Disclaimer: A long time ago, I learned not to deprive.

A/N: Okay, it's been a month or two, but here's a juicy update. Some relationship building in this chapter. Read the author's note at the end for some awesome and orgasmic news!

-Joe


An Unfound Door

Chapter Six – Like A Rolling Stone

Sodden and feeling sorry for himself, Harry retrieved his wand from the edge of the ruined jetty and cast a few drying charms on his clothes and hair. His father argued quietly with Kingsley Shacklebolt, gesturing both to Harry and the unconscious Death Eater bound in spelled light.

Harry let them argue. His satchel had kept his valuable belongings dry, thanks to a series of varied and complex enchantments. The order form he'd just spent several thousand galleons on had survived his near-drowning, as well. Still on track, despite a somewhat disappointing setback. I need to be quicker...

"I take it Hogwarts doesn't even know you're missing?" James asked.

Harry shrugged and straightened his glasses. After the drying charms, he was feeling a lot more human again. Centuries of lake gunk clung to his robes, however. "No, I imagine they don't. Although who knows with Dumbledore, eh?"

James clapped Harry on the shoulder and exhaled slowly. "This could've ended a lot differently."

"I'm aware, Dad, but it didn't. We prevailed. Who is this man?" He kicked the Death Eater—none too gently.

"Avery," Shacklebolt grunted. "We've got him on using an Unforgivable, Jim, but how do we explain our presence here to the French? They're not going to take too kindly to our operating on their turf."

James tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We were just out shopping. Father, son, and friend, and Avery attacked us... No, that won't hold up beyond two minutes. Merlin, this could turn nasty. Shit, he'll walk. What the hell are you doing out here, Harry?"

"Looking for some rare books," Harry replied, and that was at least part of the truth. "And don't glare at me like that. You going to tell me you and your mates never snuck out of the castle?"

James threw up his hands. "No, but we only ever went to Hogsmeade—which is practically on the school grounds as it is—for a few butterbeers. And we went as a group. You're being reckless, Harry. Merlin, kid, you're smarter than this. You know who's out there."

Keeping a tight rein on a scathing retort, Harry stuffed his wand away. "I was there when he died. I was there when he was reborn. Don't for a minute think I'm disregarding the threat he represents."

"He had you tonight," James said, pointing at Avery. "Voldemort very nearly had you. You think if he'd gotten his way we would've found one piece of you?"

"Thank you for being here then," Harry said. "But now I'm overdue back at Hogwarts, so I'll be off."

He retrieved his portkey, deep within his robes, and considered a better delivery system in the future. Perhaps a watch, strapped to his wrist, with a series of small portkeys behind the face aligned to the hands of the clock. Hogwarts at twelve, Diagon Alley at one, Hogsmeade at two, and so on... Yes, such a watch was worth constructing. Perhaps something less obtrusive though. Something better hidden... and capable of underwater activation.

His father waved a hand in front of his face. "I said, are you listening, Harry?"

"Yes, I am. Are you going to report this?"

James' eyes bulged. "Merlin, no. If the Ministry got wind of this... Blimey, some of them are looking for a reason to have you kicked out of school, Harry. Didn't Dumbledore tell you? Haven't you been reading the Prophet?"

"I find more articles of journalistic merit in the Quibbler," he said. Shacklebolt snorted a rough laugh. "What are you going to do with Avery?"

James shrugged and ran a hand back through his hair. "Leave it with us—you need to get back to school, I guess."

Harry considered telling his father about the poisoning a few nights ago, then shook his head and grasped his portkey home. "How's Audrey?"

"Yeah, we need to talk about a few things." James rubbed at his brow. "Audrey, your little excursion here... I'll come up to the castle this weekend. You better be there, kid."

With a nod that could've meant anything, Harry activated his portkey and felt that old familiar pull behind his navel. The Floating Markets, and his father, disappeared in a swirl of colour and a rumble of howling wind.


"He looked tired," Kingsley said, once Harry was gone.

James cursed and sat down on the edge of a rotten wooden crate, glaring at Avery. "Yes, he did. I want to kill this bastard, Kingsley."

Kingsley said nothing for a long moment, and James blinked, surprised that the older Auror may have actually been considering doing away with Avery himself.

"I can understand your anger, Jim, but don't let them turn you into something you're not."

To that, James wasn't so sure. He'd felt a lot in the long years since losing Lily and finding Audrey, the calm between the storms of war, and now here his family was again at the tip of Death Eater wands. "What do you suggest we do with him then? We let him go and this'll only play itself out again sooner rather than later."

Kingsley hesitated. "Memory charm? Make him forget he ever saw Harry?"

James thought about it, then sighed. "As much as I'd like to dick around in his head, I think his master probably sent him here tonight. He'll know something's amiss. Let's wake him up and send him back with a message."

"What message? Leave Harry alone?" Kingsley chuckled quietly. "You're rather protective of the boy, aren't you?"

James snorted. "I'm his dad, for what it's worth to him, but even growing up that kid never needed much in the way of parenting..."


Back in the Vault and after a long hot shower and a change of clothes, Harry set about brewing what amount of potion he could with the supplies on hand. His shopping trip had been cut short by Avery and his father's unexpected intervention, which meant he'd have to use other avenues to procure the necessary equipment and ingredients.

Send a list to Fleur, perhaps...

At least he still had the black market coaster, with funds to the value of about twenty eight hundred galleons. Most of the vital and restricted components to the crystal blue potion could be obtained that way, and delivered to a location of his choosing.

"Saw my father tonight, Sirius," Harry said, addressing the ethereal, floating form of his soulless godfather. As was habit, he did a quick diagnostic check of the wards and enchantments keeping Sirius' body alive. "Wonder what he'd think, seeing you here like this..."

In the lab, Harry emptied his cauldrons into wooden casks and came up about three-quarters of a barrel short on his next delivery to Gus. If I weaken the next batch by... He did a few quick calculations in his head. By about thirty-four percent, that should top off the delivery. The idea of providing a subpar product irked Harry, but the thought of angering Gus and the people Gus worked for was, perhaps, more irksome. Not to mention the fine they'd levy against his fee.

With all that had happened these last few days, Harry was too far off schedule. Now that was what really bothered him. Umbridge, the poisoning, the Dragonfly Queen, and now Avery... Meeting his commitments was like trying to spin plates on sticks in a thunderstorm, while people took shots at him from the shadows.

Setting what potion he could to boil took ninety minutes, well beyond curfew, but Harry had spent many nights in the Vault before. Indeed, he often preferred the small living quarters up the spiral staircase to his bed in the Ravenclaw dormitories.

Once the potion was underway, Harry summoned a few thick tomes on portkey creation, as well as some parchment and a pencil. He spent the next hour designing and tinkering with plans for his multi-portkey watch. With a bit of difficult magic, he could make each point on the face a portkey. It seemed possible, but would require some pretty precise spellwork.

The main issue would be Harroway's Principle of Deterioration. Over time, a single-use portkey would deteriorate at a rate of about eight percent a month. A somewhat inaccurate measure that didn't account for exposure to dawn light, but a good rule of thumb nevertheless. Portkeys with multiple uses deteriorated even quicker. Add about three percent for every use...

"I'll need to reset the charms once every two months, and after every sixth use..." he muttered, scrawling a few runes and crossing out some negative calculations. "Six uses before I hit diminishing returns on time and effort."

He heaved a sigh and nodded to himself. It was possible, but difficult. Difficult, but possible. Harry admired the challenge in the idea. The air in the lab carried the scent of ash after rainfall. Turning his attention back to the crystal blue potion, he stirred the last of his diamond essence and dragon's blood into the four bubbling cauldrons and set the brew to simmer.

When he checked the time, he was surprised to find the hour had already crept past midnight. Harry wanted to keep working, but as tired as he was his error rate would rise on a steep scale.

Could take a sip of the blue... whispered a small voice in the back of his mind.

Harry licked his lips. Now that was a tempting thought. He slumped in his chair somewhat when he realised he'd barely have enough for the delivery as it was. Never mind if he kept dipping into the product. Pepperup Potion just doesn't cut it these days.

Rubbing at his eyes, Harry checked his potions a final time. Good until morning. Then he spent an hour working on his silent casting before bed. As two in the morning drained away, he dragged himself up to his quarters utterly shattered.

Shattered was good.

With his mind a jumble of runic wards, portkey calculations, the alluring scent of blue potion, and Death Eater attacks, tonight he may actually trick his overactive brain into switching off for once.

Harry slipped into bed, but sleep was long in coming.


For a wonder, Hermione actually found Harry Potter in the Great Hall for breakfast. He sat in his customary spot at the far end of the Ravenclaw table alone, with his head in his hands, stirring the dregs of some frosted cornflakes around the milk in his bowl.

Luna Lovegood—who else?—had levitated a bagel to rest on the crown of his head.

Hermione sat down and cleared her throat. "Good morning, Harry."

"Miss Granger," he said, glancing up at her briefly. The bagel fell into his lap, peanut butter and all, but he didn't seem to mind.

Large black suitcases hung under his bloodshot eyes. Digging around in his tatty old green satchel, he uncorked a dark vial and tossed back the contents in one gulp.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Pepperup Potion," Harry said, and smoothly made the vial of dark-blue potion disappear back into his satchel. "I know it's for curing colds, but the nettlebane and murtlap essence does wonders for taking the edge off a sleepless night."

"You just keep a stock on hand like that?"

Harry grinned and looked a whole lot better. The bags under his eyes had been sent packing and the spider-web of red lines crossing his whites faded away. "I brew the stuff myself actually. Good practice, I've found."

"You've not been coming down to the Hall for meals much the last few days?" she said, with a hint of a question glazing her tone. "You... you're okay?"

Harry chuckled and stacked a pile of muffins into a pyramid. One thing about the elves, they provided such a spread for everyone, every morning, no matter whether they sat all alone.

"You mean after that unfortunate poisoning? Trust me, I've almost died once or twice since then. Rather unfortunate series of events, truth be told." Harry blinked, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and tugged on his earlobe, as if he were distracted. "You know enough to, perhaps, send me to Azkaban for the rest of my natural life. At least enough to ensure the Ministry expels me from Hogwarts."

Hermione licked her lips. "Harry, I—"

"I don't believe you'll kick me in the balls." Harry rolled his eyes. "Forgive the vulgarity, but I'm feeling rather immortal after the latest attempt on my life. Perhaps fate, destiny, or sheer dumb luck is simply on my side, hmm? Anyway, I'd like to invite you into the Arbiter's Vault. The knowledge and history alone... I think you're one to appreciate the majesty and put it to good use."

Hermione felt her heart beating a vicious tempo. She did want what Harry was offering. Indeed, she'd never wanted anything as much as the magic she knew was hidden away in his secret part of the castle.

"I... Yes." She reached across the table and grasped his hands. "Merlin, Harry. Yes."

He offered her half a tired smile. "Only the good die young, Miss Granger. Perhaps you'll have more luck with some of the old books and enchanted items in there than I've had."


Harry kicked off his boots in the Vault and dragged his chest of mythril armour into his lab. It cost a pretty penny, this armour, but it was harder than dragon scales and lighter than silk. It had saved his life more than once, least of all running from the shadow creatures that seemed to be only attracted to him and his hideaway.

To that end, he liked to keep the mythril well oiled, polished, and in an altogether battle-ready condition.

Not only could it deflect medium range destructive curses, but it afforded some protection against the Dark Arts—the subtle enchantments and wicked hexes that didn't wound, but corrupt.

With an entire vat of the blue potion bubbling away to his left, burning through the last of the key ingredients in the Vault, Harry set about polishing his armour. The potion delivery would be made on time, and in full, despite the various setbacks he had suffered over the last week.

Half an hour later, he returned the mythril piecework to the chest and went to check on Hermione Granger. She was upstairs, on the Vault's second level, ensconced in a reading nook with some pretty hefty tomes of advanced magic.

A strange one, Harry thought, as he ascended the spiral staircase in the heart of the Vault's main room. Up here was a loft library and his living quarters—a luxurious suite, much more agreeable than the Ravenclaw dorms. Alas, Harry had to keep up appearances and spent few nights in the suit, much to his annoyance.

He found Hermione right where he'd left her, snuggled up with her legs tucked underneath her in a large, velvet armchair, nose buried in a book. She didn't seem to notice his arrival, so he took a seat opposite her and poured himself a cup of tea from the pot she had brewed.

It was tasty—orange and... ginger, perhaps. He'd never been a big tea drinker.

His thoughts turned to his father, and the meeting they were supposed to be having tomorrow. James Potter would want explanations, answers, and Harry had none to give. None that would suffice, at the very least. Sorry, Dad, I was just out shopping for ingredients for my highly illegal potions business. Oh, and I was poisoned earlier in the week, and someone calling themselves the Dragonfly Queen seems to be taunting me from afar...

"Harry," Hermione said, surprised to see him.

Harry fell out of his thoughts and found that he'd finished his tea. He placed the cup on the wooden table between them and offered Miss Granger a tired smile.

She beamed at him. "Sorry, I was lost in this book. Have you read it? There are branches of magic in here that I've never even heard of. You know, we're told the curriculum here at Hogwarts is the best in the world, comprehensive, but what we've been taught so far doesn't even scratch the surface, does it?" She paused for breath and tutted. "I've got a lot of reading to do."

Harry rubbed at his temple. Another headache coming on, most likely due to lack of the blue potion. He was no idiot, and knew he had perhaps more than a slight addiction to his own concoction, but he liked the edge it gave him. The mental and physical awareness. He was better on the potion. And with enemies on all sides, he needed to be better.

Or he would die.

Simplicity could be a harsh thing.

"You look positively giddy at the prospect of all that reading," he said.

Hermione chuckled and slapped the pages spread across her lap. "Yes! You'll have to drag me out of here, Harry Potter."

Harry checked his watch, remembered he was supposed to be enchanting portkeys into the damn thing, then shrugged. "Well, it's gone one in the morning. We're at Sunday now, so perhaps enough for tonight, yes?"

Hermione seemed startled by the time. "Oh no, I'm out after curfew!" She seemed genuinely distressed, biting her thumbnail and looking worriedly at the books.

"You can stay here. There's a bed at the end of the loft. I'll sleep downstairs on one of the sofas." He met her gaze. "Don't leave here without me, or in the dawn light. It may... may not be safe."

She frowned but nodded.


James awoke just after dawn on Sunday morning with a yawn. He stretched, cracking his joints, and heard Audrey pottering around in the bathroom. He grinned. Last night was the first night in a week he'd been home in time for dinner. Audrey had certainly made coming home worth it, as she often did.

"Good morning, sleepy," she said, emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her long, charcoal-black hair hung in gentle wet waves across her pale shoulders. "Tell me you don't have to work today."

James yawned again. The sun streaming in through the high windows was warm and inviting. He wanted to go back to sleep. "I don't have to work today."

Audrey smiled and gave him a satisfied nod. "Are you still going to visit Harry up at Hogwarts?" His turn to nod. "Perhaps I'll come along and we can tell him we're expecting company. Long past due, don't you think?" She pressed a hand to her belly. "Sausage and eggs?"

"Oh yes, please. I'll be down in a minute."

Audrey's soft footfalls disappeared down the hall and James rolled out of bed with a groan. He stumbled into the bathroom, stood over the toilet, and relieved—

Audrey screamed.

A high, piercing shriek that made James damn-near jump out of his skin and spray piss along the walls and mirror. He swore, dove out of the bathroom, and grabbed his wand from the bedside table.

"Audrey!"

He stubbed his toe on the doorframe and cursed again, running down the hall and sliding down the banister at speed. He'd heard screams like that long ago, the cries of the terrified.

He found Audrey in the kitchen, naked and her back to the wall. Her towel had fallen away and she pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard.

"Wha—?"

James saw what had caused the scream and his eyes bulged.

On the kitchen table, acting as a gruesome centrepiece, was the screaming maw of some decapitated monster. Bloated and matted, one eye missing, and sitting in a pool of congealed, purple ichor, was the head of a Nundu.

"Huh," he said. If James had to guess, he'd hazard that this was the beast he'd drowned not half a week ago.

He scanned the rest of the room, checked the corners, and handed Audrey her towel. "Floo Kingsley. We need a team here."

Audrey took a deep breath, nodded to herself, and grabbed a pouch of floo powder from the shelves along the wall behind her. "James, I..." She trailed away and dashed into the living room.

James kept her in sight and his wand at the ready. He cast a few revealing spells, sent gusts into a few corners, just to make sure no one was hiding where they shouldn't. But he didn't think there was anyone in his home—not now, at any rate.

Keeping Audrey in the corner of his eye, he turned back to the severed head and sighed. Whoever had done this had wanted to send a message. But what? Back off? From what? The blue potion case? No, James hadn't even been assigned that case when he'd sunk the cargo ship and drowned the Nundu.

So who, or what, had gone to the bottom of the channel to recover their illegally imported beast?

In his mind, he saw the wicked lightning bolt scar carved into the side of the container. The head was another message, of that he was sure, but for him or for Harry?


Despite this being her fourth trip down off the roofs from Harry's Vault, Hermione still found the journey unnerving and more than a little dizzying. Her feet were on solid ground, but a sheer, slick drop of close to a hundred feet fell away on either side. And some of the roof tiles were broken.

Harry seemed to dance across the roofs, his steps light and sure. He turned and chatted and gestured to the castle as if they were doing nothing more than strolling down by the lake.

"You know," Hermione said, as Harry took her hand and helped lower her down onto the crenulated terrace of the east wing above the seventh floor. "You're more than welcome to sit with me and my friends for breakfast, at the Gryffindor table."

Harry considered and then nodded. "You sit with Weasley and Longbottom, yeah?"

"Usually. We sort of gravitated together over the years. Neville's a clever one, and Ron, although don't tell him I said this, comes off as rather dim-witted, but he's not. Merlin, it took us years before we got along."

Harry nodded. "I usually sit alone."

"I've seen you and Luna Lovegood playing at meals. She's you friend?"

Harry chuckled. Hermione thought it sounded somewhat sad.

"Luna and I... Well, when you cut the head off a sixty-foot snake for someone, let's just say a bond is formed."

Hermione almost stumbled as they traversed the corridors down through the castle toward the Great Hall. "The Chamber of Secrets, yes? You were actually down there?"

"In the muck and the thick of it, Miss Granger." Harry ran a hand back through his messy hair. A mess that was kind of endearing. "And yes, okay, I'll join you and your friends for breakfast."

"Wonderful," she said. "You know, I had this really... vivid dream last night, about you."

Harry tilted his head and offered her half a smile. "Oh, Miss Granger, who'd a thought?"

"What?" Hermione frowned and, when the penny dropped, blushed. "Oh, no, no. No. Nothing like that. I mean, I had a dream that you'd been my friend for years, that you were a Gryffindor and played Quidditch. A Seeker."

"I've never really cared for Quidditch. Too windy."

"Windy?"

"Windy."

Hermione thought about that. "Ron and Neville love the game. I always go and cheer along the team. He made Keeper this year, Ron did."

After a few minutes of meandering down through the castle, Hermione and Harry fell into the throngs of students making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Her stomach grumbled, and she realised with a start that she'd skipped two meals yesterday, locked away in the Arbiter's Vault.

But the books! The books, and the knowledge therein, more than made up for the lack of meals and sleep. Still, perhaps an extra large breakfast today.

As they entered the hall, Hermione was surprised to find she felt more than a touch nervous about introducing Harry to her small group of friends. There they were now, Ron and Neville, and the rest of her year group nearby. What would they think? Knowing this lot, they probably hadn't even noticed she'd been gone the entire night.

And that was probably for the best

"Didn't see you last night," Ron said, as Hermione and Harry drew level with the fifth-year Gryffindors. "You go up to bed early?"

"Oh I was just... with Harry," she said, somewhat lamely. A few seats away, Parvati raised a single perfect eyebrow and smirked. "That is, we were in the library, studying."

"Studying," Ron said, then shrugged and returned to what looked like a pyramid of sausages and baked beans. "Okay."

"So this is Harry, as you know," Hermione said, introducing the Boy Who Lived to the table. Even after four years, he was still something of a mystery to most in the castle. Always kept to himself. He looked a touch unnerved, even now, having so many eyes on him. "He's joining us for breakfast. Move up, would you, Neville?"

Neville obliged and Harry sat himself down, next to Neville and opposite Ron. Hermione squeezed in next to Harry and poured herself a glass of fresh orange juice.

"So what were you studying?" Ron asked around a mouthful of beans and toast.

"Potions," Harry said blandly. On the plate that had appeared in front of him he placed an apple and a bowl of muesli.

"Not Defence? I thought with 'Mione's club idea—"

Hermione kicked Ron in the shin to shut him up, and cast a surreptitious look around to see who had been paying attention. Ron grunted, scowled across the table, then seemed to realise the implications of what he'd been about to say.

"Yeah, Potions, right," he mumbled. "Sounds like... fun."

"So, Harry," Neville said. "Don't see the Ravenclaws in Herbology this term. Are you still working on the hybrids we started last year?"

Harry nodded and poured himself a glass of milk. "Finished the seedlings, actually. Should start growing in the spring, producing the honeyberries."

"What's this?" Hermione asked.

"Harry and I came up with it when we were Herbology partners," Neville said. "Naturally occurring caramel in little grape pods. We spliced a few plants together using some incantations from Professor Sprout. Never thought it would work."

"Wait a minute... You're growing sweets?" Ron asked. "That's bloody brilliant!"

At the staff table, Hermione watched Dumbledore rise from his chair. He motioned for silence. It took a moment, but the hall quietened down for the old headmaster.

"Just one small announcement, ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore said. "Something rather exciting, to this old man at the very least. Although storm clouds begin to gather on the distant horizon, I believe this is a time to band together. With that in mind, and in the interest of school spirit, I am pleased to announce the return of the Hogwarts Games."

Dumbledore paused as if expecting tumultuous applause. It was only Hermione, however, that clapped her hands together in a rush of excitement. A few dozen heads turned her way and she blushed.

"Honestly," she muttered. "No one has read Hogwarts, A History, have they?"

"I have," Harry said.

"The games are a long standing tradition here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued. "Or rather, they were. In times recent, due to events outside of the school's purview, wars and upheaval, as you know, the games fell into disrepair and memory. The last Hogwarts Games were fought and played—"

"In 1912," Hermione said.

"—in the year 1912," Dumbledore said. "Consider them something akin to the Triwizard Tournament of last year, but without the interschool rivalry and, well, dragons."

"Or murder..." Harry muttered, scowling at a basket of hard boiled eggs.

"Historically, the games sought to unite the houses under a single banner—the crest of Hogwarts." As he spoke, Dumbledore waved his wand in slow circles. Bars of pure light, red, green, yellow, and blue, formed in the air over his head, and began to dance about, weaving and winding. "Tests of magical knowledge, of ingenuity, of cunning, and bravery. Traits you will find in Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff, in our Ravenclaws and our Slytherins."

The hall hung on the headmaster's words, near spellbound by the show of house-coloured lights spinning above his head.

"Participation in the games requires you to form a team of seven," Dumbledore said.

And it was here that excited whispers began to spread throughout the Great Hall. Dumbledore let them mutter, to chatter, and begin to scheme. He smiled down at them from on high and raised his hands for silence.

"Teams of seven, yes. The intuitive amongst you may have already associated that number with the years you find yourselves within these ancient halls." The headmaster paused. "Your teams of seven must either include a member of each year within your house, or a mix of years from all of our wonderful houses."

This was met with murmurs of confusion and a touch of disgruntlement. Hermione found a smile.

"What's that mean then?" Ron asked, wearing a bemused frown.

"You can have a team of Gryffindors, but only if the members are comprised from each of the year groups," Harry said. "Or you can have a mixed team from other houses, with multiple people from the same year. Keeps things... mingled, I guess."

Dumbledore wasn't quite finished. "You have a week to form teams, select a leader, and submit a team name to your leader's respective head of house. After which, well, the games will begin! Most of the trials will be kept secret, in the interest of the games. However, I can tell you the first game will involve a not insignificant amount of transfiguration knowledge."

A round of applause echoed throughout the hall, and already Hermione could see people shuffling closer to one another, talking animatedly about the games and who would be on whose team.

"Oh, and did I mention, the team that wins the games will be awarded a minimum mark of Exceeded Expectations on their end of year examinations, perhaps even Outstanding, depending on their performance."

To this announcement, Hermione didn't know whether to be encouraged of dismayed. She settled on determined.

"Now do enjoy your breakfast," the headmaster said, and sat back down in his chair.


A/N: Well, back on track, so to speak.

Now this update has a nefarious motive, too. My second original novel just went live, so I command you to go and buy it!

Seriously, check out the info in my profile, or just Google Joe Ducie. Head to Amazon and search for Joe Ducie.

Those who loved Distant Star are going to demolish Broken Quill!

Thanks for reading, folks, and please review. Or buy my novels. Whatevs...

-Joe