It felt like lightning had struck. The jolt that coursed through his body was sudden and painful. Draco sprung upwards in an immediate motion and banged his head against the handle of a drawer in the process.

He let out a swear as his hand rose to soothe the aching spot. He grit his teeth, closing his eyes, before slowly breathing in to calm himself.

As he exhaled, he withdrew his hand and opened his eyes to a surprise. His gray orbs darted from the dark, windowless walls, to the colorful flasks on his apothecary table and ingredients on the shelf.

He was back in his laboratory.

What . . . happened? He had been on school grounds, just moments ago. Never mind that, he'd been fourteen just moments ago.

Draco sat back on the floor, ignoring the dampness soaking through his black trousers and thanking Merlin he hadn't broken his skull when he hit the metal handle. The vial with the liquid he had drunk lay crushed underneath his legs, and he faintly recalled when he felt his grasp slipping as he drifted off into the dream. But was it actually a dream?

The blond man picked up one of the glass shards and held it at arm's length. That strange potion had somehow transported him back to his younger days.

"But that doesn't make any bloody sense," he muttered to himself, annoyed at this new conundrum. He made a fist, nearly prickling his fingertip as he scrambled to a stand. And how come he couldn't quite place any of those moments with the Mathrrid girl?

Melody . . . Melody Mathrrid. Was that it? The 'M' in the riddle?

Draco laid aside books and spices and scientific equipment on his hasty search for the parchment. Once he caught sight of the raven hair, he let the shard clatter onto the desk as he ruffled the now scratch-free picture.

Where was I? Was that real? Were those memories? How come I couldn't recall them before? Why could I feel what she was thinking? What was that whole Dreamboat thing? Why does she like him so much? Did I mail him the let—well, I probably did. But what happened next? Why am I only getting bits and pieces? His mind raced with so many unanswered questions. The girl's smiling face did little to soothe his curiosity.

Where . . . Where is she now?

That seemed like the most important, if not justified one. She had to have grown up and graduated, after the battle.

Oh, Merlin, did she even survive? Or was she one of the many that had been lain out on the castle floors?

Draco's head shook due to an involuntary shudder that overtook his lean form, almost as if to erase those painful and shameful memories. His upper lip came to overlap the lower one as his teeth bit into the tender skin. A breath escaped them next, the alchemist leaning over his table by propping himself on his elbows as he glared at the picture. It was as if he was waiting for something to pop out of it. A clue, a hint, maybe even the two love-struck teens who taunted him with their toothy grins and carefree eyes. Was that really him? Had he actually felt that degree of happiness as to let himself be photographed with a girl who, up until this point, he hadn't even bothered to remember?

"This is unbelievable," and as he said it, he knew he did, in fact, believe it. The way his heart had fluttered upon finding the parchment in his wardrobe had been proof enough.

With one last tired sigh, Draco pushed off of the table and began cleaning up the mess, lest he want Astoria to worry.


He tried to salvage the rest of the brew, he really did. But as he magicked the flask back together, he noticed the basement carpet sabotaged his quest by soaking up most of the solution. Now, he was back to square one. He'd need to recreate the happy accident if he wanted to continue his investigation.

"I'm back," he had called out when he reached the main floor.

Astoria looked up from her embroidery momentarily. "Yes. Hello, dear." Then she cast her eyes to her work again.

Draco stood still, a bit perplexed. "Did . . . anything happen while I was gone?"

"Yes!" His wife suddenly rose from her spot, shuffling to fetch something from the other room. When she came back, she had a letter in her hand and a wide smile on her face. "Scorpius wrote back." She handed him the envelope. "He'll be home for the holidays."

"That's . . . great," he murmured softly, turning the object in his hand in a distracted manner. "But did anything else happen?"

The expression on her face faltered, turning into an exasperated one. "Your excitement is contagious, darling, really. But what are you on about? You've only been gone a couple minutes. I thought you'd be tinkering for hours, as usual. Are you actually done for the day?"

"No, of course not. I need to go back downstairs and make some more magic juice so I can continue hallucinating vividly about this girl from school I didn't remember," is what he wanted to say.

What he actually said was "I am."

Her contented smile was back in place. "Wonderful. Then you could accompany me to buy more floss for my project, yes?"

After his brain moved on from blinking comically at her, he had obliged to her request. Thus, his current predicament.

Sundays were always busy days, he supposed. The shops were full with people scrambling about. This particular store was filled to the brim with witches—and the occasional wizard, since it wasn't only a woman's hobby, as he had been kindly reminded by his wife—, and while it wasn't anything like the back-to-school rush, the crowd was still pretty impressive.

"It's Sunday," Astoria chimed in, as if reading his mind. "People are bound to enjoy their last day before going back to work."

"Yes, but going shopping?" He questioned, watching as two women wrestled for an expensive-looking hoop.

The dark haired woman rolled her eyes, taking his hand and dragging him through the throng. She reached the shelves with the floss, grabbing pale and forrest green colored ones before paying and exiting the place.

She didn't let go of his hand when they were outside, and he proceeded to reposition and link their arms.

"What do you want to do when we get home?" She asked.

Well, that's obvious. Draco raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were going to continue your embroidery."

"I've only a few stitches left," she informed him, shrugging one shoulder. "'Could pick it up later."

"Oh."

They stayed in silence, their footsteps on the path and the sounds of the shops just barely masking the awkwardness.

Truth was, they weren't a very talkative couple. Sure, Astoria could go on about how blue the sky was until he couldn't bear to hear anymore, but they did have their separate interests and rarely saw each other that often in the manor, reuniting only when they'd go to sleep at night.

Draco realized it was mostly his fault; spending his days cooped up in the basement did little to help their marriage. He was surprised she'd stuck it out for so long, with how he'd neglected her.

He felt guilty. Even knowing that, he still wanted to get home to work on his experiments. That wasn't being a very good husband. His stomach knotted, but he managed to say: "Hey, what was the baking recipe you were telling me about, the other day?"

"Which one? The couronne or religieuse?"

"Those sound incredibly complicated to make," and unapologetically French, he thought, making a face. "But why don't we try?"

Astoria actually stopped in the middle of the street. "You want to bake with me?"

"Yes."

"As in preparing sweet treats in the oven?"

"Yes."

"As in in the kitchen?"

"Yes. I—Where else?"

A hand was slapped onto his forehead. "Funny, you don't feel feverish."

Draco peeled her hand off as she chuckled at his annoyed look. "Ha, ha," he said in a deadpan tone. "Seriously, I'm offering. Yes or no?"

She answered by smiling and dragging him back toward the shops.


Draco was left to shake flour from his hair for the next three days. As he neared the last step, he glanced up once more around his workspace. He took out his wand and absentmindedly twirled it, then pointed it at some books to make them come near him. He grabbed one with his free hand and gave it a slight push toward the table, making it spin in midair and falter slightly, before gently coming to rest on the book stand.

A frown was deeply etched on his face as he flipped through page after page. After a bit, he decided to damn it all to hell and shut the book closed, fingers coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose. He contemplated the circumstances carefully; Astoria had to snap him back to attention more than once so he could finish rolling out the dough for the pastries. The more he thought about it, the less sense it all made. And he didn't dare ask his wife.

Draco stood up straighter as it came to him. What if the reason that he couldn't place the Ravenclaw girl anywhere was that he had been obliviated? Memory Charms were very powerful spells used to erase, well, memories. The spell-caster had to be very specific with what they wanted to erase for it to be successful. So, he concluded, someone had intentionally made him forget about the Raven—er—Melody. This was the most logical answer he could produce.

But, if this was the case, how did one undo the spell? And was it even possible to reverse it, you ask? Well, that was something the Malfoy was willing to find out.

He was glad he was already standing (he would have toppled over his chair) as he dashed to the shelves on the other side of the lab. His expensive loafers filled the silence with their clacking as he quickly shuffled over, stopping as he reached a particularly embarrassing gem in his collection. Who Am I? by Gilderoy Lockhart was, by far, the strangest read in his library. Scorpius had gotten it for him as a gag gift for his birthday, two years ago. At the time, it had caused him to chuckle skeptically (what with the once arrogant man with the wavy blond hair and shiny teeth sporting a straightjacket and a confused expression on the cover), but now he had the impression that it could actually contain something helpful.

And so he put the book under his arm, walked over to his father's chair, sat, propped his feet on the maroon ottoman and sighed. It was time to get his read on.

Fifty minutes later, a thick thump resonated within the four walls.

"So much for that theory," grumbled Draco as he tossed the book to the ottoman, slightly miffed when it landed on the floor instead. He heaved himself off of the chair to rub his eyes tiredly. This day couldn't be much more of a waste of time.

Speaking of time, it was nearing 7 o' clock and he hadn't eaten yet. With that thought—and the fresh knowledge that Lockhart thankfully still remembered how to wipe after going to the loo—he put everything back in its place, turned off the lights and went upstairs.

The empty flask on the apothecary table appeared to gleam mockingly at his retreating figure.


Dear Mum and Dad:

I'm doing fine. Classes are great and my roomates aren't complete idiots. I say that because yesterday we got into trouble because of them. Oh, yes, I got my very first detention ever! One of the blokes got caught trying to sneak some Puking Pastilles into some girl's dinner and everything went downhill. Father, before you say anything, I had nothing to do with it. And yes, Mum, I told the same to the Headmistress, but she didn't believe me. She can be very scary when she wants to be, I've noticed. Her left eyebrow starts to twitch and her face gets redder and redder as she yells.

My detention is only for three nights. I'm supposed to dust some of the moving paintings or whatever. I just hope I don't get Sir Cadogan's area. I might fling myself down the changing staircases just to spare myself the tale of his three ex wives. (I do not need to hear it again)

Well, wish me luck. I have to get going to carry out my punishment. I'll see you in a few weeks.

Please, DO NOT forget to pick me up!

Your son,

Scorpius


"—is why you can't mix sugar and salt up."

And the pair shared a short laugh at her joke. Draco limited himself to an amused smile as he watched the two most important people in his life exchange funny stories.

There really was no better timing for Scorpius to come back, the eldest Malfoy reasoned, seeing as his leads had turned cold and he was finding it continually difficult to entertain his wife as the days went on.

Save for a few chuckles, they were enjoying a quiet dinner in the household at Wiltshire. They had barely covered the usual talk: Astoria informing them about her many hobbies and Scorpius listening in earnest, occasionally commenting here and there to let his mum know she still had his full attention.

Draco realized he missed that an awful lot. He never actually considered his wife and son's little give and take over dinner to be something very important to him; he himself listened half-heartedly, even if he rarely participated in the speaking. But now that their son, their only child, had begun school, he valued what little time he and his family had together all the better.

Scorpius made their days in the somber mansion all the brighter. And that wasn't just figurative speech. The first thing the boy had done when he got home had been to open all the blinds in the place up. It annoyed Draco at first, what with the sun glaring through the windows at him to get up in the mornings. However, after a couple of days, he had come to treasure it. Feeling the beautiful rays kiss his skin filled his chest with a warm sensation and provided him with a certain pep in his step that had been gone for a while. Not to mention, he got to experience cooking breakfast with his family every morning. Getting everything on the table on time without spilling it (since Scor had established a strict no-magic rule and a specific breakfast hour) was an adventure in itself.

In the week that Scorpius had been back, Draco came to notice a few other things, too. Like the fact that his son seemed to be able to express himself way better than before. While Astoria and himself had made sure to give their son a proper education at home, the boy had always had a bit of a problem. He had grown up with only them around; Astoria had been clear that she could only give him one child. And Draco had been completely okay with that. He really wanted a kid—not just for the sake of having an heir, no. Draco wanted to be a dad. He wanted to have someone to teach and guide with all the love and care he and Astoria could muster. Scorpius was a child born out of love, so Draco was more than content to live with that. With Scorpius as his only child. Nevertheless, the man felt for the boy. He of all people knew what loneliness, especially in childhood, was like, having grown up an only child himself. But seeing this new . . . this happy side of Scorpius . . . brought him joy like no other.

The time the boy spent at Hogwarts had really changed him—and for the best. Scorpius was known by his parents to be a rather lonely and mild-mannered kid, but now . . . He exuded glee. And it really came through in his eyes, now, as well, the blond man observed. Those grey orbs shone with every emotion the boy felt as he retold his stories; Draco reckoned they made his anecdotes all the more compelling, to be honest. It was hard to keep track of all the little changes, as flecks of blue tended to make an appearance in his irises in the form of a spark, but it was fascinating to watch.

Astoria was just coming down from her high, her mouth stretched out wide in the presence of her smile. She put one hand on her chest, still bubbling with laughter, and reached for her water-filled goblet. "Oh, sweetheart, how I've missed you. Having my boys back together again." She put the goblet down to grab both their cheeks affectionately. They both groaned at the embarrassing gesture. "I see school continues to treat you well. I'm so glad to see you so happy, Scor."

So, she's also noticed, thought her husband with a slight smile. He snaked one hand over the table to clasp hers as the other one held his soup spoon tightly. Astoria entwined their fingers and have him a grin, turning her eyes back onto her own plate.

"I am!" Scorpius chuckled, scooping up a spoonful of his meal. "It's been great, actually. Albus and Rose are the nicest."

The clanging of cutlery halted all conversation in the dining room. Scorpius looked up at his father, who seemed suddenly much quieter than usual.

Astoria sensed the tension in her husband's voice when he said, "Albus . . . Potter, is it?"

A squeeze to his hand and a barely audible clearing of a throat later, his son replied, "Well . . . yes. He's the friend who got caught with the Puking Pastilles."

"And was this Rose girl involved, as well?"

"Uh, no, actually, because she's in Gryffindor."

This time, the spoon clattered and sank completely into the tomato soup. Astoria made a face at it, for she knew Draco would fish it out with his fingers (and that wasn't exercising proper table manners), however, he paid no heed to either the utensil or his wife. He only blinked at his son. "Albus Potter got sorted into Slytherin?"

Rolling her eyes, Astoria answered. "You can't tell me you're surprised. Daddy dearest spoke perfect Parseltongue himself; what'd you expect from his children? Now, Scor," she opted to change the subject. "I think you've mentioned this Rose friend of yours before, in your letters. What's her surname?"

During all this, Scorpius busied himself by slurping his soup noisily. After a long while, "Weasley," he whispered awkwardly.

Astoria's lips pursed and she set down her own spoon to rub her forehead. Her husband would surely have a stroke, at any second.

However, his reaction was borderline ridiculous. He stood up quicker that she'd ever known him to move, chair scraping back and falling unceremoniously backwards—Astoria thought he'd pop her arm right off its socket, had he not let go, considering he was still holding her hand when he overreacted.

"Draco! Drac—" she sighed, opening and closing her hand on reflex. "For heaven's sake, it's not that big of a deal." She propped her head on her knuckles (table manners be damned) and turned to look at him.

But Draco looked like he'd seen a ghost.

The news of his son befriending the Granger-Weasley spawn had not shocked him as much as his wife believed it to have. Rather, his panic was product of something directly behind said son.

He had been processing this newfound information about the Potter spawn when, right behind Scorpius, on the far wall, a shadow had appeared.

Well, not technically a shadow. It was more of a mirage sort of thing. Right on the Malfoy family crest proudly mounted on the wall, she had appeared: the Mathrrid girl, in her same Ravenclaw uniform, curly brown hair cascading down her shoulders and everything. When he caught glimpse of her, she seemed to be staring right back at him. But she couldn't've been, right? He could only see her in that weird coma-induced world, besides the repetitive moving picture. There was no other way . . . right?

What had convinced him otherwise was what she did next. Curly-Raven had looked him directly in the eye . . . and winked. From there, he had stood up and scared the crap out of his family.

"Really, dear," his wife's voice brought him back. "We've always taught him to be an understanding boy. You can't blame him for making friends, no matter who their parents are. It's actually a wonderful thing, he's being social." As she said this, Scorpius made a face. He didn't know whether he liked being talked about like he wasn't even there or not.

Draco looked to the floor. "That . . . wasn't why I . . ." He dusted his vest off as nonchalantly as possible as he tried to hide his pink cheeks. He had made a scene at dinner.

"Then why'd you stand up all of a sudden, darling?"

"I felt something crawling up my leg," was the best he could come up with on the spot. When his gaze finally rose, it focused on the glaring family heirloom. "Needs a fresh coat of paint, don't you think?"

Scorpius and Astoria's heads turned to inspect the object in question. When their eyes found it, Scorpius' widened briefly, but Astoria spoke with normalcy in her voice. "Ah, well—no. I disagree. I rather like how it looks. It's clearly been there for generations." She exhaled in admiration, as the sleek black crest reveled in all its glory. "I mean, it's just so proud and powerful-looking. The M is quite the sharp letter—very fierce and commanding, I reckon."

"Yes," he breathed, she is.

"A very clear sign, that one," Scorpius finally said. Draco's head snapped towards his son.

Look for the signs.

Scorpius' eyes had not left his father's face, scrutinizing his features with interest even as he raised his goblet for a sip. Finally, when the younger Malfoy put down his drink, something in his gaze flickered, accompanied by a poorly-concealed smirk.

Look for the signs. Draco nodded, his mouth set in a fine line while Astoria—blissfully ignorant—witnessed the silent exchange. He's seen her, too. "Indeed, it is."


"Really? You hadn't seen her until now? I thought you'd notice within the first week I was gone!"

Draco rolled his eyes at the youngling, who was playing with a weird cubical object he had found in the lab. Draco was sure it was harmless, otherwise the boy would've cried out in pain, at this point. "I haven't been upstairs much. I've been busy, as you can see."

Scorpius nodded, throwing his new toy in the air in hopes of denting the ceiling. "Busy failing at remaking the right mix." Instead, the cube hit the fan, which made said cube fly with great force towards the bookshelf, where it hit one of the books and made it emit a growl.

Scorpius winced awkwardly and Draco let out a sigh. "If it comes down to bite you, I won't stop it," he murmured halfheartedly, adjusting the buret valve to let a few droplets pass at a time. The recipient was already in place underneath, its contents stirring in anticipation of the chemical reaction that would soon occur. When the reaction did happen—the solution changed from red to a green color—he turned off the valve and wrote down the reading.

As Draco moved to the side to retrieve some Tentacula leaf extract, Scorpius asked. "Father, what does this do?" He was pointing at the buret.

Draco gave it a glance, before turning back to the box at his feet. The ingredient he needed was staring him in the face, he was sure. But he couldn't place it, at the moment. "Oh, that titrates the exact amount of bat blood we need. Magic isn't always as precise, so it's better to be safe than sorry. Don't touch it."

Scorpius' hand froze just shy of the petcock. He let out a frustrated breath, pursed his lips and turned to face his dad. "So, you said that last time you drank the brew, you were transported back in time or something?"

"Well, no," said the man, fetching the correct bottle. He scratched his head with his free hand and walked to the table, where his son took a seat. "It was more like I was reliving it—but seeing it from a different perspective. I remember some of the events happened, but the parts where she's . . . They're her memories. Why on Earth can I see those?"

Scorpius's brow furrowed as well. "I dunno. But at least now you can remember her. That's something."

With his palms on the desk, Draco nodded. He switched the flask under the buret with a test tube, draining the remaining liquid into it and putting it on the rack. Then, he took an empty flask and properly rinsed the buret.

The youngest Malfoy observed with interest as his father worked. It looked like fun, using all those fancy-looking apparatuses.

After repeating his process, getting all the right amounts of the ingredients there, Draco stood back to watch the science happen. However, the potion only bubbled for a moment, yet remained the same sickly-green color. "It . . . It didn't change." Draco sighed, running both hands over his face. Of course, it didn't go as planned. It hadn't when he had tried it earlier and it certainly wouldn't change just because his son was rooting for him. He contemplated kicking the table to blow off some steam, but Scorpius didn't deserve to see him like that. Besides, being this close to an unknown solution was hazardous enough, he wasn't about to make it worse by knocking something over.

Hence, he took out his wand to eliminate the waste. However, before he could, Scorpius reached for the flask with his pasty hand. "Hold on, Father. Maybe," he spoke, peering at the object hesitantly, "there's something missing. Something we overlooked."

Draco's fingers met his temples once more, easing the tension that had built up there. Perhaps Scor was right, he pondered. Maybe he had failed a step in the procedure.

Scorpius hadn't moved for what seemed like ages, but mere seconds passed when his head turned to the table. He hummed as his eyes raked over the thingamajigs and whatchamacallits. "You sure nothing else was in it? To make it purple?"

"I told you." Draco shook his head. "I used Nightingale tears, Jobberknoll feathers, bat blood and Tentacula leaves extract, in that exact order." He was starting to get desperate and angry again; his agitation showed. "I distinctly remember because I lined up the vials next to the vase of flowers your mother—" He suddenly stopped.

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Next to the vase that Mum . . . ?" He unenthusiastically egged on.

"The flowers." It was like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. A lightbulb that alienated his dad from reality, Scorpius noted, as the man began to mumble to himself. Scorpius leaned to the right slightly, careful not to spill the contents of the Erlenmeyer flask in his hands, as his dad's reached for something on the table behind him. When Draco managed to retrieve it, the boy saw none other than his mother's favorite flowers—wilting from the lack of care they'd received, but there nonetheless. "I reckon a petal or two fell into the mixture, that day, and altered the result I was actually aiming for."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. It didn't seem possible for a flower to make his dad go back in time to relive memories with his first love, but he was all for humoring him. "Okay." And he picked one of the little blue petaloid, now slightly opaque in color, and dropped it in.

Draco's eyes widened considerably. "No, wait!"

But nothing terrible happened (like the explosion Draco was sure would come). Instead, the tiny petal disappeared, dissolving into the brew immediately upon contact. Effectively, it also changed the color of it.

Holding it up to eye level, Scorpius blinked childishly at his dad. "Does that look about right?"

"Uh . . . Quite, yes." Seriously? Even he doubted the flower theory after he said it. It really did sound far-fetched, but he was willing to try anything. Now that Scorpius had, and succeeded, he felt stupid for not attempting it before, himself. "Well done."

Scorpius tried not to beam at this, managing to accomplish a shy smile at his father's praise. He glanced one more time at the purple potion and handed it to the other Malfoy. "So, what now? Do you just . . . drink it?"

I must sound like a bloody drunk. "Well, yeah." A bit wary, Draco inhaled the aroma emanating from the container.

Laughter rang in his ears.

Yup, it was the right brew, all right. He had butterflies again.

He walked to the other side of the room, sure of his son's footsteps behind him as he made his way to the sofa next to his father's chair. Draco took a seat, Scorpius remaining standing at his left with his arms crossed, and subtly gulped.

If Scor noticed, he didn't bring it up. Alternatively, he asked, "For how long are you in there, again? In dreamworld?"

Draco was somewhat amused by the remark. Scorpius had deemed it 'dreamworld' in honor of 'Dreamboat'. He thought it bothersome, at first (maybe it was some sort of jealousy for the Fisher boy talking?), but soon came to accept it, seeing as his son would only address it that way. "Your mum said I'd only been gone for a few minutes."

"But it felt like several weeks, you said?"

The man contemplated his situation. "I think it has to do with the amount I drink. The longer the swig, the longer I stay?" he finished rather lamely, still apprehensive at the thought of purposefully going back. It wasn't exactly lucid dreaming, either; he couldn't control his environment at all, only experience it.

Scorpius nodded carefully, looking at something and nothing. He had to know for how long he needed to stall. "I'll try to be here when you wake," he said, arms still folded on his chest. "But if I'm not, it means I had to stop Mum from finding out."

Draco became visibly guilty. Here he was, running off to meet the curly-Raven of his dreams whilst leaving his wife in the shadows. He couldn't help but feel bad about dragging Scorpius into it, as well; the boy probably saw it as a mission, something fun bordering on dangerous, that required his unparalleled sleuthing skills (Draco vaguely remembered playing as that Muggle detective Sherlock Holmes—as Watson, he was always Watson—and 'solving crimes' with the boy when he was younger). But if it wasn't a betrayal—him wanting to remember this girl and the impact she had in his life, for whatever reasons, romantic or not—it still bloody felt like one. And Astoria didn't deserve that.

Curiosity killed the cat, he thought with a grim smile. He immediately turned it into a reassuring one, realizing that Scorpius was eyeing his every move. He supposed he, too, was feeling the same anxiety.

"Don't you worry, Scor," he assured, patting his nervous-looking offspring's head in an affectionate manner. "I'll be back before you know it."

"All right." Scorpius smiled faintly. "Be careful, in there."

Draco returned the gesture, adding a curt nod. He took a big gulp, this time—almost chugging it down—and barely missed how Scorpius caught his head to rest it back on the sofa cushions as he blacked out.

The flask rolled onto the hardwood floor, empty.


A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry I've been absent as of lately. Puerto Rico got hit pretty badly by hurricane María. And while a little over a month has already passed, things have been tough, around here. The only reason I have internet right now is because I'm at my university. Yes, I am currently studying. Some universities and colleges are operating even though most of the students don't even have electricity in their homes yet, myself included. But things haven't been as grim in my area as in others. My family and I are safe, thank God, but some of my friends lost everything. It's times like these when you really get to see what people are made of, and so far, I've discovered Puerto Ricans are made of sheer will. It's ridiculously incredible.

Well, hope to write you soon, lovelies. Stay strong.

-J