If you’re reading this ficlet, you should X out the window, and go find something else. This is a very sad ficlet, and you may wind up crying your eyes out. Instead, you should go watch a musical about a large girl and integrated television. You’ll be much happier.

Harry Pendragon stared at the star on the wall warily, his raised wand giving off the only light in the basement in which the flume was hidden. He knew Saint Voldemort was at Kiamo Ko, but he wasn’t the cause of Pendragon’s aversion. After he broke up with Amber for Tracy, Amber had moved to the Red Windmill in which the flume would deposit him. Saint Voldemort usually left quigs to greet him- and try to kill him- at the flume of the territory of the most recent turning point, but he knew about Amber. Rather than going to the trouble of leaving quigs, Saint Voldemort would announce his presence to Amber, and she would wait at the flume until Pendragon arrived.

Great. Now he’d have to waste time singing Without Love and eating gloid.