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Crap! #2	By : blastendedskrewt Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32233 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Harry Potter's universe and make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
AUTHOR’S NOTE:

All the same warnings apply. Thanks for reading-- and all the rates and reviews! (although I’ve heard the “rate” button may be somehow disabled for this fic)

I really do love hearing from people who’ve been tough enough to get through the chapters and brave enough to speak up :)

Vampirekisses, I know it’s kind of sad how shameful a shitter Harry is (well, Draco too) but I am totally the same way even though I didn’t have childhood trauma like them. I’m more inclined to think like Draco, that if it happens behind closed doors and no one knows about it, then it doesn’t exist… I think what squicks me out the very most out of this paraphilia is that they are witnessing each other—I can’t even FATHOM doing any of That in front of another person!!!! (even the “clean” stuff)

Thanks Obsessive Reader, glad you gave in to your curiosity and gave this story a chance—yes, it’s definitely not for everyone, but I’m hoping that the way I’m writing it (well, I won’t go so far to call it ‘classy’-- but maybe more high-brow than simply crude?) that more people will ponder it before dismissing it entirely.

Hope everyone enjoys this next one…

Discovered! (exploratory emissions)

~~ A collection of vignettes concerning some solitary experiments of coming and going (or going then coming ;), a series of short companion pieces to the long, strange trip of Harry and Draco’s experiences with exploring That. ~~

)*(

Part 3: “Replicating Results & Fetish Findings”

Draco was pouting.

It was hard for Harry to leave him, just as it always was when he had to depart for an away-mission; the sulking and silent treatment used to vex and exasperate him, making him practically pull out his hair while willing his lover to understand the demands of his job.

But now, he could see it for what it was: Draco was worried for his safety and would miss him. He cared. It was sweet, really, when he looked at it that way. But it didn’t make their farewell any easier.

“Love, it’s only three days,” Harry reassured him, bending over behind the bristling blond sitting at the breakfast table, hugging the stiff shoulders intent on keeping up snarky façade. The brunet burrowed his nose in the silky platinum locks he’d been resting his chin on and kissed his scalp.

“I KNOW,” whined the petulant Pure Blood, “But I don’t like it!” and vehemently poked his un-eaten egg yolk with his fork. Harry smiled indulgently, even though his beau couldn’t see it. It felt nice to feel wanted.

There was a reason he wasn’t as plaintive and pining as his boyfriend—and it had nothing to do with not missing his presence just as much. No, he had a trick up his sleeve he’d invented that was a secret and got him through many-a-lonely night when his work took him away from being at home with his lover.

Shortly after they finally moved into their house and endured the first, excruciating separation during an overnight assignment, he’d charmed a small, flat mirror, modeled after his dad’s and Sirius’ two-way mirrors. (Ok, fine! It was Hermione that had parsed out the individual spells required when she set up a baby monitor of sorts when Hugo was born—but it was his idea to make the modified “Homenum Revelio” one-way and caster-specific to him so it would look like a regular old mirror to anyone else.)

His piece acted as a “receiver” that displayed Draco’s reflection in any one of the many looking-glasses placed around the house. At first, Harry had scoffed at his boyfriend’s vanity and interior design sense that there were so many decorating their walls, but after he’d worked out his little device, he was grateful he had multiple views-- and from almost every room.

He knew he should feel worse about invading Draco’s privacy like that but he justified it to himself as an added measure of security. This way, he could monitor the goings-on and well-being of his home without the distraction of having to talk to the blond every time he checked on his surveillance—not that he didn’t want to speak to him, but they’d found the covert (potentially case-compromising) and brief Floo conversations were utterly unsatisfactory, making the time seem to stretch even longer.

Plus, he loved catching the man he adored in un-guarded moments.

Most of the time there was nothing much to see—Draco burying himself with extra hours at work or having gone out. Usually, when he was home, he was just reading a book by the fire or mindlessly flipping through channels on the tele—not much action, but Harry treasured the glimpses of his Heavenly beauty; something as simple as his wicked wizard walking across the room or perusing the Daily Prophet could move him and touch his heart more than the most elegant, priceless works of art ever could.

Well, there was that one time he caught Draco in the bathroom, holding up his nose like a pig snout and trimming his nostril-hairs. And then the delicate tweezing by hand of his fine white-gold eyebrows (Harry nearly busted a gut biting back his laughter—‘naturally occurring perfection’, my ASS!—and had to hold up the Martin Migg’s comic book he’d concealed his mirror in when Ron poked his head back in the tent-flap to see what was so funny).

And the fortuitous, preciously coveted instance he’d witnessed the sexy former-Slytherin knocking back a few (ok, several) drinks and dancing in the living room to a set of slow, sensual songs on the Wizarding Wireless, completely lost in the sinuous sway of his body and moving in such a provocative rhythm that had Harry drooling.

That had been sooooo hot…

He shook his head to clear it. “Listen Cuteness, it’s just a routine stake-out, I’ll be back before you know it,” Harry reassured him. “And when we’re done, we get a three-day weekend!”

Draco just ‘humphed’ a bit in resigned acquiescence. The Auror nibbled at his ear and did his patented heart-fluttering move of suckling on the pulse-point of the pale neck under his lips. “I’ll make it up to you Tootsie…” his hot breath ghosting over the moistened skin. He smiled with affection (and victory) as the Healer relented and melted a bit in his embrace.

They said their “I love you’s” and “stay safe’s”, then the law enforcement agent hefted his rucksack on his shoulder and Disapparated once he’d reached the porch.

_)*(_

There was not much to do.

The area they were keeping watch on was remote, as most of the ex-Death Eaters (or suspected criminals) hide-outs were-- this one being a lone house on an expanse of misty moors in the north of Britain. They’d set up the tent and masking wards yesterday under a quaint glen on a hill. They settled easily into their routine of taking shifts.

Ron, having become an early riser ever since the birth of his son, was sacked out as soon as dusk fell, leaving Harry with the Omnioculars to cover the late evening and night hours. With absolutely no activity occurring in or around the farm cottage and Ron snoring loudly in the bunk behind him, the brunet carefully extracted his mirror and whispered the incantation.

The reflection from their dressing table in the bedroom showed Draco was asleep. Harry sighed.

He looked angelic in his repose, gently breathing in and out, and adorably clutching a red T-shirt (that Harry had worn last weekend when they’d gone flying) to his alabaster, bare chest and under his nose. Fuck, he missed him! And he made a mental note-to-self to bring along a “used” item of his lover’s clothing next time—that was a brilliant idea! (He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before)

The time passed very slowly. Finally, the smell of Ron cooking a quick breakfast before sunrise roused his thoughts and appetite and they ate together, quietly discussing their case (or lack of it). Their replacements were due to arrive at noon and then take over after debriefing, so Ron settled himself at the entrance to the tent and gestured for Harry to go lie down and take a nap until then.

Unable to sleep after much tossing and turning, he decided to read until his eyes got tired; the print started swimming on the page but he was still too alert to doze. With the redhead’s attention diverted elsewhere, Harry slipped his spy-glass into the Quidditch magazine and muttered the incantation.

What he saw made him gasp so hard he choked on his own spit!

Malfoy was on their bed, legs spread and was pummeling a couple fingers in and out of his own hole! His head was thrown back until he curled up started watching his own hands ‘scissor’ inside him—digging, probing—pulling up his balls so he could see where his wanton digits were disappearing into...

(Oh FUUUUCK… Harry’s cock shot full of blood so fast it was almost painful.)

Harry groaned in frustration when the blond turned away, fumbling with something the voyeur couldn’t see (although he did admire the curve of his hip and the plumpness of his pert butt-cheeks and glistening crack). Soon enough, he lay on his back once again and produced a hand-held mirror of his own, positioning it between his legs and holding it still with his feet.

Wha?? Harry then got the strange view of “picture-in-picture”—he could see Draco’s body in its entirety but also a zoom-in image of what was going on with his genitals and anus. The brunet felt a little pre-cum trickle into his shorts, his breaths coming in ragged pants of anticipation. Which of their toys would he be treated to seeing his gorgeous guy play with?

His respiration halted all-together when the blond moved a peeled banana to his butt-hole and began feeding the velvety, yet firm, oblong into his rectum! Holy crap! Harry was flabbergasted! Was he really doing what he thought he was doing? Apparently, yes; he was stuffing himself with a food item, much like he’d done to Harry that time with the grapes and zucchini…

(Ah, clever Auror Potter solves the mystery of why the blond had been so furtive yet adamant—complete with suspicious and lame reasons-- about purchasing the green, obviously under-ripe fruit during their last trip to the Muggle market.)

Then—what the hell?!— after the pale yellow shaft was swallowed behind his pink pucker, he was securely taping an enlarged infant diaper around his pelvis, and then pulled on a pair of Harry’s baggy exercise sweats. The bigger size of the brunet’s clothes easily accommodated the nappy’s bulk (although the extra padding looked out of place on the svelte blond’s hips). His pale porcelain digits sensually quested and smoothed over the puffy black cotton, exploring the unusual contours of his odd apparel.

Harry’s pulse was throbbing in his ears (and impossibly hard penis).

It appeared that he was trying out random, different positions. One minute he’d sit in a chair and attempt reading a book (though it was clear he wasn’t concentrating on the text), or in the next instant, walk around swiveling his hips in strange patterns, and then cup a hand to his backside or crotch. Sometimes he would lie on the floors of various rooms, both on his back or on his stomach.

Harry could tell he was pushing and playing with expelling the manufactured poop by how his neck thickened and face blushed, his expression full of concentration (the determination in his narrowed silver eyes and the tight set of his lips gave it away). But it was obvious by some of his poses that the organic matter he’d packed into his poop-chute had nowhere to go— and he just liked pushing.

And when his hole had a clear shot outward, it became obvious he was holding back at the same time. When he made it back to the master bedroom and was writhing on the mattress they shared, Harry clutched the magazine and mirror in exquisite agony as Draco snaked a hand down the front of his pants; the lonely Healer finally, finally gave an extreme effort at the moment of his ejaculation (only recognizable from his arched back and full-bodied paroxysms and slack jaw).

The peeping man fought to control his body—seeking to subdue his heaving lungs and throbbing erection. The peaceful dénouement was followed by the wanton angel vanishing his raunchy evidence, then lazily and manually wiping his recently played-with parts with a wet cloth before falling asleep spread-eagle.

Harry barely had the presence of mind to end the incantation when he heard Ron talking outside the tent. He could also hear Davidson and Murphy, so it must be time to leave; their departure eminent, a trip to the loo to take care of his “problem” was out of the question.

He was able to deflate his erection somewhat, picturing these two colleagues in nude and lewd ways. He shuddered in revulsion. The women were effective and skilled Aurors, but… well, he just didn’t find them attractive people in the least.

He packed his bag and joined the others outside. He was more than ready to get out of there and get back to the house to take a shit, shower and fuck the living daylights out of Draco (preferably in that order, but he wasn’t particularly picky about it).

Still sporting a partial, he was glad his partner had covered the relay of necessary information (which admittedly wasn’t much); he didn’t think he had enough blood in his brain to sound coherent at the moment. The redhead clapped him on the back and told him, “You don’t look so good, mate. I’ll fill in the paperwork—why don’t you go straight home once we get to London and get some rest.”

He nodded in gratitude-- and with that, they Disapparated to their government’s headquarters.

_)*(_

Harry came to consciousness slowly, blinking in confusion as a blurry-- yet very recognizable-- bushy head descended on him. His shoulders twitched but he couldn’t lift his arms to return the tight embrace; he started to panic and hyperventilate.

“Harry, shush! Shhh…” his best friend’s voice urged. “You’re in the hospital and being treated. The paralysis is only temporary. It just needs to work itself out down along your body. It was only a faded Anti-Apparition jinx.”

The heavily panting brunet tried to calm down but continued being frantic and scared—he needed his lover.

He was helpless with his whole body being unresponsive and feeling like rubber (almost like when Lockhart had removed all the bones in his arm second year, except all over) and felt the oppressive, constrained sensation of being squeezed in a tube, yet with a stable grasp on reality in his brain.

He couldn’t quite articulate his thoughts out his numb lips though. He needed Draco to feel safe. “Herrrmoneee… Draaaco!”

Hermione smoothed his hair from his sweaty brow. After she put his glasses on, he could clearly see the sterile infirmary room. “Honey…” she started in that placating tone that he knew to be carrying bad news, “he’s in his office. He knows you’re here.” Harry sensed a big ‘but’ coming.

He wasn’t wrong. “But he’s not allowed in your room.”

“Wha, whaaat? Draco!” Harry called out, still disoriented and thrashing as much as the current status of his central nervous system would allow (which was really nothing more than some feeble jerks of random neurons firing). “Draco…” he whimpered pathetically, a couple drops of liquid gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Only family members and emergency contacts are permitted to see you, and the administrative board agreed that given both of your publically known histories, he wouldn’t be the Healer assigned to your case,” she said gently as she took firmly ahold of his arms to still him.

“They consider you the most important person in this place and they aren’t taking any chances with your safety. Security and protocol are being followed to the letter. You should have heard Molly raising such a fuss when they denied her access! She sent a Mediwitch away in tears…”

He slumped back in defeat—Shit! He’d never changed the personal information in his Auror file since he’d filled out the application when he began training! He and Draco were only first finding their way back to each other at that point-- and not sure where their relationship was going, if anywhere-- so he’d only listed Ron and Hermione.

But he knew why he’d put it off… the world at large didn’t know Malfoy and him were involved with each other, especially not in a romantic way.   Hell, the Wizarding world didn’t even know their “Golden Boy” was gay. With all the rumor and intrigue, they hadn’t wanted the attention; they’d been hesitating due to what the media would do to them… They’d taken great measures against suffering the magical community’s scrutiny.

But maybe it was time to bite the bullet and weather the inevitable shit-storm to come. Screw his fans and fuck their critics! Draco had to be able to come to his bedside when he was in the hospital, damn it!

“Ron!” he exclaimed and wanted to sit up but couldn’t—his torso twitched then shuddered to a stop. He could only limply lie there like an over-cooked noodle.

The last thing he remembered was landing in the alley next to the Ministry after they’d Disapparated; something had gone wrong and they had fallen to the pavement, cracking their skulls on the stone. He had an image in his mind of the redhead bleeding from his temple. He’d heard a shriek and saw Mafalda’s concerned face as his vision blurred and blackened before he succumbed to unconsciousness. “Shhhouldn’t… you… beee wi’ Ron?”

Hermione rubbed his arms soothingly, “Molly’s with him now, he’s fine. Or he will be soon. He must have Apparated before you did—he’s already got complete control of his arms. And so will you. Can you move them?” Harry tried, but only got a couple tired flops out of his apathetic appendages before a ‘pins-and-needles’ sensation started in his upper-half (and he bemoaned his lack of success at mobility); she started a deeper, harder massage.

“So,” she continued in that lilt she used when she was trying to keep things light and minds off of worry, “we found out we’re going to have a girl.”

Harry was happy he was now able to fling his arms around his best girl, albeit still with barely coordinated biceps and while flat on his back. “Thaaat’s exxxcellent!” he slurred in his weakened state, but beginning to regain command of his vocal chords and larynx. “Hermy! Nowww you can have both of them naaamed after your parents!”

Hermione softly snorted at the nickname she hated, but couldn’t help her fond smile as the partially disabled Auror ducked his head down closer to her belly. “Helloooo in there, Rose,” he cooed. “It’s your uncle Harry, precious tadpole… You’re gonna be my little princess… I bet your grandma Molly is over the moon…”

The fluffy-haired woman snickered. “Well, she will be once she shuts up and we can tell her. She barely let either of us get one word in edgewise and was still laying into Ron when I left to come see you… made him piss himself,” she added with a grin. “He swore it was the after-effects of the curse…”

They both laughed heartily until Harry felt a warm wetness cascade over his lap; his hospital gown and sheets were soaked within seconds.

“Oh,” they both said as their guffaws were instantly halted. Harry felt himself blush terribly at his accident; he was regaining sensation in his lower-half now, but not much muscle control yet. He could only stare at his traitorous crotch in disbelief.

“I, erm… uh-- I’ll just fetch a personal care assistant or a B.A.T.S. student to clean you up,” Hermione babbled as she dropped his hands like they were on fire and headed for the door.

As embarrassing as that was, he really didn’t care for a stranger to see him in this condition, “Can’t you just vanish this for me?”

“Sorry, Honey,” she crooned, cramming herself out the door. “Only medical personnel are allowed wands in patients’ rooms.” As she slipped into the hall, Harry caught a glimpse of two bodyguards on either side of his door

Great. Now Draco wouldn’t even be able to sneak in—but he was immensely grateful Hermione had left since he could tell the two days- worth of fermenting feces in his intestines was about to make an appearance and he could do nothing to stop it.

It was an odd, icky feeling of total loss of control (as usual) but it was too public to be titillating; it was mortifying because someone other than himself or Draco was going to be witness to his mess (and the fact that his body had been “frozen” while his cock was still at half-mast wasn’t helping). He could not find any pleasure at making a spectacle of himself in such a horrid, public display.

No… it was just really, really bad!

He prayed to any and all gods that whoever came to tend to him was professional and discreet; he didn’t completely trust the supposed ‘Unbreakable-Confidentiality-Vows’ every employee of the St. Mungo’s staff undertook. That was all he needed—some big mouthed nurse telling reporters and seeing the headlines tomorrow, “Our Well-hung Savior Shits His Hospital Bed!”

The crap was oozing out of its own accord.

He tried to clench and pinch but his sphincter wasn’t listening to the commands of his brain; he felt the tip of the turd stretch and breach his butt-hole whether he wanted it to or not. It slithered along the cleft of his cheeks and the seam of the backs of his pressed together thighs in a sickening slide. He could sense the heat of it on the flesh and hair on his legs (and the expulsion seemed to gain momentum once it got going). It was undoubtedly mushing itself into the fibers of cloth surrounding his body and staining it in the worst possible way.

And it stunk!

At least he could move his arms and cover his flushed face when he heard the door open and an entirely too-cheery female voice met his burning ears, “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter! I’m trainee Melody Merrythought and I’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy!” The cool wash of the ‘Evanesco’ was most welcome as it tickled his soiled skin. His flimsy frock was spelled off and a new one replaced it.

Next, the linens were changed. He didn’t even have to be moved—he hadn’t known anyone could do that! (It reminded him of that old Muggle ‘magic’ trick of whipping a tablecloth from beneath a heavily-laden spread of place-settings without disturbing its contents). He mumbled out a weak “sorry” and relieved “thank you” from under his hiding place once ‘Miss Sunshine’ was done.

“No trouble at all, Mr. Potter! I’m just happy to help make your stay here a bit more comfortable!” she chirped. “This is a good sign that you’re on the mend! Won’t be long now until you can feel all the way down to your feet and you’ll be walking out of here tomorrow morning completely recovered!”

He heard a metallic clink of the standard-issue clipboard being re-attached to the foot of his bedframe. (Bloody hell! Did she write what he did on his chart?! ) He groaned. On top of the humiliation of having strangers poke and prod at him in his vulnerable state (and possibly having to ask for and use bedpans), now he would have to spend another night away from his soul-mate!

“It’s just a precaution, Mr. Potter, in case of any unforeseen complications, but Healer Jenkins is optimistic. And you should be too,” she all-but-sang. “It’s a rather routine and easily treatable malady. Get some sleep and I’ll bring your dinner in a couple hours.”

He never took a look at her, but in his mind, he was picturing the fairy-tale character of Snow White in the cartoon video Dudley used to watch (ad nauseum) when they were about five—with that voice, he half expected little birds to land on her shoulder and trill with her as she performed her chores. (Jeez, what drugs was he on?!)

Harry’s arms melted back to his sides as the door clicked shut. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. He could only hope that Hermione was able to talk to Draco and let him know he was going to be all right. In fact, he could already bend his knees a little. His door opened again and there she was, leaning back against the wood looking shocked and peaky.

“Hermy!” Harry yelled manically (how many pain-potions had they given him?), excited to have the company and a messenger to bring him news on how Draco was faring. But she did not look like her normally tough, no-nonsense self. “What’s wrong? Is it Ron? Have you spoken with Draco?”

With a strange glint in her big brown eyes and fists balled on her hips in an uncharacteristic stance, she demanded, “What did you call me?”

“You know, because of Grawp…” but he was met the same expression of confusion and hesitation, now laced with skepticism about the integrity of his mental faculties.

“How hard did you bump your head when you landed?” she asked, picking up his medical record hanging on his footboard and beginning to read it with a furrowed brow. The tongue clucking behind her teeth was also atypical and he heard a murmur of, “Sixteen cc’s Nerve Restorative, ten of Calming Draught… general analgesic,” and then a snort, “experienced double elimination…”

That wasn’t right…

“Who the hell are you?!” he groped around on the side-table for his wand but only succeeded in knocking over a glass of water. Of course it wasn’t there, so he gripped the cup, ready to chuck it at the interloper’s head in his defense. The liquid splash on the tile floor slowed to a steady drip as the two faced off.

The imposter raised both hands indicating innocent empty palms after tossing the clipboard on his bed by his now-tingling toes, and whispered urgently, “Baby! Baby it’s me! Calm down, all right? Please! It’s not good for your blood pressure to spike! I thought she would have told you her plan…”

Baby? He blinked. “Draco? Malfoy?” Harry questioned warily, watching as the woman shot a combination of repelling and silencing charms over her shoulder towards the door with a very familiar-looking Hawthorne wand. “What pet-name do I call you in private?”

The image of Hermione rolled her eyes but gave an imperious nod of approval at his security measures. “Tootsie,” was answered with a resigned sigh. “And although I’m not a fan of frilly pink nighties, I think I prefer it to that invalid’s uniform you’ve got on right now.”

The teasing, flirting twinkle in his best friends’ eyes was unsettling but he threw his arms out and engulfed himself in his lover’s currently girly arms-- which seemed to ripple and gain more substance in the next moment. The infirmed brunet pulled away in time to see the brown frizz straighten, shorten and lighten to platinum blond. Draco belched and farted as his once petite form lengthened and filled out with toned muscle.

“Good Lord!” the beleaguered Healer wheezed, clutching his now flat and sturdy chest. “Remind me never to Polyjuice into a woman heavy with child EVER again! (Harry smiled at his melodramatic theatrics-- Hermione was only just beginning to show) “Well, I’ll have to in order to sneak back out of here past your honour guard, but—mmfphh!”

The gripe was abruptly cut off by an unbridled, passionate kiss. They rested their foreheads together and stared at each other in fathomless love; many things were communicated with that one look. The silver-eyed Healer whispered, “But I’d do anything for you…”

“With ’anything’ being an hour spent as a pregnant lady?” Harry smirked, both pleased and feeling one hundred percent content now that his lover was by his side.

The blond scrunched his nose a little and pulled on his earlobe in his adorable nervous tic, “Ah, um, I may have only taken a tiny sip… just enough to get me in here… Sorry, no offense to Granger, but I rather enjoy having some certain dangling bits…”

“As do I,” Harry quipped, grabbing for his lover’s groin with the newly found autonomy over his upper-extremities and rubbed his fingers over the hardening column through his robes. “But we need to talk…” his voice turned breathy as his lover returned the favour.

“Not now… Later…” Draco whispered breathily. It didn’t take much persuading on either of their parts. The blond hiked Hermione’s robes up to his waist as he straddled Harry and frantically pushed his lover’s hospital gown out of the way. The horny Healer vanished his baby-blue boxer briefs in an instant, gasping as he cast the “lech” spells on himself, and sank down on the prone brunet.

They both moaned in mutual satisfaction. They both needed the profound life-affirming physical and spiritual connection. Before long, the slow grinding of their joined bodies devolved into exuberant, rambunctious bouncing of the blond atop Harry; the man with the emerald eyes could only lay back and enjoy the ride…

It didn’t take long before he was emptying his scrotum’s seed within his lover’s rectum—and was painted by the splattered semen of the blond’s pulsating prick. Both gulping in great lung-fulls of air, Harry recovered enough to ask, “Did you conjure flavoured lube? I smell bananas…”

Draco’s expression was classic—the red face and bulging gold-fish eyes were priceless and made his spirit soar. He chuckled softly and (with all the strength he could muster at the moment) squeezed him, intent on never letting him go.

)*(

Author’s Note:

Ok, that turned out WAY longer than I’d intended… originally, it was supposed to end with Harry simply coming home super randy and them making smoking-hot love, BUTT—this hospital scene just wanted to be written and took my muse over completely.

I think it has to do with real-life stories I’ve heard of peoples’ partners of decades not being allowed visitation or decision-making when only (sometimes estranged or distant) family members were allowed access and legal rights to determine their care—and the one that loved and knew them best were not. The knowledge that that is a reality for some breaks my heart.

AND on the flip-side: Reading, rates and reviews make my soul ecstatically happy! Please come back for the next go! (And let me know if you try and rate and it doesn’t go through… that just seems weird to me…)
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Crap! #2