more today, I might have covered for you, but as you didn’t, I have no worries about telling the truth!” George was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Ron turned to his by now furious fiancé.
“Err…” he said intelligently.
“So you’d rather just sit about all day reading about Quidditch than spend the day with the woman you plan to marry?” Hermione slurred at him angrily.
“Are you drunk?” Ron asked, surprised. Hermione never got drunk. Mind you, she never stormed into the shop screaming at him at the top of her voice either, so this really was a day of firsts.
“Damn right, I’m drunk,” she snarled, “and let me tell you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, things are going to change around here!” Ron sighed. He knew he was busted and all he could do was take his punishment like a man. He straightened his shoulders and looked at his fiancé expectantly.
“Firstly, you’re going to spend more time with me. If I want to go to a bloody art gallery you are going to come with me and bloody like it, you big tosser!” Ron nodded sadly. Hermione did come with him to Quidditch games occasionally, after all, so it was only fair that he accompany her when she went to places she enjoyed. He started to feel a bit of a heel for blowing her off today.
“Secondly,” Hermione said, waving two fingers at him. He was fairly sure this was just to demonstrate this was her second point and not a rude gesture at him. “Secondly, you will actually listen to me when I tell you something. If I tell you that your table manners are atrocious, it means I want you to improve them. If I tell you our love life is boring, it’s because I want you to do something about it!” Ron looked around in consternation.
“This really isn’t the place or time to discuss this, Hermione,” he hissed at her.
“No, it’s never the bloody time, is it? You're always more interested in listening to Quidditch matches on the radio, aren’t you?” Ron felt his guilt building. He had put off what he had thought would be a difficult conversation by insisting he was going to listen to a match once. Or was it twice? “We are getting married in a few months. We are supposed to be a young couple in love, and that means we are supposed to act like it.” She pointed back at Ginny and Harry who were stood behind her.
“Look at those two,” she declared. “That’s how a young couple in love are supposed to act! They can’t keep their hands off each other. They’re at it like bunnies!” Ron turned bright red. The very last thing he wanted to hear about was his sister’s love life. “And what are we like?” Hermione ploughed on relentlessly. “I’m lucky if I get a quickie once a week! Assuming, of course, you haven’t vanished down the pub with Seamus and Dean, or aren't listening to the sodding Quidditch! Oh, and by the way, Ron, remembering to take your socks off before getting into bed does not constitute foreplay!”
With his cheeks flaming, Ron tried to reason with Hermione once again. “Hermione, love, can we please wait until…” he managed to say before Hermione cut him off.
“Shut up, Ron. I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going back to my flat now and I will expect you to join me within half an hour. Bring flowers. And chocolates. And a nice bottle of wine. And once there you will make love to me all night, got it? Not your usual three minute effort followed by your falling asleep, okay? Right!” With that Hermione swiftly turned around and walked unsteadily out the shop, oblivious that she had knocked over several displays on the way. With a wave goodbye, Harry and Ginny followed her out the door.
Ron closed his eyes, grateful at least that the humiliation had ended. Unfortunately, he was not that lucky. A few seconds later, a clearly inebriated Harry Potter came back through the door.
“Ron, RON,” he called in a stage whisper which everyone in the shop could clearly hear. “Don’t worry about it, mate. I can lend you some great Muggle books about nookie. Just read them and I promise you won’t be nearly so useless in bed. I’ll drop them off next time I’m at the Burrow. Don’t let your Mum see them, though.” With that, Harry gave him a happy wave and staggered after the two witches.
Ron stood straight as he desperately tried to salvage what little dignity he had left. He looked despairingly around the shop. The teenage girls and the schoolboys were openly laughing at him. Verity was desperately trying not to laugh, but not doing a very good job. George, of course, felt no such need for restraint and was currently rolling around on the floor howling with laughter. Ron sighed and made a vow that next time he would just go to the bloody art gallery.
Author Notes
Hello, I’m back. Did you miss me? I missed you; we really should meet up more often. Anyway, this chapter kicks off my sequel to ‘The List’ which I really hadn’t planned to do. But as several people requested it, I thought I would give it a shot. Once I got started it largely wrote itself. The remaining twelve chapters are all written and just need betaing, so hopefully up-dates should be fairly quick.
For this chapter I think there are two points that need to be addressed: -
The art gallery. Yes, I know I’m making Harry far too autobiographical but you should write about what you know, right? Being married to a fine art student in the third year of her degree, I get taken to a lot of galleries. Most of them I quite enjoy, but I hate the Tate Modern with a passion and most modern art in general. That may make me a philistine (according to Mrs Brennus) but I don’t care. I guess I’m just a pre-Raphaelite type of guy really.
Ginny spiking Hermione. I agonised over this and in the end decided that it just fit the story well so I left it in. Besides, it wasn’t as if Harry and Ginny were just planning on getting Hermione smashed and abandoning her. They were staying with her to make sure she didn’t get in trouble. I do have a very low opinion of people who spike drinks. It happened to me once but, sadly, it wasn’t alcohol I was spiked with. I woke up that night screaming I had demon’s bouncing on me and then sat staring at a wall for two days. Not nice.
Thanks as usual to MinistryMalcontent for his beta work which hopefully next time will not vanish into my spam box. Bloody computers.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
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