A/N: To be honest, I don't want to consider the flames I might get from this. Put it this way, the warning was clear enough and I just felt I had to write this. Sorry.


When she thought back to that time in Oz, the time they said was a dream, of course she thought about the Wicked Witch. How could she not?

Then there was Cowardly Lion and his courage, how she would have loved to see him as King of The Forest, instead the memory most vivid was of him crying when she hit him. Not the best recollection of someone brave and fierce.

The Tin Man. On occasion, she wondered whether he'd ever rusted solid again like he had before, she had to remind herself that he had the oil can, he'd be fine and the other two would look after him. With his heart he was bound to be fine anyway.

And the Scarecrow, she'd said she'd miss him the most, perhaps that's what she thought at the time. A brain meant he could rule Oz but she knew him, he'd do it gently, almost with the compassion that the Tin Man now had.

Sometimes she wondered where the fake wizard had gone, if he'd managed to get back to where he wanted to go like she had. Like she thought she had.

But whenever she thought of Oz, when she wasn't busy on the farm, when she wasn't cooking or sewing or mending, one person jumped into her mind.

Glinda.

A good witch! Oh, how she'd thought every witch was ugly, in the stories she'd been told not one witch had been beautiful or good but Glinda was both. If she was feeling up to it she'd recall the way they shared looks when the Munchkins were celebrating or how she'd felt safe enough near her to face the Wicked Witch.

When she'd clicked her heels thrice she hadn't realised what she was giving up. Not only her friend but someone deeper, a person who could have looked after her, would have protected her from the Wicked Witch and anyone else who came along.

In a way it hurt to think of Oz, the place Auntie Em and Uncle Henry called her imagination. She knew it wasn't, not even she could think up a place that beautiful, a good person so beautiful and pure dressed in pink. Lovely pink!

It was all she could do to imagine that land and her friends, all became that little hazier with each passing day, but she was certain of one thing in her head. Whatever she forgot about Oz, whoever she forgot to remember one day, it wouldn't be the Good Witch of the North.

It wouldn't be Glinda.