Part Six

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Four.
Or, "Autistic Potter and the Goblet of Fire."

Notes: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made. Not by me, anyway.

There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though, but there's a lot more in this one than usual because it was unavoidable. Still, lots of details are changed, so don't skip by familiar parts or you might miss something.

The shape within the dark cloak and cowl chuckled, a sound both sweet and shivery, as she spotted the lone witness to her reaping. She had just entered the room in her characteristic flash of light, then claimed the soul of the man who had been raping a young woman. The young woman in question had jumped out of the bed as soon as she appeared and cowered in the furthest corner of the room from the new arrival.

"Ahhh, thou art a young lass, I ken?" she enquired of the trembling girl in the corner of the opulent bedroom.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Rae, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, was concentrating on her task.

She finished gluing a prosthetic fin to the back of a hairless laboratory rat, and turned to Mary. "I'm running some tests on GLOO."

Part Five

"Guess what?" said Blue Impact, a couple of hours later, back at the lair. "Turns out the person who owns the house is the same Emil Logsdon who had to let the police in, years ago. He is part owner of the real estate company which bought the house, which is why there's no record of further transfers. He just had the company say it was waiting for a buyer to develop the property, in order to head off complaints about the house not fitting with the rest of the neighborhood. I guess he took it over as a private project. Or maybe as a memorial to his friend."

Which came first?

I knew I wasn’t dead anymore because my butt felt cold like I had been sitting on a cement park bench in the winter. My mind felt half-frozen, too.

What The Hell

I was ordered to move into my sister’s room that very afternoon and I made it my business to make sure everything stayed the way it was when she was there until I was ready to move or throw anything away. Not that I felt like leaving it as a shrine to her. No, it was just she had great taste and had left a lot of her old clothes for me, including something she called “the suit”; which was a skirt, with a long dress shirt and a tie.

Author's Note: This is a sequel to my Non-TG Novel, Missing Without A Trace: A Kelly Mitchell Mystery by Charles Schiman.
This is also a non-tg novel. However, I am a male writing the novel first-person as a female. And I created Kelly as the female person I thought I could have become--my alter ego, if you will--had I been born a girl.

The first novel, Missing Without A Trace: A Kelly Mitchell Mystery, is available for purchase online as a Nook Book at the Barnes and Noble Nook Store.

Flight Lieutenant Second Class Jason Cole is the fifth generation in a long line of military family members and the third of the current generation. Unlike his older brother and sister Jason cannot be fitted with a bio-A.I. This one fact will led him on the greatest adventure of his young life.

The fight started in the summer before my freshman year.
It was verbally bloody and nothing was off-limits; no words were barred.

In the blue corner, my sister, who was five months pregnant
In the red corner, my parents; who were not pissed about the pregnancy but more over the fact she had left home for a week and never said where she went.

Some may wonder about the title.

I know it seems silly be to me it means a lot.

For you see my father's heart gave up on Thursday. One day after June 12 aka fathers day. I had wished him such not too many days before.

Most people concentrate on a person just before they died. Ie the last day they saw them.

Am I greiving, yes very much so.

Still to me my father was a hero to many and here is a tale of what I know of him.

My father was born in 1946 here in Winnipeg to my grandparents Alma and Charles. One of eight children. Three girls five boys.

Claire is a young curator at a museum.
As she works on a new exhibit she uncovers more than she had thought possible.
Soon she confronted with an ugly truth and a witness.
One that has an interesting tale to tell.

(This story in the "undesirable classes" universe can be read without reading previous stories.)