The three third-years stared at him.

Harry stared back. Do not react, he told himself, stern. In the six or so months since they'd stopped suspecting him of being some mad dark lord, they had come to him from time to time with small suspicions. You've inherited them, Minerva McGonagall had said, quite pleased with herself. Yer an easier target, that's fer sure, Hagrid had chuckled under his breath. In any case, the three third years were his problem.

"Professor Flitwick is not in hiding from anything," Harry said.

"But he's been here ever so much longer than you!"

"And we've read that he was one of the only professors who wasn't in the Order of the Phoenix—"

"Now, hold up," Harry broke in. "Joining an illegal – highly illegal, at the time – secret society was not compulsory for any of the professors. Some of them," he added, "are quite as good at following rules as they are at magic. Professors like rules."

"You don't," Method said under his breath.

Do not react. Do not react. Do not react.

"As you will find in your coming years, you will find yourself drawn to different organizations and tasks," Harry said, trying desperately to steer the conversation but certain he was just flying into the wind. "And just because you choose one over the other, it does not mean you—"

"We know this isn't about careers!" said Powell, wide-eyed.

"You ought to think more about it," Harry said. It was past five and he was ready to leave this office. Ginny would be finished with her work for the day, and frankly, he had better things to do than to assuage these three of their suspicions. "Third year isn't too young to decide where you're headed after sixth year—"

"Seventh," Barnett said. "After seventh year, you mean."

Harry lifted his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "That's what you've got to decide. You can choose, you know, to leave after you come of age. If the career path you've chosen doesn't require NEWTs – and there are plenty! – you don't have to—"

"I have to," said Method. "Mum'll make me finish my schooling."

A pity.

Harry was quite proud of himself that he'd punctured the three third years' suspicions and set them thinking on their futures. As he ushered them out the door, and told them they were not, under any circumstances, to set watch on Flitwick, Harry could not help but reflect that his career here at Hogwarts had changed completely since he first began here nearly a year and a half ago. Begun on a whim, a pure, visceral reaction to Remus Lupin inferring that his parents and Sirius would be ashamed of him, Harry had grown into this place. His roots were here more than they were anywhere else… the idea of leaving? Harry could not contemplate it and didn't want to.

Harry nudged open the door to his chambers and barely managed to catch Arnold, who leapt down off a coat peg to bump off his shoulder and nearly fall to the floor. "Watch it," he said, "we don't need any more brushes with death."

Calliope, who was buried under one of the sofa cushions, let out a pitiful little squeak.

She did not like to be reminded of Arnold's near-death.

"Sorry, Calliope, didn't see you there," said Harry. He leveled Arnold with a significant look. The little puff hunched in on himself and let out a little warble. Harry suppressed a groan. He knew that sound; Arnold was about to go into heat again, and that meant more baby puffs. They'd just found homes for the last batch! "Maybe we need to separate you two?"

This time, the sound Calliope made was more of an indignant squawk.

"They can understand you," said Ginny.

Harry looked at her.

She wore long gray robes embroidered with a dark forest scene, complete with tiny sewn animals that scurried along the hem, flew from the trees, and peeked out from behind the trees. A full moon bobbed slowly over the scene, and Harry had loved these robes since she'd brought them home from a day of shopping with Hermione in Diagon Alley. He had never been less happy to see them.

"Are you going somewhere tonight?" he asked, wary.

"We are going somewhere tonight," she said, grinning at him. Her hair swirled up and around a pair of chopsticks. Glum, Harry realized it would be several hours before he could pluck them out of her long red hair and let it spill down into his hands. "You've forgotten, haven't you? Harry!"

"I… did forget, yes," Harry admitted. It was not hard to guess why. Friday was the last day of the term, and all the homework assignments and make-up work and such had come home to roost. It had been two weeks of madness trying to get the students out the door and onto the train so he could enjoy the next few weeks. He sank down onto the sofa and removed his glasses. "Dinner with Remus and Dora, yes?" It was coming back to him now.

Cool fingers touched the back of his neck and tangled with his hair. "Yes," she said. "Do you want me to cancel?"

Harry looked up at her. "No," he said firmly. "They'll just want to reschedule for some time over the next few weeks, and they'll be quite shocked, since I've vowed to spend at least the next week naked."

Ginny laughed.

It warmed him, as her laugh always did, though he no longer counted them. He shifted on his seat, ignoring Calliope's squeaks – he was nowhere near her – and wished that he'd never agreed to take Remus up on his invitation to dinner the night before term ended. A nap… an early dinner, a bit of a cuddle with Ginny… that was how he ought to have spent it. But he only gave himself another minute to curse his poor planning before he went to their chamber to fetch a nicer pair of trousers and a set of robes that had not been used for target practice by a group of fourth years.

Before they left through the floo in his cold office, Harry caught her by the hand and pulled her close. He didn't say anything, just held her. It had been a rather extraordinarily long two weeks. The only thing keeping him somewhat sane was that sometime in the last few months, Ginny had given up any pretense that she still lived at the Burrow, and spent the night with him every night. The cozy moments they had together were not as long as he would have liked. "Next year – no, next term – I'll be better about it."

Ginny set her chin on his chest and looked up at him. She knew what he meant. There were many wonderful things about Ginny, but the best was that he never had to stumble over his words in an attempt to explain himself. She knew him better than that. "I have missed you these last week," she said, stretching up onto her toes.

Harry kissed her, lightly, mindful of how her hair was swept up. Her lips parted slightly, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. "I'll stick to Hermione's plan next time," he promised. That familiar tenderness welled in him. His thumb brushed her jaw and, for a few moments, he gave in and kissed her harder.

Her hand came up between them to press against his heart. "You can make it up to me later," she said, pulling back. Their breaths mingled.

"Yes," said Harry, "I don't want you to have to take matters into your own hands." He suppressed a grin when Ginny stiffened and pulled all the way out of his arms.

"That seems unlikely," she said. "It's only been two days."

"But you've gotten used to twice a day," Harry said, blinking at her. "What if the next time we get drunk together—"

Ginny interrupted him with another laugh and he could not longer suppress his grin. "Harry!" she cried. "Will you ever let me forget that?"

"Truly?" Harry thought about it. "Probably never." How could he, when he'd nearly keeled over from erotic shock when she'd told him quite loudly and proudly what she liked to do every once in a while? But in the months since then, he'd never – quite – convinced her to discuss it further, perhaps with a demonstration.

"There are worse things to remember forever," Ginny said.

Harry clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm and then the hectic little heartbeat in her wrist. It was a soft, comfortable silence that swelled. "There are," he said. The corner of her lip twitched upward in a smile. "Maybe Remus will have some firewhiskey, and I can get you to—"

"Harry!" she said again.

While the evening that followed was not the cozy, private thing he had wanted with Ginny, it was comfortable nonetheless. Tonks wore her new, blue-haired baby girl across her body like an especially fragile purse. Teddy, who was still not sure of the baby Capella, was so wild Remus had to buckle him in his little chair with a beleaguered sigh and strong magical bonds. Much of the conversation revolved around the children, but as Harry relaxed after the potato dish, Remus got to asking Ginny about her jobs.

"So far, so good," said Ginny. "Helping out Madam Hooch keeps me busy for a bit of the week, but it's the correspondence work with Quidditch Monthly that's the really interesting work."

"They let her try all the new broomsticks," Harry said, tipping his head back. It was brilliant, really, and he'd thought once that the Firebolt would never be topped.

"Not all," said Ginny. "They sent a Comet 7000 over—"

"Not really!" Tonks said loudly. The baby let out a snuffling little whimper. "Sorry, little love," she crooned. Then, in a more normal voice: "But really! I thought those wouldn't be on the market for another year!"

An hour passed, and then another. The subject segued from broomsticks to work, and the witches made their way upstairs to read to Teddy and put Capella in her crib. Harry found himself alone with Remus, who was content to sit in his big, cozy chair and watch the fire. Harry followed suit. He'd had a headache, he realized, for the last week. A couple glasses of wine and good conversation, and it was banished to the back corner of his head, a faint throb Harry figured would be there until the last student was on the train and he was free.

"Heavy thoughts?" Remus said.

"No," Harry said. "Just thinking to plan my time better next term. I've let everything pile up on me, and I've still got a lot of work to do before I can properly have a holiday."

"It is more difficult to be a professor than a student," Remus said. Their eyes met. "No regrets?"

"Absolutely none," Harry said, without having to pause to think. "None."

"Good," said Remus.

When they went home that night, Harry made it a point to make love to Ginny, no matter how tired he was. When they finished, he gathered her up and curled up behind her. "Don't – matters into your own hands," he said on a huge yawn. His eyes were drooping closed and the scurrying around of Arnold and Calliope was lulling him into sleep.

"Hmmm," she said, brushing her fingers through his hair. She said something else, but Harry was asleep before she said more than a word.


Three days later, Harry was free, and he said as much to McGonagall.

"I'm free!" he crowed.

Her thin lips twitched. Harry had just handed over the Gryffindor students final marks, and a great weight had been lifted off his chest. And his back. And his head. His headache was gone. If it would not have earned him the thin-lipped look of disapproval he knew so well, he might have done a jig in the corner of the Great Hall where he'd cornered her.

"You're nearly as bad as your students!" she reprimanded him.

"'Calm yourself, Potter'," he said, grinning. "And I am here to tell you that the students don't work nearly as hard as the professors, the little buggers." He laughed. "'Ten points from Gryffindor!'"

McGonagall chuckled. "For that, you are to be the one to escort the students to the train."

His face fell. "What – no – I was joking!"

"You have more energy than all the other professors combined," she said. Her gimlet eyes were sparkling. "It'll do you good to clear out the cobwebs and have some exercise."

Harry's plans for this morning had included whisking Ginny away to Grimmauld Place and preparing them a nice bath that they would slosh out onto the floor with the force of their love-making. That was the sort of exercise he wanted, not trudging down to Hogsmeade in the snow! But, when McGonagall pointed, he saw Professor Vector hunched over his seat at the head table, scrawling frantically across parchment. Even with the distance and Harry's poor eyesight, he could tell the Arithmancy professor was on the verge of tears.

"The fool leaves it to the last minute every year," she muttered.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked, looking about for his giant friend.

"He… celebrated a bit too much last night," she said.

So Harry trudged down to Hogsmeade with the students to the train station at Hogsmeade, waited dutifully until it began to speed along the tracks – proud that everyone was present and accounted for, even though his three problem third years had attempted to waylay him once more with their suspicions.

"Flitwick is an excellent Headmaster, and he is not 'on the run' from anyone," Harry said, firmly. His hand was on the latch to the door of the compartment. Steam was billowing outward, and still, Method, Powell, and Barnett persisted. "Have a good holiday!" he said, just before he slammed it shut.

Then, at long last, he was well and truly free.

He hummed, off-key, the new Weird Sisters song that George was so obsessed with and had insisted on listening to twenty-seven times the last time they got together for a bloke's night. "No, listen carefully! The lead singer mentions Weasley's Wizard Wheezes under his breath!" But apparently not even Fred could hear it, though they'd all listened dutifully. It was this he hummed all the way up to his chambers, more than ready to get his holidays started properly. He was cold and wet and that bath sounded just about right.

And, it wasn't as though he really would be alone with Ginny these entire holidays. Both of them were expected at the Burrow for Christmas Eve and Day; they could probably get away with leaving the day after Christmas. They had to snatch every bit of privacy they had. Beaming, Harry flung open the door to his chambers.

"Ginny!" he said. "I'm free!"

Silence greeted him. Harry blinked, looking around. They'd compared their schedules just that morning! Ginny was taking the same holidays he was. His shoulders slumped, as he slid around the sofa in their sitting room, and headed back toward their bedroom. Maybe she was napping? Or having a lie-in? Thought at one in the afternoon, that seemed rather… hopeful. Indeed, the further he went, his certainty grew. Ginny was not here, and neither were the pygmy puffs.

Just as Harry was growing more concerned, he spotted the white parchment on top of his pillow.

I thought I'd take matters into my own hands and head to Grimmauld Place myself.

Harry stared down at her scratchy writing. A bolt of weird excitement had shot straight to his belly, but he suppressed it. Well. Ginny was already at Grimmauld Place. That was convenient. Harry finished his packing at speed, throwing a few important things into a duffel, and headed out the door. The corridors were silent. Not even the ghosts disturbed him, and all the while Harry fairly waltzed with excitement.

His solitude came to an end when he spun into the flames of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

"Ah, there you are, Master," Kreacher said in his bullfrog voice. He had prepared tea – but for the pygmy puffs, not Harry. Arnold and Calliope sat upon the table beside saucers of water and puff treats, looking for all the world like guests Kreacher had invited over. Harry suppressed a smile. Kreacher took his puff-sitting duties very seriously. "Mistress Ginny is waiting for you."

"Is she in the bath?" Harry asked eagerly, forgetting that Kreacher was still not sure he approved of two unmarried adults carrying on a sexual relationship before marriage.

"Kreacher wouldn't know," said Kreacher.

"Ah, then," said Harry, who definitely approved of his and Ginny's sexual relationship. "See you later, Kreacher."

"Master will do as he thinks he ought," Kreacher muttered.

But Harry did not want to listen to the house-elf further, so he pushed out of the room and up the stairs. His thoughts hummed along happily. Did they really want to take a bath first? Or did they want to avail themselves of that big, soft bed first? Their plans were all for the former, but now that he was here, Harry thought they might want to save the bath for afters. That just made more logical sense, didn't it? They could get messy all they wanted this first round, and wash off in the bath…

Harry's thoughts were so busy and so full that when he stepped inside their room, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

Ginny lay on her stomach, fully nude, pillow cushioning her hips and bum in the air, and was clearly—

"Ginny," he breathed. As she'd promised in her note, she'd taken matters into her own hands. She was taking matters into her own hands. As he watched. His mouth dropped open and a queer bit of pleasure jolted downward from his stomach to his penis. Half-hard from his thoughts coming up the stairs, it thickened and lengthened as he watched her touch herself. "Ginny."

She rolled over onto her back. Harry's eyes flickered and he licked his lips. Her face was a brilliant red, but she was beaming. With a deft move, she pulled the pillow out from underneath her and tossed it to the side onto the floor. She propped herself up on her elbows and crossed her legs, still flushing. Harry shut his eyes, trying to recapture the moment he'd come in, seeing her on her belly, touching herself. He kept stuttering over it, surges of pleasure going through his body. "Holy shit, Ginny," he kept saying.

Her flush had faded somewhat and her knees had drifted apart, granting him a view.

To his delight, Ginny was not done. Her fingers trailed down her belly and brushed through the red hair between her thighs. The last months had been filled with intimacy—no one knew him better than Ginny, personally or sexually. But this... He drank in the way her slender fingers opened her body and touched her clit.

Feeling odd, as though they'd stepped across a threshold, Harry managed to tear his gaze away from what she was doing, and looked up and into her eyes. His whole body was heated. "What were you thinking about?" he rasped out.

She paused. "The orchard," she said, after a moment's pause.

His penis, already hard, twitched and strained. Molly and Arthur had left to visit Charlie in Burma for the month of August. Harry and Ginny had taken care of the animals, and had spent quite a bit of time having sex with each other in every corner of her childhood home. One particular sunny afternoon, they'd taken a blanket out into the orchard, a hamper of picnic food, and had a wonderful time.

And by telling him that, she told him what she wanted.

Harry pulled off his clothes and let them fall to the floor. His gaze was back between her thighs, and he crawled onto the bed for a closer look. Her folds were flowered open with arousal. Harry paused a moment, breathing in deep, his growing erection a steady throb between his thighs. Her fingertip brushed against her clit. He looked up at her. "I barely came up for air that day," he said. Four times in as many hours, he'd made her finish in his mouth, until she'd told him if he did it one more time, he was going to have to carry her home.

"Mmm," she said. Her cheeks were flushed. A tendril of red hair curled over her shoulder and fell between her breasts. Harry eyed them. Her nipples were nice and tight, pointing proudly upward toward the ceiling.

"Merlin, I love this view," he said. The words rasped out of him.

"How much?" Ginny asked. Then, without a warning, she began to stroke herself in earnest. Blood thundered in Harry's ears. It was more a tickle than a rub, but she touched herself with the ease of practice, and he nearly finished.

"Almost enough that I could die a happy man right now," he said. Fixedly, almost reverently, he watched her. His fingers found the firm flesh of her thigh. The big muscle quivered under his touch. "What are you thinking about now?"

"Still the orchard," she admitted. "The last time, when you dripped chocolate right—"

"Here," said Harry. He swept up her thigh and over to her belly, just under her navel. He'd dripped chocolate from her bellybutton to the crease of her thigh to her sex, and had eaten it off her. "Ginny, I might actually come just from this."

She laughed, and his whole body flushed with pleasure. "You're easy," she said.

"Not always," he protested. His gaze roved over to her breasts again. Her other hand was now teasing the already puckered nipple. One thing he loved about her is she was not shy about touching them — if he was not touching them during sex, she was. But he couldn't give them more than a few moments of attention. Her fingers were now working in earnest, rubbing around the tiny bud of her sex. His thoughts scattered, and he shifted to his side and grasped his shaft. "I'll have to remember to do that," he managed, when she made a little flicking motion.

"I was already..."

"Already what?"

"You do that already," she said after a moment. "With your tongue."

Harry groaned. As much as he loved watching this — and he did — he had to taste her. "Ginny, can I—"

"Take over?" she asked. "Please do." She let her legs fall open even wider, removed her hand, and Harry dove on her with a little more force than he planned — in his enthusiasm, he toppled over and barely managed to catch himself with his hand.

Harry gave her a long, slow lick and was gratified to hear the breathy moan. His thoughts scattered in truth, surrounded as he was by the heady scent of her arousal, and her taste on his tongue. Palms flat on her thighs, he spread her open wide and reveled in her, murmuring against her. Her hand came down in his hair, clutching him to her. It was an endless moment. Ginny teetered on the edge as long as he could make it last, flicking his tongue against her, suckling at her, feeling her body writhe to meet him. Then, she fell, crying out his name.

"You were so aroused," Harry said.

"Mmm," she said. She'd flung her forearm over her eyes. Her breath came out in pants, and when Harry covered her with his body, she was still trembling.

"May I?" he asked, nudging her. His situation was swiftly becoming painful.

In a slow, lazy motion quite at odds with his own urgency, she raised her knees in a tacit invitation. His erection slid against the soft curls between her thighs. Sweat beaded on his brow. If he could manage not to finish immediately, he could probably coax another orgasm out of her. But the moment he started sinking into her warmth, he knew he did not have much time at all.

"You liked that," she said.

Startled, Harry turned his head slightly to look at her straight in the eyes. "Like is not the word I would use," he said. Again, he saw her as he'd entered the room: bum in the air, eyes half-closed, touching herself. "It's too tame."

A smile teased the corner of her lips. "It's such a bloke thing to do, I don't know why you like it so much."

Harry nudged himself the rest of the way inside her, then held himself very still. "You aren't just some bloke having a wank," he told her. "You're Ginny. Pleasuring yourself. Thinking of me." In between each of these statements, he withdrew and pushed back in. "And doing it with your b—"

She clapped her hand over his mouth. "If you ever want to see that again, you won't keep talking about it."

And Harry, who very much wanted to see that again, wisely kept his mouth shut. But he couldn't help think about it, could he, not with his body within her. It was an erotic sight; it would be with him for years… forever. But more than that… Harry moved within her, watching her pleasure build again. Her lips parted and her eyes widened. He reached between them to tease her clit. There were few things he liked more than watching Ginny's arousal grow, knowing that he was the one giving her this pleasure.

Harry kept quiet as long as he could, until their bodies were sweat-soaked and they writhed against each other, both nearly at their limits. Her hands roved over his back. "I like to be in you," he said. She was on the verge of orgasm again, brown eyes wild. Harry groaned. "I love being in you," he reiterated. One last thrust, and she was there. Her orgasm rippled around him, making his own pleasure almost unbearably strong. Her soft cry near sent him over the edge. "In your bed, in your body, and in your thoughts. I could stay here forever."

"Always," she cried out, arching up into him.

His body shuddered as he came. He felt it in his entire being, and he collapsed on top of her, barely remembering to support at least some of his weight on his forearm. His head fell to the crook of her neck, and he breathed in the flowery scent of her shampoo. Always. It reverberated through him as strongly as his orgasm.

"Always?" he finally asked some minutes later.

Ginny squirmed under him, and he slumped over to the side. Ginny shifted until she was curled up in front of him. They were a bit of a mess, but neither one reached for their wands. That could wait another couple of minutes.

"Always," she said, linking her fingers with his.

Harry curled a tendril of her hair behind her ear, and placed a kiss on her lobe. "Me too."

She let out a wicked little laugh. Harry grinned. "You don't mean always the same way I mean always," she told him. "Ever since I knew what that was, I've been thinking of you. You've always been in my thoughts. And now you're quite wonderfully in my bed."

Harry would have said something, but there was a tender little lump in his throat. So he remained mostly silent and stroked her arm. Eventually, she tidied them up with a spell, and grabbed a blanket for them. Harry helped her drape it over them. Still, they were quiet. Harry slipped into a medley of thoughts that were more like daydreams. This time of year, his parents were never far from his thoughts, and Harry thought of them – in his mind's eye, they stood with their arms around each other, smiling softly, just the way they had the first time he'd looked into the Mirror of Erised. He thanked them silently.

Beside him, Ginny shifted. She turned in his arms and pressed a long kiss against his lips. Her hand rested on his chest, just over his heart.

"It still sometimes feels like someone else's life," she whispered. "Not always. But sometimes, I feel like I'm living out a version of what I saw in the Mirror."

"The Mirror isn't this naughty," he said.

This made her laugh, and Harry laughed with her and kissed her. Unbelievably, it was their real life. After everything, it was theirs.

They dozed still twined together. Harry never managed a true sleep, but hovered just above it. He could see his dreams, but remained aware of his body, his position in the bed, and Ginny in his arms. At some point, Kreacher came in and left food on the table before the hearth, and the pygmy puffs came with him. Calliope scuttled to investigate under the dresser, but Arnold leapt onto the bed to have a chirping, near one-sided conversation with Ginny.

A chance glance had him looking out the window: it was snowing. In this moment, it was somehow both a surprise and a wonder to see the fiercely falling flakes illuminated by the street lamp. Harry pushed back the bedclothes and walked, nude, over to the window. It was cold to touch. "Look, Ginny! It's snowing!"

Ginny gave a great yawn, then joined him. She'd at least had the sensibility to grab the blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it. Harry grinned to see her, tousled and sleepy and wrapped up warm. Arnold clutched the blanket, little eyes boggling. Harry wrapped his arms around her and they watched the snow fall. It was not an uncommon sight, but just then it made him think of last year, when the snow was falling too thick and too fast for them to fly, and they'd decided to play exploding snap in the Great Hall instead.

Ginny's thoughts had wandered to the past as well. "This same day last year, you were looking at my bum," she said, warm and pleased.

"I was looking at it before that," Harry murmured.

"Yes, but I hadn't caught you at it," said Ginny.

"I was sneaky," said Harry. His hand wandered down and he squeezed that same bum — he knew it well, now, even better after today, but he would never tire of having the permission to touch her. She wriggled in his arms and turned so she was looking up at him. There was a sassy smile blooming on her lips, and Harry had to kiss her.

It did feel like someone else's life, at times, though Harry was fervently grateful that it was somehow his, and was still grateful hours from now, when they were roused from a deep sleep by an owl from his troublesome third-years with newspaper clippings to prove their point about Flitwick, and he swore under his breath while Ginny laughed herself silly. And he was grateful a few days from now, at Christmas, when Ginny's brothers all took turns taking the mickey out of him for smuggling their sister away for an entire week. It was messy and happy and so bright after the darkness before.

"Come back to bed," said Ginny, pulling his hand. "It's my turn to watch."

"Only if I can watch you at the same time," said Harry, following her.

It was worth it.


Author's Note: So, funny story, I thought that I wrote this scene – with Ginny allowing Harry to watch her – years and years ago, but Phoenixmate, to whom this bonus chapter is dedicated, assured me that no, I did not, I only had "Harry and his dick". I went back through ten year old emails to find the scene I KNEW was there – I reread my own work! The horror! – but nope. The mighty dragon was right, and I did not, in fact, ever write this scene.

So I had to. I didn't want to do just a one shot, so I tried to make this a full chapter with this particular Harry and Ginny (who are two of my favorites), and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know – it's twelve years late, but better late than never? I hope you're doing well, that you're taking the time to care for yourself, and that you're happy.

You're always welcome to join the Ginny Lovers discord server, which we try to keep a positive corner of the internet – here is the link:




(slash) AzwWmKN

And if you are looking for more to read, we have published TWO original anthologies now. Well, the second one comes out on Friday, and my entry is definitely fanfiction, though of the legal sort. You'll see!

You can find them on amazon, itunes, nook, and any other major epub retailer – just search for deadwoodpecker!

Hope you're well and would love to hear from you.