Location: Everywhere! All over Aternaville! But starts out in John's bathroom. Nekkid. *grins*
Time: I suppose it begins on Thursday, the 4th of January, the 5th being John's 40th. The scene below takes place first thing in the morning, about 8am (so I don't know why Rodney's so chipper), and then the thread will move from there
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He found himself blinking blankly at Harry, frowning. Where had that come from??
Harry licked his lips in confusion all the while cradling the phone to his ear with both his hands. Someone was talking in his ear and he couldn't tell what it was and the other boy was looking at him like he was a freak and he felt his eyes tear up and his head began to pound. "Siri likes me. He'll help!" Harry protested weakly.
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Still, suddenly they were huge, and his hands were tiny, visibly shrinking. It was *scary* and he wanted, he wanted... well, Mr. Snape would know what to do, Mr. Snape and Harry would take care of him like that last time. Tears streaking down his cheeks, he barrelled towards Aternaville, right through the door of the flat, unable to control his speed or his emotions at *all*, and wrapped himself around Mr. Snape, burying his face into Mr. Snape's stomach. He didn't even notice Harry's crying, Mr. Snape being much smaller as well, anything but that he wanted comfort and *now*
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So, it's not just Harry and myself. He wasn't sure if he found that to be reassuring or more frightening.
The truly horrifying thing was that he was having trouble thinking. His past and present were clawing at his mind, each trying to gain a foothold.
Snape closed his eyes.My name is Severus Snape and I am 40 years old. I am a wizard. He kept chanting that mantra in his head, holding it to him like a talisman. When he opened his eyes again, Bart's head was on shoulder. Either Bart got taller, or he was getting smaller.
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Of course, sliding down banisters does have the great advantage of being far swifter than careful climbing, so he had some waiting to do. (The idea of Jones not following him down had not even crossed his mind.) Luckily, the 'phone rang - Lulu this time - and so he had not time to grow impatient. "Good morning," he said in a cheerful voice.
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"Uh, Rodney?" The little boy wailed.
"McKay!" he tried. No good.
He started to say the other name, but at the sight of Rodney's expression, he trailed off. Rodney's eyes, always big and impossibly blue, were even bigger in his six-year-old face, edged by the longest and softest eyelashes John had ever seen. Combined with the curls and the round face (and the knowledge that even adult Rodney could throw a formidable tantrum), they were a force to be reckoned with. Rodney was...cute.
Still, that didn't stop John from poking Rodney in the shoulder with a disorientingly small hand. "Buck up, Rodney."
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"I have a body! Where there was nothing! And the bathroom counter is almost taller than I am and I am completely naked! So you can shut up!" he yelled at John.
He took a deep breath to continue yelling and stopped. "Wait... are you older?" He squinted at John sizing him up. "Oh my god you are!" he screeched and poked John again. "This is so not fair!"
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He looked hard at Rodney. And then his palm made sharp contact with the back of Rodney's head.
Rodney cringed down, and it was just like he was really himself; John could see the echo of the man he would be in another thirty years, the man that he was, now. "Ow! What did you do that for?"
"I told you not to come after me if anything happened." He pointed a quivering finger at Rodney. "This," he continued, actually referring to everything else, to their all thinking Rodney was dead, to his getting stuck in John's head, to the uncertainty still of whether he would ever get back to normal, "is your fault ( ... )
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