Room of Lost Things

Ginny's afternoon with her mum was just as it always was: wonderful, for the most part, with only occasional flares of desperately wanting to flee. They finished up an afternoon of shopping in Diagon Alley with a much needed hot toddy at the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny relaxed into the seat, making sure she was hidden from view by the large Benevolent Tentacula that separated the booths from one another. Then she turned toward Molly.

"I don't know how you do this every week," Ginny murmured.

"Speak up, dear, I can hardly hear you over the noise!" Molly said loudly.

Not surprising. It was only a few weeks before September 1st, after all; everyone and their mum and dad were here in London buying school supplies. It was only surprising that they'd found a booth at the Leaky amid the throng.

It was partly why Ginny'd felt the urge to flee a time or two.

Ginny said it again, louder: "I said, I don't know how you come to Diagon Alley once a week!"

There were at least three different things her mother didn't say to her. The first was: Oh, Ginny, is it really that bad? The second was: I suppose it's loud to you because of your time in the room. And the third? Not so much a sentence as an expression of a wish that trailed off into nothing. Ginny had heard variations of these comments from nearly everyone around her, knew them by heart, and no longer had much tolerance for them.

Ginny felt a surge of gratitude when instead of offering a reply, Molly simply raised her wand and breathed out a charm that muffled the cacophony around them to whispers and sighs. "Thank you," said Ginny.

Molly's smile was warm and sympathetic. "It is loud in here," she conceded.

It wasn't until six months or so after leaving the room that Ginny realized exactly why her palms would start to sweat and her heart start to race at odd times. It was almost always when it was loud. It was tolerable when it was family, but many outings in the early days had been exercises in torture. Now that the time since they'd left the room could be measured in years rather than days, Ginny could tolerate it, but too many voices rising and falling around her never failed to set her nerves on edge.

There were little tricks she used to keep herself from suffocating. Idly, she ran her finger over the rim of her cup and listened to her mother's voice rise and fall. Bit by bit, she blocked everything else out until there was silence. Beautiful, complete silence, which was nearly impossible to experience on a busy day at the Leaky.

Wait, Ginny thought with a jolt. It wasn't nearly impossible; it was actually impossible. The back of her neck prickled with warning. By the time Molly's voice tapered off into bewilderment, Ginny was clenching her jaw and staring around the room. Nearly everyone was looking at her, from the drunks with steam coming out of their ears, to old Tom, the barman.

Ginny was transported back to the first time she had gone out in public with Harry and James. Everyone knew the story, of course; Dumbledore had explained to them, gently, that the only way the details of their disappearance and subsequent reappearance with an infant could remain private would be to assume new identities. Harry is too famous, he'd said. And now you will be just as. Neither one of them had balked; Harry was used to fame, and Ginny was simply too relieved to be out of the room to care. But the stares and salacious gossip had been hard to bear that first year.

Now all the eyes were on her again.

"And what's got you lot quiet, then?" Molly flared. She was half out of her chair and her wand was in her fist.

"Oh, Mum, just ignore the tossers," Ginny said in a loud enough voice that everyone could hear her. "They're just doing what they always do." Contempt filled her as she looked at them.

This broke the strange silence that had come over the bar. Ginny blew out an exasperated breath and shared a look of shared contempt at the others with Molly. In a world where oddities happened all the time, it was ludicrous that the story of two teenagers having sex and making a baby was so sensational. James was a toddler, for fuck's sake. One of the people staring at her had had tentacles in place of hair.

Ginny slid out of her seat. "I need to go to the loo," she mumbled.

"Are you—"

Ginny waved off Molly's question and walked through a crowd that was suddenly looking at everything but her. Little murmurs built into swells that buffeted Ginny all the way through the dark, dingy pub and to the little wooden door that had a witch's hat carved into it. She rested a palm against it for the barest moment, then pushed her way inside.

"—trapped together in a room and came out with a baby!"

Ginny froze.

"But I heard the only reason they even could get out was because of the baby."

There were two women in separate stalls passing information about Ginny's private life back and forth like gossip was a Quaffle and they were at the World Cup. There was an edge of laughter to their voices and a hint of fangs. Ginny clenched her fists to her side, fingernails biting into her palms.

"They had no idea what they were doing," the first witch giggled. "It's why they're so adamant that the Ministry abolish the memory charm they do to the younger students."

"Can you imagine?" This was said in an excited whisper.

A toilet flushed and Ginny folded her arms across her chest. So the news had broken, had it? That was what all the stares were about? A week ago, she and Harry had addressed the Wizengamot in order to attempt to change the tradition at Hogwarts that prevented the younger students from knowing anything about sex until they were deemed mature enough. Harry in particular was adamant that there were other ways to decrease the chance of students molesting other students.

Ginny hadn't felt their arguments had swayed any of the older members of the Wizengamot, but it was meant to be put to vote during the winter solstice.

A stall door banged open and a young witch with a round face and curly brown hair tumbled out. A smile was spread across her face. "What if it had been one of us? He was in our year!"

"Are you jealous, then?" Ginny said in a cold, cold voice.

The witch before her – Lavender Brown, Ginny thought was her name – spun around and stopped so suddenly it was as though she ran into an invisible wall. At the same time she let out a little sound that was halfway between a shriek and a squeak. "You!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to use the loo," Ginny said slowly. Idiot, she added silently. Two years ago she might've said it out loud.

The other stall door opened just as Lavender was flushing a chaotic red and covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry—"

"This was a private conversation," said the other witch. "You don't need to apologize, Lavender."

"About my private life," Ginny said, incredulous. "You were having a private conversation about my private life in a public loo."

"So?" challenged the witch. There was a bit of a pug shape to her nose.

"Pansy," Lavender whispered, plucking at her friend's robes. "Let's just—"

"Jealousy is ugly," said Ginny.

"Jealous," Pansy snorted. "Jealous because I didn't have a baby when I was—"

"Jealous because you've clearly never been aroused," said Ginny. She twirled her wand around her fingers. "We may not have known the words for what we were doing, but our bodies knew." She cocked her head and stared straight at Pansy. "I suppose it's like magic. The better you are at it, the more instinctive it is."

"Why, you," Pansy spluttered.

"Some people don't need to be taught," said Ginny. Then she shifted a little to the side and spread her arm in a gesture that was a clear invitation for them to leave. Lavender was blushing so hard she was the color of a tomato and she gripped pug-nosed Pansy around her arm and pulled her out the door.

As soon as it shut, Ginny sighed and closed her eyes.

There was no chance this would stay a private little duel between the three of them. Ginny should worry about that; she should march out there and obliviate that Pansy witch. Instead, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep.

Ginny rummaged through an old trunk, humming in delight when she shook out a bit of fabric and wide pantaloons appeared. "Harry, look!" she crowed. "New clothes! I didn't even know there were trunks we haven't opened." Without waiting for him to reply, she pushed the old pair of trousers down and stepped out of them. "I'll just try them on," she added. Then, eyes widening, she spotted something even more rare. "Harry, look we—"

Fingers brushed lightly up her bare thigh then gripped her hip.

"I'm looking," Harry said. His voice had dropped an octave.

"Now?" Ginny said, surprised. It couldn't have even been an hour since they'd been wrestling in their bed.

"Isn't that why you were taking your trousers down?" Harry teased her. Not just with what he said, his hands were plucking at her knickers, tugging them down, and tickling over her body.

"Well, I'm not opposed," said Ginny. Her stance widened, and Harry slipped his hand in between them. His gentle touch on her nub made her shiver. Looking over her shoulder at him, she asked, "Should we go back?"

"No," Harry said hoarsely. He continued to stroke her nub as he took off his own pants – or, more likely, just pushed them down off his hips. His body was hot and hard behind her, pressing into her bum.

Ginny wriggled, a small sound escaping her. Not just for the gentle rhythm with which he played with her nub, but for the way it felt to have him naked against her bum. There had been times before the wrestling when they would stand like this. The air would get heavy around them, something would shift, and Ginny would feel that mysterious thing he carried in his pocket pressing against her.

"Harry," she whispered. The air around them was heavy, but now she knew what that meant, why her body would choose those times to get slippery. "I need you."

Harry rubbed himself against her bum one more time. Ginny shifted her weight, preparing to turn around so they could lay down – Harry could climb on top of her and—

Instead, he fit his body with hers exactly how they were standing. She gasped and he grunted – both with surprise. Garbled words came out of his mouth and his hand squeezed her hip tight. She cast another glance over her shoulder; his eyes were hot on hers, his mouth open, and sounds escaping every time he thrust. She was slippery enough that there were wet sounds whenever they moved…

Closing her eyes, she pushed back, finding his rhythm and matching it. Tingles of pure happiness went through her and she threw her head back—

Ginny blinked and forced herself to stop standing in the middle of the loo, thinking about Harry making love to her from behind for the first time. The anger at the witches, the discomfort at being stared at, the general jumpiness of being around so many people – all of that had faded. Instead, the low throb of arousal, achingly familiar, had her attention. It's true they hadn't known a damn thing about sex… but they'd figured it out. Harry'd been all instinct and desire and consideration and sweetness.

Even if those witches hadn't been jealous, they ought to have been.

It took a few moments for Ginny to compose herself, freshen herself up, and leave the loo. By the time she made her way back to her mum, she realized this was more than just the gossip they'd been plagued with since they'd left the room. This was targeted. So it was not even remotely a surprise when Molly, lips pressed together in an angry line and eyes flashing, handing her a copy of the Evening Prophet.

WIZENGAMOT TO VOTE ON DANGEROUS NEW "REFORM"

by Rita Skeeter

In a democratic wizarding society such as ours, it comes as a shock to me that the Wizengamot would even consider voting on an issue that effects the most vulnerable of our society: the children. Indeed, they must have known they would be facing angry parents everywhere and this was why it was meant to be a secret measure to be voted on at the solstice. But never fear, my faithful readers! My quill has been dipped in greater secrets than these.

By all accounts, it was a passionate plea from the famous Potters that brought this to the dangerous attention of the Wizengamot. Famous for defeating You-Know-Who, Harry Potter disappeared from Hogwarts grounds in his second year, along with Ginevra Weasley. He is now possibly even more famous for his sudden reappearance, along with his now-wife, Ginevra Potter and their infant son, James Arthur Potter. For more details – and in case you've been trapped in a tree these last years and don't know the century's most scandalous story – please read my true account of what truly happened in my book, A Marriage Most Convenient: The Story of Harry and Ginevra Potter.

The speech the Potters gave was stirring. "Individuals have a right to know how their own bodies work," was one quote I gleaned from my source. "It is no longer in keeping with the times to deny adolescents and teenagers the most basic knowledge of reproduction." The members of the Wizengamot who were there to hear it speak of it in stolen whispers. It is tempting to listen to these words, spoken as they were by someone who fathered a son while still under the influence of the totally safe memory charm preventing him from remembering his prior knowledge of how such a thing would occur.

If you have read my book, Hogwarts: A Sex Scandal History, you will know exactly why Mr. and Mrs. Potter are quite wrong. We adults must need protect our youth by keeping them in the dark. Hogwarts is dangerous enough without adding in an element of (continued on page 6)

Ginny didn't bother turning the pages of the newspaper in order to read the rest of Skeeter's article. A snarl had worked its way out of her. This woman! Whenever gossip about Ginny's private life was dying out, it was Rita Skeeter who stirred it up again. They had asked for the meeting with the Wizengamot to remain private for exactly this reason. How did she keep finding out just enough intimate details to remain a menace?

"If I ever find out how she does it, I'm going to – ugh," said Ginny. She couldn't think of a punishment or hex perfect enough.

"I think we should get home," said Molly.

"You're probably right," said Ginny. She forced a smile on her face. If they left now, she would see James. And Harry would be back soon from his own errands. "Dad's probably given James three bowls of ice cream already."

"Your father is perfectly competent with small children," Molly said. They left their half-finished hot toddies on the table and gathered up their purchases. "He raised seven of you. One little grandchild is nothing – nothing compared to the twins."

"Dad used to bribe us with ice cream to be good," Ginny informed her. "It was very calculated of him: one scoop if we were good, one scoop if we came to him immediately if Fred and George were being loud, two scoops if they were being quiet…" Her father's parenting methods had involved a lot of ice cream, and it nearly made her forget the article.

Even as her mother spluttered and laughed, though, it was there niggling at the back of her mind. The awareness of it pricked at her even as she laughed upon arriving at the Burrow and finding Arthur and James in the kitchen, sharing a bowl of ice cream. The words blew over her like the wind as she took James before her on her broom and flew home with him. They were a presence in the loo as she bathed the toddler. She didn't often rock James to sleep anymore, but she did that night, holding onto him and remembering how his birth had marked the ending of her time in the room with Harry…

There were faint sounds coming from the other side of the house. Harry was home, and her heart sped up.

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Harry sat at his desk. There was a crease of worry on his brow and his lips moved as he muttered to himself. Ginny watched him from just beyond the door, drinking in the familiar features and movements so dear to her. Aside from James, who was asleep, at this moment it was the only face she wanted to see.

"Harry," she said quietly.

His eyes flew to her for the briefest of moments then back to the scroll in front of him. "Have you seen this? That witch! Skeeter's thrown a wrench in everything… I think the Ministry might refuse to revoke it!"

"They're all tossers," said Ginny.

"After everything we went through, and they're still going through with it. I won't have it when James goes to Hogwarts. They won't do that to him," he said. "I swear it, Ginny."

"We won't let it," said Ginny.

"Damn right," said Harry.

Ginny stepped inside and leaned against the door. She played with the item in her hand — just a small thing she grabbed from the kitchen — and waited for Harry to look up at her again. Butterflies swooped in her stomach and her fingers shook. It had been a long day, full of voices talking to her, and she needed—

He looked at her, head cocked and looking vaguely puzzled, then dropped his attention back to the scroll. A moment later, he pushed it away, and swiveled so his entire body was angled toward her. Those green eyes looked her up and down. Ginny knew what he was seeing: pantaloons she'd found in the attic at the Burrow, a blouse she'd lifted from Auntie Muriel, and several brightly colored scarves wrapped around her small waist. It was an eccentric outfit, the likes of which Ginny had not worn in several years. There was no reason to; she did not have to find her clothing in musty old trunks. She could go to Diagon Alley... she could endure the stares and all the people jabbering at her and she could buy a set of robes whenever she wanted.

And yet, a month ago, after a difficult day, she'd thought about those outfits she used to wear.

The blouse was ancient enough she knew Harry could see shadowy places where her nipples were. His eyes were on them now, in fact, and they tightened in response. There were times when all he had to do was look at her and she felt it like a caress. She watched him steadily, watched his skin flush, watched his throat work as he swallowed.

With a deft movement, she spun the salt shaker on the tip of her finger and then let it drop to the floor. The thud coincided with Harry's sigh.

Heat crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks. "Want to wrestle?" she asked.

Sex. They always called it sex, now. Or making love. Tonight, Ginny wanted to wrestle.

Harry didn't answer her with words. But the tension made of memory and love and desire that hummed between them whenever they were in the same room together ignited. Ginny watched as the last of his concern over the Ministry faded away. You can tell me when you want to wrestle, he'd told her. It was a promise he'd kept for years. Ginny knew he wouldn't break it now.

But as she walked across the room, Ginny suppressed this confidence. The memories had been trying to rise up all day and now she let it. She was in the room again, with Harry, wanting to wrestle. The whole of her desire was focused on that, but when she reached him, she perched on his knees and kept her legs demurely crossed. Her nerves weren't feigned: her stomach fluttered. Would he hate she was acting?

With trembling fingers, she reached toward him. "You've got something in your hair," she said. There had been so, so many excuses they had made to touch one another. It was convenient that there was a feather in his hair, and Ginny could pull it out…

"Do I?" Harry asked.

The atmosphere heated around them. Ginny swallowed, feeling a flush climb up her cheeks. The room Harry used as an office was small and filled with green plants. The windows to their garden were huge and usually open no matter the weather. They could not be in a room that was less like the room they'd lived in for those years. And yet… the space around them seemed to expand even as the air between them contracted.

If Ginny closed her eyes, she could believe they were back in the room.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Do you want me to rub your back?" Harry asked. There had been the briefest of hesitations before he'd said back, and it made her nub quiver.

"Yes, please," said Ginny. She wanted – needed – his hands on her body.

"You'll need to move, it's a bit of an awkward angle."

"All right."

Straddling him now, Ginny let out a puff of breath at the feel of his fingers pressing into her back. Heat swirled around her, making her already taut nipples tingle. Her nub throbbed and aches and she squirmed, wanting something — anything — to place pressure on it. But instead he continued to massage her back.

"Does that feel good?" he asked.

"Yes," Ginny whispered.

"I don't want to hurt you," he told her. "Let me know if I press too hard."

"I will," promised Ginny. She squirmed again, moving an inch up his legs. The urge to fit herself tight against him was so, so strong. He always felt so good up against her, and it was a small torture to hold back.

What is he thinking? Ginny asked herself.

His eyes were a smoky green and fastened on her. But his thoughts were mysterious to her, so she closed her own and tried to ignore the low throb between her thighs. Up and down her back, his hands moved, touching her in a way that felt best.

Ginny made a sound low in her throat. It was part sigh, part moan. As though this were the signal he was waiting for, a second later his hand shifted to her upper thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Her eyes flew open.

"Your legs are quivering," Harry said in a low, low voice. "I think they're tense... they could do with a massage." He swallowed. "It'll feel better if you let me banish your pantaloons."

Ginny's eyes widened.

"Unless," Harry's voice was suddenly soft as a caress, "you think that would be breaking the rules."

"I have knickers on," said Ginny, licking her lips.

His hand came off her body, and grabbed the wand that sat at the end of the desk. A spell was whispered and Ginny's legs were suddenly bare. His hands were back on her body, smoothing over her thighs. It felt more like a tickle than a massage and Ginny bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. Restless hunger filled her when she looked down. Her legs were spread far apart and she was not so far from pressing down against the lump in his trousers.

As soon as she tried to wriggle closer fingers dug into her thigh.

A strange hunger she couldn't quite define filled his face. "Wait, Ginny," he said.

Confused, Ginny waited.

His fingers were tickling the insides of her thighs. "Would it be breaking the rules if I…?"

Wordless, Ginny shook her head. There were no more rules. Or if there were – they broke them regularly with great enthusiasm and abandon. But a spell had been cast and she understood exactly what he was asking her to do.

And then he was doing it. His thumb caressed her through her knickers. They were so damp. Ginny couldn't hold back a moan this time; the sound reverberated in her ears. Her own hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly enough to keep her from slipping off his lap, and all the while his touch grew firmer. Minutes – possibly hours – passed. His thumb explored, growing ever closer to her nub, circled it. A whimper escaped her mouth when he finally began to nudge it.

It took quite a while for her to realize she was not the only one trembling. Her breath came out in soft pants – so did his.

Ginny slid her hand down his chest, his stomach, and brushed over the hard lump in his trousers. Then she gripped it tight and began to rub it.

The pressure on her own body disappeared. In what felt like a single breath, Harry grabbed for his wand again, and banished all their clothes. There was a brief moment when he lifted her up and held her in his arms. She could feel him hot and heavy between her thighs and could hardly catch her breath at the sensation of him rubbing against her as he walked them toward some unknown goal.

A cushioning charm was cast in the middle of the floor. When he laid her down on it, the floor was as comfortable as the bed they shared upstairs. There was a brief lull when he looked down at her, gaze hungry, taking in the sight of her.

Then Ginny opened her arms and he settled, wordless, between her spread legs.

Their eyes tangled together. His were hot and urgent and it was no surprise to Ginny that he wasted no time in nudging into her with short, rapid thrusts. Ginny's eyes rolled in the back of her head once they were fully joined… her entire body throbbed and her fingers dug into Harry's back as he prodded her. Gasps turned to cries when he kept up a brisk rhythm. Her head tilted back as he swore.

"Sorry!" she cried, and smoothed her hands over his back.

"Don't say sorry," he said. "God, it feels so good."

Pleasure blinded her and she screamed out his name as she burst.

And then he was right there with her, shooting jets of pure heat into her, giving a great shout as he finished. Pulses of pure pleasure continued to go through her body and she held him in a tight grip with both arms and legs, not wanting to lose the feel of even a single inch of him pressed against and insider her…

Some time later, when Ginny's thoughts were just returning to normal, they were still joined together.

Harry brushed his hand through her hair and she stroked his sweaty side and pulsed around his softening erection. There was a blurred tenderness to his expression as he looked down at her as their heartbeats steadied. Ginny sighed, wishing his body didn't need to recover, wishing she could relive the last moments over and over again.

He'd been different tonight. Tonight… it had been different.

Green eyes were soft and still smeared with pleasure. There was a tiny tilt to his head and a quirk to his lips. Ginny slid her hand up to trace his jaw just as his thumb stroked over his forehead.

"Where'd that come from?" They both said this at exactly the same moment.

Their laughter was quiet, but nevertheless robust enough to cause Harry to slip all the way out of her.

"I was at the Leaky when

"I know that," Ginny said. It bothered him more than it did her. "We went into that room crippled in a way… and we had no idea." But then she gave him an impish smile. "I also know that it isn't just about that for you. You hate the principle, but you hate the reality more."

"The reality?" Harry asked.

"You hate that children have memory blocks placed on them without their consent," said Ginny. "But you wouldn't feel nearly so passionate about it had the reality not been – we would have been so much happier in the room if we'd been having sex a lot sooner."

Harry blew out a breath, rolled over onto his back, and draped his forearm over his eyes. "I ached for you so badly, Ginny," he said. The words were so, so quiet. "You were making me hard all the time, and I was getting you wet. We would've known – how to… I would've done what I did tonight. If I'd known there was a step I could take, I would've taken it."

"Not if I took it first," Ginny said tartly. Then she stretched out on her side and cupped her hand over his penis. Soft as it was, it still radiated warmth.

"I think about it all the time," Harry said. "I think about that time when we were wrestling when we only stopped because the seam was hurting you. We could've… I think of asking if we could take them off… think of how different… I run it over and over in my mind."

"That would've been different," Ginny murmured. There was hardly anything either one of them didn't know about each other. He had never told her this before, but it resonated deep with what she knew of him. Still, she bit her lip when she asked: "What do you feel when you think of it?"

"Angry," said Harry. "Angry, and then I get really aroused. And then I'm not angry anymore, just aroused."

Ginny chuckled. "I get so wet, thinking about the early days. Remember when I was bent over the trunk and you just… made love to me right there? Exactly where we were?"

"Of course I remember," Harry said, indignant.

She lightly ran her fingers over his chest, plucking idly at his hair. "We were at the Leaky Cauldron today when Rita Skeeter's article broke. I went to the loo to get away from the stares and – and was struck with that memory. Not everyone can say they discovered grinding, sex, oral sex, different sexual positions… not everyone can say that."

"That's true," Harry said.

"I told someone that it was too bad they had to be taught about sex to be any good at it," Ginny admitted, as though confessing a grave sin.

Harry gave her a shocked look – eyes flown wide and eyebrows raised – then laughed so hard he began to wheeze.

"Don't wake James," Ginny warned him, grinning.

"I want to see that memory in Dumbledore's pensieve," Harry told her. "I need to see it."

"We can look at it together," said Ginny, knowing he'd arrange it soon. She conjured a thick blanket and draped it over both of them. "You know I understand you," she said, snuggling into his side. His body shifted so they were fit together. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't just anger that you feel whenever you think about those early wrestling."

"Never," said Harry, brushing her hair aside and nuzzling her neck. "Never, ever."

"Careful," she warned him. "You'll get me randy again, and I think we're out of syrup."

He snorted out a laugh. Quietly, he grabbed his wand again and said the spell that parted the roof, leaving only a magical barrier that protected them from the elements. Ginny blinked, watching the night sky that was suddenly in clear view. It was a clear night, for once, and the stars were out.

"I miss it sometimes," Ginny admitted, after a few minutes of silence.

"I know," said Harry.

Sleep began to pull her under then. Her thoughts began to fray and scatter. She might miss it in that it had become so familiar to her that it was still an odd, sharp experience to walk about in crowded spaces like Diagon Alley. There had been a simplicity to their experience… and the sex… they'd done it whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted. Things were so much more complicated here—

"I love you, Gin," Harry said, voice thick with sleep.

But in or out of the room, Harry's love was a constant.

"I love you too."

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Author's Note: There is just something about this fic.

I had the idea for it and wrote it from start to finish in the space of about two weeks. This and the Cissastoria fic I wrote (The Curse of the Black Pearl) were the two easiest stories I've ever written, from start to finish. I guess that makes it special to me because even though it's been "done" for well over a year now, I keep coming back to thinking about it. I guess it felt neglected because as soon as I finished the huge undertaking of The Peverell Dilemma, I was like, well, I guess I need to write a new chapter for Room of Lost Things now. It surprised me because, you know, it was done. I guess it felt neglected, so here you are.

It's pretty unnecessary, though I did do my best to tie it to the original fic. I wanted to take a peek at their recovery and adaptation to being in the real world again. So, anyway, thanks for reading.