Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. If they were mine, I would be rich and would be spending my free time swimming in a pool of pudding just because I could, not here posting a story which will get me no money whatsoever. Again, I own none of the Harry Potter seriescharacters.

A/N: Well, here's the first chapter of "Tempest Love" and I really hope you guys enjoy it. It's my first story here on FanFic so I'm hoping for a lot of reviews, giving criticisms and support. As I said in the summary, this story is going to be drawn out, so if you're looking for immediate action between Draco and Hermione, I suggest you look at a different FanFic installment.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully soon, seeing as I have this week off due to President's Day, which I can use to work on it.

Anyways, onto "Tempest Love." Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Pain and Envy

It was a pleasant little place. Well, at least when it wasn't bathed in blood.

A meadow on the outside of a quaint establishment whispered as a soft summer breeze flew through the tall grass. Sparrows sang a mournful song from their perches in the trees, watching the goings-on. Crickets began to play the melody of the sparrows. The sorrowful tune spread from creature to creature, relaying the same hidden message of destruction. None present could decipher its meaning, though they tried.

Everywhere he looked, he could see the result of his brilliant mind, his teaching. His plan was working exquistely, far better than he had expected. Blood was everywhere, staining the pale yellow grass of the meadow, leaving a reminder of all the innocents who fought, and a prophecy of those yet to do so. He could still see the terrified looks of the mudbloods, hear their excruciatingly painful cries reverberate through the air. A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he studied the blood bath. He was grinning now.

Death Eaters stood around, examining their victims with smug expressions plastered on their flushed faces. They looked up and stared at you. Why you? You weren't him...and yet, you were. Slowly, you stalked around the meadow, scrutinizing your followers decisions and actions of how to dispose of the wizarding filth. Overall, you were pleased, proud of your followers. Some, however, were a bit disappointing to you.

But after all, this was a training ground, and that meant improvement. You weren't worried. The children would improve. Besides, they still had much to learn at school. The Hogwarts students in particular.

You remembered back to your meeting of council a few weeks prior to this night. Your most faithful servants had given their opinions on your age restriction, stating whether (given the circumstances) younger wizards and witches of pureblooded descent should be allowed to come into service at last, though they were not of age. You most valued Malfoy's decision. His son was sure to be promising. However, this was the only time you had ever or will ever ask of their opinions.

Surveying all the dead bodies, the stench becoming more pungent with each passing minute, your heart filled with pride. You had initiated this destruction. Ever since you were younger, you had been fascinated by the Darkness that dwelled within the hearts of all people. It entranced you, and you dove into the magical world with enthusiasm, reading all the books on Dark Arts you could find. There was only power, and you had it all.

You had finished your inspection, and turned to the hooded figure to your right. This was one of the younger generation, who had just been permitted into your service, as a spy. They were not yet worthy to die in the service of you, so they were given less dangerous jobs. And they were not yet worthy of a name for themselves.

The hooded boy was trembling, not out of fear, but of physical exertion, adrenaline. As you turned, the boy dropped to his knees in a grateful bow. "What did you use?" you asked. The boy bowed even lower, and from underneath his hood came a voice, raspy from lack of breath. "Cruciatus curse... I tortured them until they died, Master. All for you!"

A skelatally white hand appeared from underneath your red sleeve. Ghostly white, and thin, your hand moved to the hood below you. With fingers, long and sickly looking, you grabbed the cloak and pulled the hood back. A head of light blonde hair fell out of the hood, shadowing the face of the boy.

Unclenching your fist, you let your head fall back and opened your mouth, letting loose a wild, wicked laugh, high and cold.

Miles away, Harry woke with a start, his scar burning like it never had before. Eyes watering, he didn't bother to put on his glasses. Very slowly, Harry made his way from his bed, to the bedroom door, wrenching it open with more force than was needed. Everything was blurry, but he had to get to the bathroom. Using the wall as a guide, he made his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could manage.

Sighing with relief, Harry threw up in the toilet. After a few more dry heaves, he went to the sink and brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouth wash. The meticulously clean bathroom was too bright for Harry's liking, so he turned off the main light. When he did this, the small nightlight came on, casting a blue glow over his thin face, lighting his eyes.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Harry let his mind wander. He hadn't dreamed of Sirius tonight, but of Voldemort. Could he be getting over the death of his godfather? No, he thought. It still hurt when he thought about him. So, why then had he dreamed of Voldemort when all through the summer he had been dreaming of his deceased godfather? Why the sudden change?

Harry splashed some cool water on his face and made his way back to bed. Although the room was fairly warm, he pulled the covers tight around his body, shivering. He had been Voldemort, not an innocent bystander, not a spirit watching, but the evil thing itself. He had been in the mind of Voldemort, just like he had been when that snake bit Mr. Wealey last year...

I'll write Dumbledore in the morning, he thought as he drifted into a restless sleep, tormented by dreams of stone arches, veils, and bodiless voices.

Hedwig was waiting for him when he woke up the next morning. Harry shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, gave Hedwig an affectionate stroke and untied the scroll of parchment from her leg. She flew over to her cage and began to gulp some water.

As Harry walked, he unrolled the parchment and recognized Hermione's neat handwriting at once.

Dear Harry,

How are you? I know the Dursley's must be awful, especially after...what happened. But you'll be glad to know that Dumbledore said that you'll be coming to stay very soon.

That reminded him: he had to write Dumbledore.

Possibly within the next few days! It'll be so wonderful having you back. I've missed you so much! But onto the subject that I wanted to talk to you about most: Sirius. Now, don't get angry (I know you, Harry). Right this minute you're probably saying to yourself "I'm fine," but you're not, no matter how much you think you are. You've lost someone very close to you and nobody is "fine" after something like that. I know I wouldn't be so I'm positive you're not.

But it wasn't your fault. It doesn't do to dwell on memories past because then you can't move forward.

He remembered something that Professor Dumbledore had said to him in first year, when he caught Harry sitting in front of the Mirror of Erised. It sounded an awful lot like what Hermione was saying. But it is my fault Sirius is dead, Harry thought to himself.

I know you don't like talking about it, but that's the only way to heal, Harry. To say what's on your mind, release the pain. You could get an ulcer if you don't and I hear they're not very pleasant to get rid of. Harry, I only want what's best for you, and that's why I want you to talk to me, or anyone for that matter. Just so you can finally let go of your guilt. You don't deserve to suffer any more. You've suffered enough in your life, more than most grown wizards. I just want to see you smile again, not the false ones you try to pass off as genuine now. A real smile, that travels to your beautiful eyes.

When I see you next, I want to see you smiling. And I'm always here to talk if you ever want to. You're my friend Harry, and I love you, so just know that I'm here.

Mrs. Weasley wants us in the kitchen; she's handing out cleaning assignments. This place seems to have regrown everything we got rid of last year. See you soon, Harry. Remember what I said.

With Love,

Hermione

P.S. Ron says hello.

A smile plastered Harry's lips. He felt happy hearing from her, even though he didn't notice the subtle hints Hermione gave him in her letter. He looked around at his dingy bedroom, and the smile was replaced with a frown. The books still stood untouched on the shelf, exactly where they had been even before Harry had been given the room. All of Dudley's old, broken things still occupied areas of the room. These were the things Dudley had absolutely refused to throw out when his mother was spring cleaning. So here they stayed.

The carpet was a light brown, very thin and worn. The desk was still in good shape, but a little dusty, with some of Harry's school books and homework littering its surface. Sticking out of the closet was his trunk, open, with a pair of school robes hanging over the side. Turning, Harry noticed the open window, and walked over, closing it so that the blessed cool air filtering through the vents didn't escape into the heated day outside.

Harry walked over to the desk and put his books and homework neatly on the floor. He then grabbed a spare bit of parchment and wrote a short note to Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore,

I had a very awkward dream last night, kind of like those that I had last year. I dreamed that I was Voldemort, studying the work of his servants. It looked as though they were in a battlefield, but I can't be sure. However there were many dead bodies. I woke up with my scar hurting worse than it ever has before and I got sick. I didn't know if this was significant in any way, but I thought I would let you know. Hope your summer has been going well.

Harry Potter

Hedwig was sleeping, so Harry didn't wake her to deliver the note. She should rest. She did come all the way from London, after all.

His stomach rumbled, so he made his way to the door leading to the upstairs hallway. All was eerily quiet, and it bothered him. Normally, Aunt Petunia was already up and bustling around; cleaning, cooking breakfast. The quiet wasn't normal, which meant something was wrong. Harry turned back into his room and grabbed his wand from his trunk; he never left it out in the open on the off chance his uncle would come rampaging into his room and snap it in half.

Slowly, Harry crept back onto the landing of the stairs. Everything was still silent. His heart began to thump rather hard as he began to descend the stairs, jumping the last squeaky step. Listening again, Harry looked around the living room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was happening at all. Am I just being paranoid? Harry thought. Shaking his head, he moved on to the hallway leading to the door of the kitchen.

He heard voices coming from behind the door, and he recognized the soft, tired sound of the man talking. "Well, Remus, let me just go and fetch him. We have to leave as soon as possible. And, please..." The man stopped speaking for a moment, then continued, "..fetch Nymphadora from the innards of the refridgerator." A laugh followed this statement and seconds later, Albus Dumbledore stepped forth from the kitchen.

Dumbledore's beard and hair were as long as ever, and even more silver than Harry remembered. Upon seeing Harry standing there, Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in a smile. "I guess I don't have to come and get you after all. You stay here, I'll go and fetch your things." Without another word, Dumbledore disappeared up the stairs.

Harry walked into the kitchen intending to greet Lupin, and Tonks. But what he saw when he stepped over the threshold was his Aunt Petunia. But she wasn't moving. Her eyes were fixated on the pan of bacon on the stove. The fire beneath the pan wasn't moving, wasn't making any noise at all.

Tonks was bent in the fridge, rumaging for something to eat, and Lupin was bent over her, trying to coax her away from the appliance. "Come along, Tonks, Dumbledore will be back in a few minutes with Harry..." "More time for me to eat then!" Tonks retorted, firmly rooted to her spot in front of the refridgerator.

Harry cleared his throat and both Lupin and Tonks turned to look at him. "Oh, hello Harry. Where's Albus?" Lupin asked. Harry noticed that Professor Lupin looked more weary than the last time he had seen him. Lupin had also accumulated a few more scars, and cuts. The bags under his eyes were dark, suggesting little or no sleep. Tonks, however, still had her trademark bubblegum-pink hair and was wearing a muggle Taking Back Sunday shirt and a pair of ripped jeans.

"He's up in my room, getting my things all packed. I didn't know I was leaving so.." "Oh no need to explain," Remus said joyfully. "We did come rather unexpectedly. So how are you, Harry?" Harry knew what Lupin meant. "I'm fine. But can I ask you a question, Professor?" Harry asked. "I'm no longer your professor, Harry. Call me Remus. What is it?" "What's wrong with her? Why isn't she moving?"

It was Tonks that answered. "It's a time-freezing charm. 'Gelo aliquando.' Quite a useful spell. They don't teach it in school though. Everyone would use it to get out of every bit of trouble they got into. Yes sir, you have to be an auror to know that one! And its not easy magic either, so don't you go getting any ideas." Tonks laughed at her own witty answer.

"How are we getting to headquarters? Brooms again?" Harry asked. "Oh, no. Not this time. That's too dangerous. We're taking a portkey," Lupin replied. At that moment, Professor Dumbledore reentered the kitchen, floating Harry's trunk in front of him, then setting it gently on the white vinyl floor.

"Don't worry about Hedwig. I've told her where we're going and she's already flown off. I got your note by the way," he said, holding up what you had written that morning. "We'll talk when we get there. Okay, well if everyone's ready, I suggest we leave now." Dumbledore went to a cabinet and grabbed one of the uglier mugs, and returned to Harry's side.

"Alright Harry. Just keep hold of your trunk, and touch the mug. Remus, Tonks, if you'll touch the mug also...alright. Portus." The mug glowed a bright yellow, then returned to its original state. "On the count of three. One, two..three."

Harry felt a tug behind his naval and a few seconds later, they had come to stop in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He let go of his trunk and looked around. Nobody was in the kitchen with them. "Where is everybody?" he asked. "Cleaning, I suppose. And its only Ron, Hermione and the other Weasleys who are here all the time," Tonks said.

"Come on Harry, I'll take you up to your room. You get your own this time." Dumbledore said with a smile. Grabbing his trunk, Harry gave Tonks and Remus a parting wave, and followed the feeble wizard out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Remembering that Sirius' mother threw a racket if it got to loud, Harry tried to be as quiet as a mouse when they reached the front door. "Oh, no need to worry, Harry. Sirius' mother has been moved. It got too frustrating keeping her where she was. The old girl did put up quite a fight, though."

"Where has she been moved to?" Harry asked, feeling sorry for those who now had to listen to her almost constant raving. "She's still here, I'm afraid. She knew too much about the Order, so we couldn't just throw her out could we? No, she's her in a sub-basement we created specifically for the purpose of her confinement. Kreacher is there as well." Dumbledore sighed as he began to climb the old, once shiny wooden stairs.

Following the headmaster up the stairs, Harry lapsed into silence, despair coursing through his veins. Kreacher was foul...when Harry had asked where Sirius was that night that he had went to the Department of Mysteries, Kreacher had lied. That had confirmed his suspicions, so he ran off to "act the hero" again, just like Ron always said he did. And the fact that Kreacher had lied had made Harry believe Sirius was in danger, and that led him to the Department of Mysteries, and that is ultimately what led to Sirius' death. It was his fault, and no one could tell him otherwise.

Harry had no idea where Dumbledore was leading him and frankly he didn't care. He was still dwelling on his mistakes, the things he could've done to prevent his godfather from falling behind that veil... Harry was brought out of his reverie when Dumbledore at last stopped, and opened a bedroom door. Harry walked inside first, the old man close behind.

Dragging his trunk to the foot of the bed, Harry wasn't taking in any of the room's beauty, and beautiful it was. However, Dumbledore simply leaned himself against the door-frame, and waited patiently for Harry to get settled. Once he seemed like he was done, the feeble man spoke. "I know this may not be the best time to discuss it, but your dream, Harry..."

Harry looked up into the penetrating blue eyes of his headmaster. "It said in your note that you..becameVoldemort. How do you mean?" Dumbledore spoke when he knew he had at last gotten Harry's attention. Harry ruffled his hair with his hand. It was an odd habit he had picked up after seeing his father in the pensieve during occlumency lessons last year. And he only did it when he was uncomfortable or nervous. He began his answer. "I'll just tell you what I can remember from the dream and see what comes of it. But I don't remember all of it."

So Harry retold the dream as best as he could, with as many details as possible. When he finished, Dumbledore at last walked into the room and took a seat in a straight-backed wooden chair. He remained silent for a few minutes so Harry assumed he was analyzing the dream. This was when Harry finally took the time to examine his bedroom.

The carpet was a plush cream, surprising if you think about the family that had once lived here. Sunshine spilled in pools of light through a pair of french windows, painted white. There were books about quidditch, history and other various topics set neatly on shelves of rich mahogany. The bed upon which Harry sat was big, soft, and very comfortable, laden with navy and white sheets. All sizes of light blue throw pillows littered the upper half of the bed. It was a very pleasant room, and Harry was very fond of the colors.

"Well Harry, I think you should take up occlumency lessons as soon as possible. I'll talk to Professor Snape about scheduling. However, I can't stay. I'll see you, Harry." And with that, Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Harry dumbfounded. Occlumency lessons? With Snape? Again! How was he supposed to get through another session of occlumency with all the pain surrounding Sirius' death constantly making his head spin?

Laying down, Harry saw a few people standing in the open doorway. There was a high-pitched squeal and one of the people came running into the room, hair flying behind her. In seconds, she had thrown herself on top of Harry, hugging him and talking very fast. "Hermione! Let me sit up, then we can talk," Harry said, laughing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, but I've missed you so much!" she said, smiling widely. Another person walked into the room. Harry noticed that Ron had grown another few inches over the summer, and his hair was as red as ever. "How you doin', mate?" asked Ron, eyeing Harry and Hermiones awkward position on the bed.

"Okay, I guess," Harry lied. He wasn't about to tell his best friends that he'd been in complete anguish all throughout the summer. "And I got your letter only this morning, so I didn't have time to write back..." he said to Hermione.

"Oh, that's all right," she said, blushing slightly, "I'd much rather have you here in person, anyway." Unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, Ron's ears were slowly reddening beneath his hair. "So, erm, Harry...Care for a game of chess?" Ron asked nervously.

In an exasperated voice, Hermione answered him. "Ron! He's only just gotten here! And you want him to go and play chess? Surely everyone will want to see him and ask him how he's been doing. And Icertainly want to talk to him more. We haven't seen him for ages. Seriously, Ron, what's gotten into you lately?"

"Just...nevermind," Ron shouted defeatedly, then left the room, sulking.

"He's been utterly impossible and I've no idea why!" Hermione stated, annoyed. "All summer he's been acting odd. Well, at least quieter than usual." Harry turned his head to look at Hermione and was startled by her appearance. It was somehow different, although he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Her eyes were still the same, a warm honey brown, dark eyelashes. And her hair was a little more tame than it had been in previous years, but she'd learned how to control it in fourth year, so it wasn't that surprising. Her skin was unblemished and glowing in the light, as always. Her lips were pouting...

NO! This is Hermione we're talking about. Focus, Harry, focus.

While Harry was thinking all these things, Hermione was doing something along the same lines. Oh my gosh, he's gorgeous! What happened to him over the summer? I don't remember his eyes being so bright, or his hair being quite as long...or his lips so pink...

"So, er, how was your summer, Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to keep his mind occupied. "Alright. Mom and Dad kept talking to me about being a dentist, like them, but I'm really not interested in dentistry. Besides, I don't want to leave the magic world after school, and if I became a dentist..well, where's the magic in that? No, I want to do something worthwhile in the wizarding world."

A few moments of silence became unbearable, but Harry's rumbling stomach saved him from starting up conversation again. "I guess that's the cue to find Mrs. Weasley," Harry laughed, getting up from the bed. Hermione followed suit, and they walked swiftly out into the corridor.

Hermione led the way past shining oak doors to other bedrooms, all the while explaining to Harry that the Order had been a bit busy over the summer and had needed all the rooms available to house the members. "It was a nasty bit of work, let me tell you," she said. "You were lucky you didn't have to take part in it."

They had at last come back to the kitchen downstairs. Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley were all poring over a piece of parchment, whispering in grim voices to one another. Pudgy Mrs. Weasley was in the corner, getting a late breakfast ready for everyone.

When she heard their footsteps, Mrs. Weasley had turned around. "Harry, dear!" she joyfully announced, bounding over to him and giving him a bone crushing hug. "How are you?" A rumble from Harry's stomach answered her. "Ah, hungry, I see? Not to worry, breakfast will be done in a few minutes."

As she returned to the kitchen counter, Harry heard the sizzling of fat, juicy sausages in a frying pan and he eagerly took a seat at the kitchen table.

Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley had all stopped talking by this point to greet Harry and Hermione. "What's that?" Hermione asked, gesturing toward the piece of parchment on the scrubbed wooden table. "The Daily Prophet." answered Tonks immediately. "Could I see it please?" Tonks handed the wizard newspaper to Hermione and within minutes, she was lost in the page's contents.

Ron came stumbling into the kitchen, followed by Ginny. She hadn't changed much, Harry noted. Her hair was still a flaming red, still had freckles and was still the youngest Weasley child. "Oh, hello Harry," she said pleasantly, sitting across from him.

"Hi, Ginny. How's Dean? I haven't heard from him in a while." Ron glared at Ginny when Harry brought up Dean. Harry knew perfectly well Ron disapproved of his younger sister dating, but he couldn't do anything to stop it, and he fully well knew it.

"He's fine. I haven't seen him since last year, but we write each other a lot. But with this one always reading over my shoulder," she motioned toward Ron, "I never get to say what I want. He's probably mad at me." Ginny's face fell, but brightened when her mother set a plate of toast, sausage, bacon and eggs in front of her.

Mrs. Weasley then set the same plate of food in front of the others at the scrubbed wooden table. Hermione was still intently focused on the information the newspaper revealed, and didn't notice the irresistable aromas that were wafting up from Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

After another ten minutes of silence only disturbed by the clinking of cutlery, Hermione at last set the paper aside and began to eat the now luke warm food. "Anything interesting?" asked Ginny through a mouthful of eggs.

"Actually, yes. You know those disappearances I've been telling you about?" Ginny nodded. "Well, a few more people have gone missing. And here's the thing that gets me: all were muggleborn. And those that disappeared earlier in the summer were muggleborn, too. This prejudice is getting ridiculous and the Ministry is losing hope of finding those that are missing."

Hermione's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as she nibbled lightly at a sausage. "I JUST DON'T GET IT!" she yelled, slamming her knife and fork down, storming out of the room.

"Poor, dear," Mrs. Weasley cooed, scooping up the dish of uneaten food. "I can only imagine what she's going through." Ron pulled the paper towards him after he finished eating, and began to read the quidditch section which had an article on his favorite team, the Chudley Cannons.

After drinking the last drop of orange juice from his glass, Harry stood up and brought his dishes to the sink where Mrs. Weasley had charmed the plates to clean themselves. "Oh, thank you, dear." she said, as she set them to clean themselves. "You know, I'm glad you're here, Harry. Ron's been in an awkward state and I'm hoping with you here it'll bring him out of it."

"I'll try my best," he replied and went back to the table. Ron had finished with the newspaper and said "Hey, Harry, guess what?" "The Cannons have a good chance of competing for the World Cup this year!" The two boys got up from the table and talk of quidditch kept them occupied until they came to Ron's room.

"I think I'm going to lie down for a bit. Mum's got us cleaning again in a half hour and with all that we've got to do...we need all the rest we can get."

"Alright, see you later," Harry said as he walked down the hall to his room. Harry heard the door click closed behind him and his despair over Sirius returned full blast.

His disposition wasn't the only one that changed. As soon as his door was locked, Ron went and sat down on the bed, his fingers entangled in his hair, pulling with all his strength.

It's always Harry this and Harry that and everything's always about Harry! Why did I ever become friends with him? He is a nice person but having someone famous as your best friend? That shouldn't have happened especially not to me. And now he's moving in on Hermione! He knows how I feel about her..wait no he doesn't I've never told anyone. But still he should know better! He should know me better.

I really like her. But she likes him. There it is again, Harry always getting everything he wants. Does God just want me to be unhappy? If I could just have Hermione...everything would be okay...

After storming out of the kitchen, Hermione had flown up the stairs and into her room. Presently, she was crying on her bedsheets, mulling over what she had read in the paper. It disgusted her. She retched over the side of the bed, then turned herself over so she was lying on her back.

Her room was pleasant, full of the colors she loved. Rich coppers, earthy browns, glowing creams. It made her feel better being surrounded by such warm decor, but she was lonely. She wanted someone to hold her and comfort her, tell her that it was alright, that she wasn't alone anymore.

She had someone in mind, but Hermione knew he wasn't interested in her. How could he be? He'd never given a hint or sign that he wanted her like she wanted him. Was she destined to live alone all her life?

A few rooms down from Hermione, Harry was in disarray. He didn't know where to turn. Different scenarios played through his head, all uncomfortably familiar and painful. What could he have done to prevent it? How could he have prevented it? Why did he have to be so stupid?

Harry didn't know how to jump off the merry-go-round that was his mind. Everytime he tried, it sucked him back onto a pony that took him riding through memories he didn't want to relive; Bellatrix casting that final spell that defeated his godfather, seeing the look on Sirius' face as he fell through the veil...

It was all too much. Harry took a pocket knife from a pocket of his jeans and began cutting open the innocent throw pillows, trying to find comfort in destroying when that was the reason he felt like this in the first place. Everything that caused hurt should cease to exist. He wished he could just...turn the pain off and not feel, lose all emotion. It would be so much simpler.

Finally, Harry slept, even though his bed was covered with feathers.

A/N: There it is! The first chapter. If you want me to update more quickly, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I'd greatly appreciate any suggestions you have for me, to improve "Tempest Love." Also, if there is anything in particular that you would like to see happen later on in the story, review and let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Other than that...well, REVIEW!