Chapter 63- And now for my next trick.

July 25, 1995

Do you believe in magic?

Stephen Wright considered the question as he ushered his family into a parlor off the main taproom. As he waited for Tom and Jim to return, he shook his head bemusedly and marveled at his situation.

Before about five minutes ago, if he'd been asked the same question, he would have said that magic was something he liked to think might exist, but couldn't prove one way or the other.

Now he was having to re-arrange his thinking a little. If magic didn't exist, what the hell just happened?

The reality bending sensation he'd just experienced had been truly indescribable. His perception of Tom and the Leaky Cauldron had been completely turned upside down. When Janet had introduced them a few days ago, Steve had been awed. Tom and the Leaky Cauldron had been the very image of what he'd always imagined a British pub and owner might appear, based on books he'd read and old movies he'd seen. Now...

Now they just weren't. Nothing was, Steve thought as he guided Janet and the girls over to a medallion-backed sofa and solicitously settled them on it. Well, no, that wasn't strictly true. Sparky didn't seem to have changed much, he allowed, craning his neck so that he could see both the main taproom and the luxurious parlor he now found himself in. The contrast was stunning he had to admit, the college professor in him busily dating and cataloging as much of the living history as he could.

"Nice room," Janet commented, speaking for the first time since they'd been able to see the Leaky Cauldron as it truly was. "Is it Victorian?" she asked, running an admiring hand over the seat of the sofa.

"Something like that," he replied with a shrug, taking in his immediate surroundings again. The parlor was much more formal, that was for sure. Two medallion-backed sofas and a matching chair were grouped together on a rose patterned area rug in front of an ornate fireplace. The furniture was all upholstered in velvet, the sofas green and the chair soft gold. Hand-painted prism lamps sat on occasional tables, with candles and bric-a-brac here and there. It was a very pretty room, if you were interested in that sort of thing, Steve supposed, although it was not his style at all. He much preferred the main dining area with its solid, if rather plain wood tables and chairs and stone floor. The furnishings in here looked like they might collapse if a body simply looked at them wrong.

"Something like that?" Janet arched a brow. "Is that the best you can do, Mr. History Professor?" she teased, laughing when he gave her an annoyed look.

"My specialty is arms and armor. I never claimed to be a furniture expert," he retorted, noticing as he walked back over that Becky had clambered onto Janet's lap and was now laying rather listlessly against her chest. Kitty was sitting between her mother and the arm of the sofa, gripping Janet's arm and looking troubled. "Something wrong?"

"Becky feels a little warm," Janet said, absently carding the fingers of one hand through the baby's dark curls. "Can't say I'm surprised. She's been awfully fussy today."

"Hmm. Jim didn't look too hot either," Steve commented, recalling how weak and unsteady the boy had seemed. "Probably means this one isn't far behind," he theorized, frowning slightly as he reached down to feel Kitty's forehead. "How're you doing, kid?"

The brown-haired girl shrugged, glancing uncertainly between her parents as if she wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure where to start. Before Steve or Janet could try to coax anything out of her, Tom came bustling back in with a little tea cart loaded down with refreshments.

"I sent the boy upstairs to tidy up," the older man informed them as he steered the cart over and took a seat on the other couch. "One method of travel we have is a system of connected fireplaces known as the Floo Network. Soot always tends be a problem, but I'm afraid he was a bit damp when he came through just now. Under the circumstances I thought a shower would be best. He shouldn't be long."

Steve nodded and made a noncommital noise of understanding, while Janet hugged her younger daughter. "I guess Becky was right after all," she said, still sounding a little shell-shocked as she tried to mollify the still-sulking baby with a hug and a kiss. "Sorry sweetheart. I don't know exactly why, but for some reason Mommy and Daddy couldn't see the fireplace until just now," she explained, speaking to Rebecca, but looking meaningfully at Tom.

Steve smiled fondly and reached out, intending to give Janet's shoulder a little squeeze, but stopped when he realized the hand he'd hauled Sparky to his feet with was still smudged with soot. He pivoted to face Tom, meaning to ask where the public washroom was, but the words died in his throat when he noticed the other man now had his wand out and was pointing it in his direction.

He tensed, not knowing exactly what was going to happen next, but all Tom did was flick the slender instrument in his direction with a cheery "Allow me." He didn't quite catch what else the innkeeper said, but in a blink, the soot was gone from his skin and clothing, making him feel rather foolish. Tom frowned critically at his work for a second, then nodded as though satisfied and returned to the other sofa.

"I'm afraid I don't have a lot of experience at this," he began, picking up the teapot and beginning to fill the cups, "but I must say you're all taking this remarkably well."

Steve exchanged a glance with his wife and shrugged. "We had a little warning Sunday morning," he admitted, drawing Kitty's undivided attention. "Jannie and I were planning to talk to the kids over breakfast, but Jim was as jumpy as a cat for some reason, so we let the matter ride. We meant to bring it up that afternoon, when we came back by, but Janet got sick and had to go home, and it really hasn't come up again. I didn't think about it when Jim looked in on us earlier."

"I see," Tom said, setting the teapot aside and filling a couple of glasses with pumpkin juice for Kitty and Becky. When everyone had a beverage, and a plate of tea-cakes was being passed around he studied his guests appraisingly. "I'm sure you have questions you'd like to ask. Do you want to start there, or shall I give you a bit of background first?"

"You start," Janet decided while Steve nodded his agreement and settled on the sofa beside her.

"Very well," Tom said, taking a sip from his teacup and looking up as though wondering where to begin. "Now, as I said before, I'm not as practiced as those who do this as part of their jobs, but I do get a stray Muggleborn or two from time to time," he said, smiling warmly at Kitty and Becky. "As I'm sure you've realized by this time, magic is real. The Leaky Cauldron is one of the bridges or entryways from the non-magical or Muggle world into the magical realm or Wizarding World as it is more commonly known. Beyond the door in the back of the pub is a street called Diagon Alley..."

________

While Tom began to try to explain magic, upstairs a freshly showered and dressed Harry Potter dropped into his desk chair and dug out his little stack of Order parchment. "How do I get myself into these things?" he grumbled peevishly, wincing as his throat reminded him that speaking aloud probably wasn't a good idea just now. And why did this have to happen today?

Mindful of the people waiting downstairs Harry applied himself to his task with a single minded enthusiasm that would have made Hermione proud. Unfortunately, he was thwarted somewhat in his efforts by how miserable he currently felt. His head ached, his scar was still burning on his forehead, his throat hurt, his stomach was acting stupid again, little things seemed to take an inordinate amount of energy, and his eyes felt dry and scratchy.

Flipping hastily through his notepad, Harry scanned the information he'd jotted down at Madam Malkin's and wondered briefly if Tom was right and this was some summer flu, or if it was some weird residual effect from his scar flaring up, before deciding he really didn't care. Bed was sounding terribly attractive at the moment, and all he really wanted to do was crawl under the blankets and sleep until he felt better.

Unfortunately that wasn't an option just now. First he had to finish his correspondence, then he had to weather Steve and Janet's reaction to magic in general, their magical children in particular, and the fact the he, Harry, hadn't been completely straight with them.

Sighing, Harry selected a quill and dipped it in his ink bottle. That's certainly going to be a cheery meeting, he grumbled, cringing when he recalled Janet's run in with the Daily Prophet photographer. When he'd left them, the elder Wrights had still been rather overwhelmed, but that wouldn't last forever. They'd shake off their shock eventually, and once they did Harry reckoned they'd want answers. Now.

I wonder if the condemned man gets a blindfold and one last butterbeer, he mused darkly as he began to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I "overheard" Mr. Malfoy talking to Voldemort no more than half an hour ago. He appeared to have eavesdropped on you when you were discussing a "folder" of mine earlier today. I didn't catch the details, but I suppose you know where you were and who you were talking to.

Pausing a moment to collect his thoughts, Harry raked a hand through his still damp hair, and smiled as he recalled how Tom had taken command like a general mustering troops. Seeming to understand everyone's need to sort themselves out before trying to have a serious discussion, the older wizard had chivvied the Wrights into one of the private parlors, shooed Harry upstairs to have a good scrub, and put the kettle on for tea.

All in the space of three minutes or less.

Even now he wasn't sure how Tom had assessed the situation and taken action so quickly. Was it a lucky guess? Years in the business? Some higher instinct? Shrugging, Harry decided he was grateful whatever the reason. Besides being able to regroup and brace himself, dashing up to his room had given him an opportunity to write to Professor Dumbledore without having to delay or make excuses. Taking a quick shower had also relaxed him a bit and given his morale a much needed boost. Perhaps that was why Tom hadn't simply tidied him up with a few cleansing and freshening charms.

Well, the good news is I can't get in much worse trouble, Harry mused grimly. I'm dead. I am so bloody dead, he fretted, before forcing himself to concentrate on the parchment once more.

Voldemort seemed quite interested in the folder news, just so you know. I started to lose the connection shortly after that but I was able to catch "upping the timetable" and "pressing our advantage" before I lost the link completely.

Hmm. Harry tapped his quill against his cheek, and ran down his mental list as he surveyed the note. Had he forgotten anything? I think that's all...oh! Wait! he thought with a jolt, remembering what had triggered this episode in the first place. It seemed like a useless bit of trivia, since he had already passed on the news about Mr. Malfoy, but the headmaster had instructed him to pass along any information he could remember, no matter how small. Shrugging, he found the page in his notepad and re-read, just to make sure he recalled correctly, and then started to write again.

One last thing. The link became active because Voldemort was angry at one of his Death Eaters. I couldn't place the voice, but this person had apparently been owling Muggles. The owls are returning with their messages undelivered now, so Voldemort reckons the Ministry must be involved. Are they? Does someone finally believe what happened?

Even as he wrote the question, Harry reckoned the answer was probably "no." Still, stranger things had happened. The Minister could have stopped being a gormless prat...

Yeah, and the sky could turn green tomorrow, too, Harry mused cynically, rolling his eyes in disgust. Fudge would probably deny Voldemort's rebirth even if the slimy git and his entire entourage of Death Eaters marched into the Ministry of Magic, erected a Maypole, and proceeded to dance around it.

He mulled things over for a second, trying to remember if there was anything else, then shrugged and started wrapping up.

That's all I have, sir. Don't want to be rude, but I'm in a bit of a rush. I hope this information is useful to you, he said, pausing to stroke Hedwig when she glided over and landed on the desk.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

There. Harry had to admit it wasn't the best letter he'd ever written, but it would have to do. All the pertinent facts were there, and frankly, he had more pressing issues at the moment...tracking magic, receiving owls, and the Wrights' reaction to the Wizarding World among others.

He raised his quill to tap the Phoenix icon, then paused. If Voldemort was correct and the Ministry was helping those Muggles, perhaps the same kind of thing was behind his own owl difficulties. It could be coincidence of course, Harry allowed, or Dobby might just be trying to "help" him again, or any one of a million things, but that made more sense than him suddenly being able to block tracking magic. He hesitated uncertainly for a moment, then shrugged and scribbled a hasty postscript before tapping the Phoenix icon.

P.S. I seem to be having difficulty receiving owls as well. Do you know anything about that? And if you don't mind me asking, sir, what "folder" were you referring to? Thanks in advance.

HP

When all traces of his note were gone, Hedwig screeched in a very unladylike manner, and pecked irritably at the parchment. "Hey! Stop that," Harry admonished, picking up the enchanted pages, and putting them away before she rendered them unusable. He'd actually thought Hedwig might enjoy a break from letter delivering, but clearly he was mistaken. She actually seemed to look upon the Order parchment as a rival of sorts, and bitterly resented his use of it.

"I'll answer Ron and Hermione's letter this evening, then you can take it to them, all right?" he bargained, conveniently omitting the fact that he had been planning to just send a short reply back with Pigwidgeon. He looked around, intending to check on Pig and send him on his way if he was fit enough to travel, but the little owl was nowhere in sight.

"Did Pig go back to the Burrow?" he asked, relaxing as Hedwig looked toward the open window and hooted in a way that sounded affirmative. If Pig had tried something stupid she probably would have just snatched him up in her talon again. Might have even sat on him if she was annoyed enough, Harry thought with a smirk. Size did have its advantages, as his git of a cousin had taught him.

Then again, so did speed.

Now that his letter-writing was finished, the angry confrontation waiting downstairs loomed dauntingly in his imagination. And this was just a precursor of things to come, too. He couldn't avoid Sirius and Professor Dumbledore forever. Not if he wanted to return to school at any rate.

Wondering if it was too late to just chuck everything in his trunk and run, Harry frowned moodily and wandered over to the window that looked out on Muggle London. Maybe he could jump without hurting himself, or else balance his trunk on his Firebolt long enough to lower himself to the ground.

Hey! Wait! That's not half bad! Harry thought, perking up as his imagination seized the idea and started running with it. I could wrap up in my Invisibility Cloak! I might even be able to walk out the door. I think it's big enough to hide me and my trunk if I stoop a little. And since Tom's tracking spell is on the blink no one will know! Excellent! he enthused, walking over to the dresser. I can pack up, make my way out and...

and then...

and then what?

Uttering a frustrated little growl, Harry slammed both fists onto the top of the dresser then pressed his forehead against them as his racing mind came to a screeching halt. What was he thinking? Besides being cowardly and rude in the extreme, it was far too late to run. Even if he had somewhere to go, he'd created too public of a persona to simply vanish.

Diagon Alley wasn't that big. People would notice if "Sparky" suddenly went missing, and there was every reason to believe they'd converge on Tom demanding answers.

Some halfwit from the Daily Prophet might even try to stir up a scandal.

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes a moment, regretfully abandoning his plans of flight. Before last year he would have thought Tom impervious to that kind of nonsense, but now he wasn't so sure. Anyway, it wasn't worth the risk. He couldn't-wouldn't-do that to Tom.

"I had the right of it in the beginning," he grumbled to himself, wondering how he could have been so stupid. "I should have stuck to working nights."

"Whatever for? You would have missed out on quite a bit of fun, don't you think?" an unexpected voice asked, making Harry jerk his head up and suck in a startled breath.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed, then grimaced, and wobbled dizzily. When he got his feet back under him again, he glared at Crystal who had appeared in his mirror. "Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?" he continued, speaking at a lower volume, but with the same amount of heat.

"Erm, Tom asked me to check on you," the little being said contritely, knotting her fingers as she spoke. "He and the family waiting downstairs were wondering if you were all right," she reported, making Harry glance guiltily at the clock. Luckily it hadn't been all that long, but he'd had ample time to shower and change.

"Sorry," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair again before glancing up at Crystal. "I must have lost track."

Crystal hummed in a noncommital way while looking him up and down. "Well if you don't mind me saying so, you look like a long stretch of bad road," she observed candidly, taking in his pale face and fever-bright eyes. "Shall I pop back down and tell Tom you're ill?"

"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know!" Harry groaned before the first part of her statement registered. "Wait, did you say they were wondering if I was all right?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, I believe I did. The father claimed you were a little unsteady on your feet. He and the mother wanted someone to make sure you were getting along all right. Besides, Tom were expecting you back ages ago. He was carrying on about how quick you usually are."

"They aren't angry?" Harry pressed, frowning in confusion. "Not at all?"

"They didn't appear to be. Worried, more like." She faded out for a second then reappeared, nodding decisively. "Yes. The family is concerned, but not really upset," she reported. "Shall I tell them you won't be down?"

"No, I should go. Just...just give me a minute, will you?" Harry said distractedly as he digested this new information. Crystal had no reason to lie. If she said no one was upset he was probably safe believing her, but the situation made no sense! Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would have been screaming for his blood and carrying on about how thoughtless and ungrateful he was if he'd ever dared to keep them waiting like this!

Pfft. Don't flatter yourself, Potter, they would have already left by now, Harry admitted ruefully, too tired to keep the sadness from showing in his face.

Crystal moved closer to the glass and placed her palm against it. "What is it love? What are you afraid of?" she asked, smiling knowingly behind her other hand when Harry rounded on her again.

"I am not afraid, thank you ever so bloody much," he declared hotly. "What makes you think I'm afraid?"

"Oh, nothing special," Crystal returned dryly, starting to count points off on her fingers. "You're delaying going downstairs for some reason, you're unusually nervous and definitely not yourself, you seem afraid of people who legitimately care about you, and you're biting my head off every five minutes." She crossed her arms and treated Harry to a rather impressive glare of her own. "I realize you're not well, but could we at least converse in a civilized manner?"

Brought up short, Harry stared at her for a second, then bowed his head and muttered another chastised "Sorry."

"Well at least you're not thick enough to try and deny it," Crystal congratulated him, putting her palm against the glass again. Harry had lived at the Leaky Cauldron long enough to know that this was how the Mirror Folk reached out to someone, but the gesture always gave him the shivers. It looked like she was trapped in the glass.

"I'm just worried that there's going to be a big row when the Wrights learn about magic...and me," he finally admitted. "I've been sort of misleading them about who I really am."

"Well I'm not an expert in such things, but they seem to be taking the magic news quite well, although I don't think the full implications have sunk in yet," the little being said with a shrug. "About the other, seems to me that you have good reasons for hiding. Are they so judgmental that they'd jump to conclusions without letting you explain?"

Harry shrugged. "That's what my aunt and uncle always did."

"I see. So the family downstairs reminds you of your relatives?" Crystal questioned sympathetically, making Harry look up in surprise.

"Who, Janet and Steve? Like the Dursleys? " he echoed incredulously. "Oh, no. Chalk and cheese," he hastened to correct her. "The Wrights are nothing like my aunt and uncle," he emphasized before stopping short and blinking in surprise at what he'd just said.

'The Wrights are nothing like the Dursleys.' Oh, good show. Well spotted, Captain Obvious. How did that escape your oh-so-brilliant notice? Harry wondered, feeling quite disgusted with himself. While he couldn't deny that Steve and Janet would probably be cross with him, at least initially, their previous behavior seemed to indicate that they'd at least listen to what he had to say.

Janet had never been anything but nice to him, and his dealings with Steve, though limited, had all been positive, Harry admitted with a guilty squirm. They hadn't automatically blamed him when they'd found Becky crying, and just today the entire family had welcomed him wholeheartedly and gone out of their way to make him feel at home.

So why, given the evidence, was he so eager to think the worst of them?

It was actually a bit rich of him, Harry realized uncomfortably, especially since Janet had put more faith and trust in him than anyone ever had before. Besides looking to him for help with the local terms and phrases she found unfamiliar, she'd left him alone in her home and entrusted her children to his care.

By contrast, his Muggle relatives had always made it quite plain that they would never hold him in high esteem, and the Wizarding World's capricious fickleness with regard to their supposedly beloved "Boy Who Lived" was just as hurtful if not more so.

The fact that most magical folk were still unwilling acknowledge or even look into Voldemort's return set Harry's teeth on edge-especially since they were more than willing to take the Daily Prophet's gossipy rubbish to heart.

It made it hard to know who he could trust, it made it hard to trust, Harry admitted, wearily rubbing his temples. He'd learned that lesson as a First Year-the difference between "friend" and "fan." Everyone loved him until he messed up, then he was public enemy number one. It was far easier-and safer-to expect the worst, hold people at arm's length and not let them get too close.

Ah, but you let your guard slip this summer didn't you? his conscience sneered cynically. Harry could almost imagine it leaning against a wall and smirking down at him in a superior fashion. You opened up to those Muggles, allowed yourself to care, and now you're terrified that they're going to hurt you. Pathetic.

Remembering Crystal's words from a few minutes ago, Harry grudgingly admitted there might be a tiny grain of truth in the accusation. If he was as unaffected as he claimed, why had he not cleaned up, written his note, and gone downstairs straightaway? Was he projecting his relatives' fearful prejudice on the Wrights, or perhaps expecting them to suddenly turn on him like his classmates and the Magical community at large had in the past?

Stunned, Harry felt himself start to blush as the truth of the matter hit him. How could he even consider judging them without giving them at least one chance? Hadn't he always hated it when him Muggle relatives had treated him in such a manner?

"Sparky?"

Oh. Oops. Harry looked up and found Crystal studying him seriously.

"Back with us now? You were off with the pixies there for a moment," she commented, still studying him closely. "Are you quite certain you're all right? You look a little flushed."

Harry nodded. "I'm fine. Sorry," he said, managing a small smile for the worried being.

Crystal didn't seem completely convinced, but chose not to push the issue. Instead, she studied him consideringly for another few seconds, then motioned him closer. "Look, technically I'm not supposed to do this, but if it will help ease your mind, I'll give you a little peek downstairs," she offered, opening a circular window of sorts in the center of the mirror. "Then you can see for yourself that you have nothing to worry about."

By now Harry had already half decided that he was being stupid and things would probably be all right. He started to refuse, but the words froze in his throat when the image resolved itself and he caught sight of Katrina's miserable, tear-streaked face. Oh, brilliant, Potter, you forgot about Kitty! he chastised himself. Clearly something had gone seriously wrong while he'd been dawdling upstairs.

Well he wouldn't stand for it! If Steve and Janet want someone to yell at, they can bloody well yell at me! he thought fiercely, conveniently ignoring the fact that he'd been almost beside himself with nerves less than two minutes ago in anticipation of that very event. Automatically he turned, intending to bolt out the door and race to her defense, but paused, confused, when he heard Janet's voice.

"You silly little goose," she said in a voice that didn't sound at all angry, further confusing Harry when she pulled her older daughter into a warm hug. "That's what this was all about? A lamp? "

Kitty nodded into her mother's neck. "I didn't want you to know I was still scared. I wanted you to stay proud of me," she confessed in a very small voice.

"We are proud of you," Steve assured from her other side.

"And my ball?" Kitty asked, looking between her parents.

"And your ball," Janet said with a smile, rubbing soothing circles on the girl's back. "It's all right sweetheart. I'm sorry we misunderstood each other, but just so you know, you're our daughter and we love you no matter what."

"Becky too?" Rebecca asked from her father's arms, making both her parents chuckle.

"Of course you too," Janet said, shaking her head fondly, then glancing over to one side and frowning lightly. "Tom, I really think someone needs to check on Sparky."

Tom, Harry noticed, was looking a little concerned as well. "You might be right at that," the bald wizard stated, putting his teacup down and starting to rise from his seat.

Harry met Crystal's gaze in the mirror as she closed the window. "Would you please tell them I'll be right down?", he requested, turning and heading for the door again.

_________

It took Harry another couple of minutes to screw his courage to the sticking point and make his way downstairs, but go he eventually did. On the way, he flip flopped between cautious hope and resigned despair, feeling very much like he did his second year when he'd had to explain the flying car, and his actions with regard to the Basilisk.

Pausing in the doorway that led from the kitchen into the dining room, Harry habitually glanced around, making sure no one was waiting to be attended to. Customers would have served as another "legal" delaying tactic, but he couldn't say he was surprised when he found the place empty. Early afternoon between lunch and teatime tended to be rather slow. In fact, when he wasn't helping another shopkeeper out on Diagon Alley, this was when he and Tom generally attended to the Leaky Cauldron's guest rooms. Speaking of Tom...

Harry glanced around again, but the other wizard didn't seem to be about. Now that he was nearing the parlor, Harry could hear voices issuing from within. He couldn't make out what they were saying yet, but at least the Wrights were still here. Nervous all over again, Harry dearly hoped that Tom was still inside and not upstairs attending other business, before stopping in his tracks and giving himself a firm shake.

What the bloody hell is wrong with you? 'Oh, I hope Tom is still there,' indeed! It's Janet, not the bloody Inquisition! Just get on with it! he railed angrily, bristling even more when a half-forgotten taunt from Muggle Primary School swam up from the murkier recesses of his memory. "Poor Pathetic Puny Potter, takes his bath in a cup of water..."

Uttering a frustrated little growl, Harry shook his head irritably, then blinked in surprise when the schoolyard teasing melted away but the phantom laughter did not. Coming completely back to reality, it soon occurred to him that the laughing was coming from the parlor. It quieted down after a minute, then Harry heard Kitty say, "That's not all. Watch! Pink!"

"Boo!" Becky countered.

"Pink!"

"Boo!"

What the heck? Harry wondered, peeking cautiously around the doorframe, to survey the scene.

Tom, who was looking proud enough to pop, was seated on one sofa, while Steve and Janet occupied the other. Kitty was standing in front of her parents, and Becky was perched on her father's lap. From what Harry could see they were showing off their favorite game, and the pink vs. boo, errrr, blue "argument" revolved around the color of the ball.

Harry watched in amusement, frowning distractedly when the colors tickled a memory. There was something familiar about-oh, yes! Sleeping Beauty! No, wait, "Seeping Booty" he corrected himself, chuckling softly at Becky's mangled pronunciation.

After a few more repetitions of "Blue! Pink!" Janet finally spoke. "I always thought that movie should have ended with Fauna turning the dress green and shoving the other two out before they had a chance to object," she commented, with a little half smile, confirming Harry's suspicions.

*****************