Cause we never learned to keep our voices down
No, we only learned to shout
So we fight our way in
And we fight our way out
In times of trouble, Hermione returned to the one place that she knew would be able to provide some guidance—the library.
Or rather, the Potter's study.
Brimming with old books, some questionable magazines, and pamphlets she was fairly certain were centuries outdated, the Potter's study was a sight to behold. She threw herself into the hidden secrets of literature, hoping to find something trapped inside the tomes that might act as the foundation of her argument for keeping their marriage.
She had made it halfway through a dog-eared text on Wizarding Law from the Industrial Revolution when a soft knock on the door pulled her attention from the faded print.
Harry stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling up the space near perfectly. A navy henley clung to his chest, the small row of buttons undone, revealing just a hint of black hair that peppered his chest beneath.
He'd come home earlier in the afternoon, after, she assumed, he'd received word from his father about her termination and the row they'd had. Being the kind, gentle, sensible man she'd always known him to be, Harry did not utter a word about her loss. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, held her for just a moment, as he always did, and offered his assistance should she need it.
He'd left her alone so she could properly lose herself in the volumes of books, and only popped in twice through the rest of the day—once with a plate of fruit and crisps for lunch, and the other for a warm cuppa. It was moments like these, when he was able to provide the exact type of support she needed, that acted as a pleasant reminder of just how far they'd come.
Harry had been her constant companion, always there to dry her eyes when she was sad, to celebrate her triumphs, and despite his rather vocal disdain, he never missed a revision session. He was her husband now, but moreover, Harry was still her best friend.
"I think it's time for a break." He wore that lopsided grin well, holding onto that boyish charm that time couldn't seem to steal from his features.
Hermione's fingers twitched against the soft parchment, 'five more minutes' already perched on the tip of her tongue on instinct. She was close to something big—something that might be able to provide some historical context to plural marriage within the wizarding community, but she lacked the connections. Why did the law change from the middle ages to modern day? Why was she able to find concrete proof of the practice until the early 1400's when the sudden the mention of magical marriages was gone, struck from the history books until the Magical Marriage Act of 1621.
Questions swirled deep within her mind, driving her forward despite the hunger pains that clenched her gut. She was so close, and if she had just a bit longer…
"Come on." Harry pushed off the doorframe, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, and before she could voice even a noise in protest, he was pulling back the swivel chair and gently plucking the book from her hands. "And before you complain too much, just know I made your favorite. Cheese toastie and tomato soup."
Her socked feet slipped across the flooring, unable to gain any sort of traction, and she pouted as Harry turned her chair to face him. His hands curled around each arm as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You know, it's rather unfair when you do that."
"Hrm?" Harry cocked a brow, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side in that puppy dog look that seemed to melt away any resolve she had to tell him she'd take dinner in the study.
"Come in all charming… talking about how you've made dinner and such." Hermione waved her hand in the narrow space that separated them. "It's rather difficult to say no."
A billow of laughter danced off his tongue, his smile stretching wide across his lips. "Well, that is the intention." His hand moved to take hers, and in one fluid movement, he pulled her from the chair.
"Clearly," Hermione returned with a small laugh, allowing Harry to lead her from the room with a gentle tug down the hallway towards the kitchen. The smell of buttered bread hit her first. Warm and rich, it made her stomach grumble with the sudden realisation that while the cuppa and fruit had been able to hold her over, she was most definitely in need of greater sustenance.
Pulling her hand from Harry's, Hermione moved towards the end of the counter where two steaming bowls sat next to a single plate stacked with several toasties. "Oh, you cut them properly!" Hermione glanced over her shoulder, eyes positively dancing, before she turned back to pull a triangular half from the plate.
"Only you think that." Harry settled up beside her, pressing his elbow into the tiled countertop as he took the other half. "I didn't feel much like arguing why a square cut was better—you know that old saying, right?"
"Happy wife, happy life?"
Harry wrinkled his nose, quickly swallowing the large mouthful as he gave her a firm shake of his head. "No… never debate Hermione Granger." He wagged his toastie at her before taking another bite, careful not to pull the tomato from the middle as he winked.
"Harry!" Her jaw dropped, eyes narrowing in mock disbelief and she lifted her own half toastie to her mouth, nibbling some of the crust from the corner before she dipped it into her bowl of soup for another bite. "Regardless, thank you."
"For dinner?" Harry set his half eaten sandwich on the plate, and rubbed the crumbs from his fingers, before picking up his spoon to take a small slurp of soup. "No thanks is needed. Truthfully, it's rather selfish on my part. I was starving, and I was sick and tired of only seeing your hair when I'd pop into the study."
"No, not dinner—not that I don't appreciate it, but I'd hardly call grilling a toastie and warming up some soup a feat for your culinary prowess."
"Hey! Don't be so quick to judge, using a can opener can be very tricky. Just ask Ron. We've walked away with flesh wounds before."
"Ah yes, the sacrifices one makes for a tin of beans." Hermione laughed, biting her bottom lip. The easy camaraderie they fell into, even during what Hermione deemed to be the worst of times, was par none. It truly was no wonder James once thought the pair were fated.
But, for as much happiness and warmth that filled her heart as she stood beside Harry, eating the humble meal, there was a part of her that felt incomplete. There was a space in her heart that, no matter how much she wanted to ignore its aching emptiness, would never truly go away.
At least not until James was with them.
It was inexplicable, really, how suddenly and completely at ease she had found herself in her marriage to both Harry and James. Logic told her it made no sense, that she should only find happiness in monogamy—that she shouldn't want them both.
Polyamory was not exactly mainstream in the Muggle world. She'd heard of it, obviously, but never in a positive context. It was always talked about in hushed whispers and judgmental tones. Once upon a time, she might have participated in the rumor mill, but that was before she knew what it was like. Before she found love with both men. Before she realised how perfectly they both fit in her heart.
As much as the logical side of her wanted to ignore the feeling—to deny what happiness it gave her and go back to a life lived without conflict—she would never be able to, not now that she knew the happiness it brought them. Not ever.
"You okay?"
The warmth of Harry's hand resting on top of her arm snapped her back to reality, and she lifted her eyes from where they'd drifted to stare at the dark grout between the brightly colored tiles as she nodded. Her lips pulled into a smile she knew didn't quite meet her eyes. "Yeah…Sorry, I was just thinking."
Harry squeezed her arm gently, his thumbs stroking across the softness of her skin, and he set down the half of the sandwich on the plate before turning to face her completely. "You want to talk about it?" There was a softness in his eyes that made Hermione's heart quiver.
He'd always been her best friend. Understanding, kind, and selfless. He'd had every opportunity to grow into a wizard who cared more about himself than the rest of the world, but against all odds, Harry hadn't. He'd stayed true to that gangly little boy she met on the train. Even now, when the focus should be on him considering the stressors of work, he was worried about the wayward thoughts that plagued her mind.
"Honestly? I'd rather not. But..." Chewing on her bottom lip, Hermione let the spoon rest in her bowl of soup, careful not to let it submerge in the steaming liquid. Pushing up off the counter, Hermione took a small step forward, closing the narrow space that separated them and she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her face instinctively went against his chest, nose nuzzling in the softness of his shirt, and she allowed his scent to caress her memories, bringing forth years of happy times they'd had together. "Can you just hold me for a minute?"
Her voice was small, meek and riddled with the uncertainty she'd been battling since the moment they'd received the letter from the Ministry.
"Of course, whatever you need." Harry didn't hesitate fulfilling her request. His arms moved around her, one hand pressing gently on her head, the other moving to stroke her back. She felt his lips at her temple, pressing tender kisses along her hairline.
They stood like that for what she was certain was too long, but in the moment didn't feel like long enough. For just a few seconds, she could feel his magic slip into the empty place in heart, filling the temporary void the best it could, but they both knew it would never be enough. It was an unspoken understanding—one Harry didn't even seem to bat an eye at, and for that, Hermione was thankful.
She hoped the row she'd had with James—the insistence that they do this together, as a united front—didn't ruin what was blossoming between them. She knew that she was asking a lot, that he was risking more than she should truthfully ever ask: his job, his public image, and quite possibly some friendships.
The truth was, they were risks for them all. Clearly, the ramifications of her refusal were already in motion, and though she had no proof, she was certain this would not be the last of the snubs the Ministry would reign down upon her. But every tear shed, every case of accidental magic, every single flare of anger and sorrow and pain was worth it if at the end of it all she was able to live the life she wanted with the men she chose.
Lifting her head so her chin could rest on the centre of his chest, Hermione smiled up at Harry, enjoying the feeling of his fingers working through her messy curls, twisting the ruined ringlets like he so often did.
"Better?"
"Half-way there."
"Well, it's a start." Harry leaned in, his lips ghosting across her forehead. "What do you say we finish up these toasties and maybe we can sit by the fire? I'll even read with you."
Hermione laughed, slowly unwinding her arms from his waist, the tips of her fingers dragging along the hemline of his henley, smoothing the waffled fabric against his denim trousers. "Wow," she said with mock surprise. "The Boy-Who-Lived reading a book on my behalf? I must be special."
"Whoa. Let's not get too hasty here—" Harry laughed, emerald eyes twinkling mischievously. "I never said anything about a book. The newest issue of Quidditch Weekly came in and—"
"Harry!"
"Okay, okay." Harry lifted his hands in surrender, stepping out of her orbit. "I guess I could finish that book on the history of the DMLE you gifted me last Christmas."
"You've got to be kidding me! Are you serious? It's October!"
"Yeah, and?"
"And I gifted it to you last December! You've had it for ten months and haven't finished it yet?!"
"I've been busy."
"But not busy enough to fall behind on Quidditch Weekly?"
Harry opened his mouth, prepared to give some sort of justifiable reason that she was certain would never meet her standards, but before even a syllable could slip from his tongue, the sound of the Floo igniting echoed in the sitting room.
Her eyes instantly snapped to the analog clock that sat atop their stove. She knew she'd spent most of the day in the study but surely it wasn't that late. The evening sun was still setting, which meant either James came home early, or something was wrong.
"Harry? Hermione?" The familiar baritone drifted through the house. It had been a couple weeks since she'd heard it last, but she would have recognized it anywhere.
"Sirius?" Socked feet carried her across the kitchen and she slipped into the sitting room, her brow already furrowed. "Is everything alright?"
The wizard was already halfway across the room, his hair spilling around a hastily thrown up bun, reigning wisps of inky black locks around his face. Gray eyes that normally held warmth, love, and happiness seemed devoid of any positive emotion. Instead, they were cold, fear and unease penetrating the beautiful starlight in a way she'd never seen before.
"Oh thank gods." He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug and pressed his lips against her temple before moving to Harry. "You've got to go to the Ministry."
"What?" Harry returned the quick embrace, pulling back to look down at his uncle. "I just left. Look if James sent you down here—"
"No! He didn't send me down." A single hand smoothed over his features as he took in a staggered breath. "Your Dad was at my house for lunch, and I popped back to the Ministry with him—I had some paperwork to turn in for Moony—and well, none of that bloody matters right now because your dad's been arrested, Harry."
James had done a lot of stupid things in his life.
He'd used spells he shouldn't have.
He'd fought on the wrong side of the law.
He'd even used his limited power to force some legislation through, but he'd never, ever been arrested.
He'd gone forty-two years with a clean record…until today.
The hold room felt much smaller than it ever had before. The four white walls gleaming at him under the harsh artificial light felt like a mockery of what this room was supposed to represent. Justice. Virtue. He wasn't entirely sure when the change began, when he'd noticed how biased and wrong it all felt, but he knew it was well before the Decree.
Maybe sometime during the second war.
He couldn't blame Cornelius entirely. In fact, if he had to pinpoint something, there was one moment in particular. The first time he'd ever felt like the system was broken, he'd gone to the then Minister, Fudge, to discuss what Harry had seen in the Triwizard Maze. He'd gone to him as not just the Head of the DMLE, but as a father, as a man, pleading to help figure out how to save his son.
He'd been told to keep quiet.
He'd been told Harry was a liar, and Voldemort wasn't back.
He'd been told that if he 'valued' his job, James would do well to keep Harry quiet as well.
That was just the beginning of what would turn out to be the worst four years of James' life. When he not only questioned the value of his job, the Ministry, and the world, but he'd lost countless hours of sleep for fear of getting an owl telling him of his son's demise.
But, those days were behind him now. The world was a safer, better place. He was supposed to be proud of the work he was doing once more, but as he sat in the tiny white room, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe Hermione had been right.
Her fight wasn't just about keeping their family whole, it was about the freedoms that the Ministry was taking away. The freedom to choose who to marry, who to love. Because who bloody cared if it was one, two, or three people? Who cared if a wizard wanted to marry another wizard? Who bloody cared?
Their world was supposed to be about more than procreation and carrying on blood lines. They were supposed to be advanced! They were supposed to lead the way for Muggle society to follow, to set the foundation for the world leaders, yet here they were, enacting marriage laws and outlawing not only polyamorous marriages, but also same-sex unions.
Not only was he being forced to hide his unconventional marriage, but his best friends couldn't legally wed! Even without the bloody Decree, that would never be able to be together—at least in the eyes of the law.
And perhaps that was the final straw. seeing them together—happy—and knowing that they would forever be forced to live the farce of a life just to comply with what the Ministry dictated.
Even now, sitting in the holding cell, nursing his busted lip with a handkerchief Adleson had handed him before locking him up, the idea made him more furious than before.
Leaning back against the metal chair, James pulled the cloth away from his lip, letting out a small growl of frustration as he assessed the size of the bloodied stain that only seemed to grow larger with each passing minute.
A bright flash of purple light flared to life across the room, pulling his attention away from the handkerchief, and James sat up, straightening his spine in preparation for what he assumed was one of his Aurors coming in to read him his charges.
He watched silently, simmering with rage as the outline of the door slowly materialized on the blank wall.
It opened slowly to reveal his wife, all hell-fire and fury evident in the way she moved past Maurice, the rookie who'd likely pulled the short end of the stick. She didn't utter a single word as she stormed into the room, but the moment their eyes met, the hardness disappeared, replaced by a gut wrenching worry. "James."
James rose from the table quickly, sending the metal chair rattling across the floor as he moved around the table to pull her into his arms. He tucked his head into her curls, fingers sinking into the soft jumper she wore as he pulled her impossibly close. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry, love."
Her thin arms tightened around his neck, fingers carding through the hair on the back of his head, and as if in time, he felt her magic return to him.
Warm. Comforting. Home.
Hermione's presence inside him was unlike anything he'd ever felt, an instant relief to his worries, the same sense of comfort he'd found after stepping into a hot shower at the end of a long day. He felt like she'd always belonged to him, like maybe she always would. The universe was designed for her to fit into his arms—into his heart.
"James...what happened?" Hermione pulled back, just enough to look at him. This was far from the first time she'd seen him injured, they'd lived through a war together, but now, it was somehow different. The world was calm. They weren't fighting to stay alive. Somehow, knowing that somehow made it worse, like whoever did this to him wasn't just misguided by a silver tongued devil, but truly upset with him.
Lifting her hand, Hermione brushed her fingertips across his cheek, eyes softening as she took in the large gash that ran just under his right eye, the deep purple bruise that had already begun to form on his left cheek, and his swollen lip. "Merlin, James."
James turned his head towards her hand, lips pressing a tender kiss across her wandering fingers, and he smiled when her palm cupped his jaw. "Nothing—nothing of importance."
"I wouldn't say it's nothing." Harry's voice drifted across the room, and James looked over his shoulder to find the source. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, a deep frown tugging down his lips. He'd thrown his Auror robes over his street clothing, and had yet to even button them to hide his haste. "You look like shite."
"Yeah? You should see the other guy."
"James," Hermione clucked disapprovingly.
Harry snorted, his index finger tapping against his bicep, but despite his best efforts, his lips pulled up in a small smile. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure their escort was not lingering in the doorway before he looked back to his dad. "I did. Lucien looked worse than I did after taking that bewitched bludger."
"Old man's still got it, then?"
"Most definitely."
"Are you really bragging about a fist fight?" Hermione's lips pursed as she looked between her husbands. Both wore expressions that looked eerily reminiscent of ones she'd seen Harry and Ron wear countless times during their years growing up—guilty, but far from willing to admit the truth for fear of earning her wrath. With a small sigh, Hermione shook her head, arms crossing over her bust. "I cannot believe you two. This is serious."
James shot Harry a sidelong glance, grimacing before mouthing 'later' to him. "Let me be the first to assure you, I understand how serious this is seeing as I'm the only one of us who took several punches to the face—"
"Wait. This"—She motioned towards his face—"is because of our marriage?"
"Uh…inadvertently, yes."
"To be fair, Lucien is also a fucking prick," Harry offered, his hands sliding into the front pocket of his trousers. "So, I'm certain whatever the reason, it's valid."
"What was the reason?" Hermione cocked a brow. "Because being an arsehole isn't typically enough of a reason for physical violence."
"Oh yes, because Magical violence would have been acceptable," Harry murmured.
"Any violence." Hermione shot daggers across the room at her younger husband who only broke into laughter at her glare.
James watched the pair with growing affection, his hand covering his smile as he moved to lean on the table, kicking his legs out to cross at the ankle. "I got a new warrant today, and…I told them that I wouldn't sign off."
"A warrant for what?" Hermione gulped, a slow sense of worry beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. The warrants for plural marriage refusals had obviously stopped, but this was the first she'd heard of new ones being issued.
James paused, his eyes flickering between Harry and Hermione with growing hesitation as he ran his tongue across his lips, the copper twinge of blood still present. "For polygamy."
Hermione let loose a deep breath, her eyes closing as she lifted her hand to her hairline, pushing the riotous curls back from her face, nails scratching lightly at her scalp. "Great—of course Minister Thicknesse would fucking do that."
"Who was it for?" Harry pressed, his brow setting, a frown beginning to pull down the corners of his lips, leaving no trace of the smile that he held only second prior.
"Ha! Actually, that's the part that's kind of bizarre." James clicked his tongue, hazel eyes drifting down to the bloodied handkerchief he still held in his hand. He lifted it to blot against his bottom lip once more. "I, uh…I never thought I'd defend a Malfoy but, uh…The warrant was for Draco, Theodore Nott, and their wife—Pansy Parkinson."
It had been a number of years since those names had come up in her day-to-day life, it wasn't exactly like they ran in the same circles now that they were freed from forced cohabitation, but the weight that they carried was no less than it had been five short years ago.
"Are you sure? Malfoy? As in—" Harry was the first to react, his voice ticking up with incredulity.
"As in your old classmate. I'm fairly certain there is no one else in the entirety of Britain with the same name." James dropped his hand, fingers twisting the cloth as his eyes drifted back up to his wife and son.
"Wow…Malfoy and—Well, I mean the Pansy thing is fairly predictable, but Nott?" Harry let out a low whistle, his eyes widening.
"Are you really judging him, Harry?" Hermione lifted her eyebrows, lips pursing in a look reminiscent of their former Head of House.
"What? No! I was just—I mean…" His voice trailed off, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "It's Malfoy." He was hardly in a position to pass judgement considering he was in a polyamorus marriage involving his own father, Harry was very aware of this fact, but his surprise had less to do with judgement, and more to do with his contemptuous past with the blond.
"And? Is he not entitled to a happy relationship with whom he loves?"
"I never said that."
"Well it sounds like you are implying it."
James cleared his throat, hazel eyes flickering between Harry and Hermione, the hint of a smile spread across his features. If it weren't for the large split in his bottom lip, he might've worn a toothy smile at their little spat—but he didn't much feel like opening the wound any more. "Can I finish?"
Hermione nodded, giving him a small rolling gesture. "Yes—sorry. So, you got a warrant for Malfoy and his family and said no?"
"Yes, I did, and apparently Lucien did not agree with my reasoning."
"Which was what exactly?" Hermione tilted her head to the side.
"That the Minister's sudden reversal on the polyamory law was unjust, archaic even, and perhaps before issuing warrants, we ought to discuss the possibility of amending the law to reflect a more accepting stance on those who found happiness with their plural marriages."
Harry laughed, his hand slipping from his pocket, and he pressed his fingertips to his lips as he moved to claim the small space beside his father on the table. "Merlin, I bet Lucien fucking loved that."
"Oh, yeah. I was fairly certain that vein in his forehead was going to pop." James gave a lazy gesture to his own forehead. "But…that wasn't the reason we fought. Not that it wasn't kindling to the fire. It was when he started in our marriage—specifically you, Hermione."
"Oh…" Of course people were talking, it was really no surprise, but she could admit having confirmation was at least a little disheartening. Since the war's end, her public image had been blemish free, even in spite of Skeeter's hatred for her. She was beloved, a war heroine, and a witch with a bright future ahead of her. But evidently her efforts at saving Wizarding Britain didn't matter when deemed a harlot. "I don't really care what people are saying."
"Yeah? Well, I do." James set the handkerchief on the table beside him before he reached to take Hermione's hand, thumb stroking across her knuckles as he caught her eye. "You're my wife—our wife—and I know I don't speak alone when I say no one is allowed to say what he did about you. I won't stand for it."
Her bottom lip quivered, and she could feel a swell of emotion burst to life inside her heart, threatening to spill over and bring forth tears. "Does this mean that you're—that you're not leaving me?"
"Let's make one thing clear, love, I never intended on leaving you." James was many things, thick headed, headstrong, and brash. However, despite his flaws, he had always prided himself on being true to his word. He had never intended on leaving the comfort of her orbit, especially not after being reminded of the depth of their connection. But he wanted to ensure she was safe, complying with the law now matter how stupid.
He could see now how foolish it was. He would have never been able to lie about his feelings for her—even if it was just to Ministry officials.
"But no—I'm not going anywhere. They can't force us to fill out that form, and, well, what's the worst Pius can do? Fire me?" A bitter laugh bubbled up his throat, and James gently tugged Hermione towards him until her body slipped into the narrow space between him and Harry. "An early retirement might not be so bad now that you're at home."
Hermione let out a heavy breath, her right hand moving to rest on Harry's thigh as she laced her fingers with James'. "You're daft, you know that, right?"
"Absolutely. I'm a complete and utter moron." James laughed, hazel eyes dancing behind his wire frames. "I should have defended our marriage from the beginning."
"It's okay. I was…I was upset and honestly? A total bitch. I was just scared and—"
"No. No, Hermione, you weren't." James gently squeezed her hand to emphasise his point. "You were right. This is about more than the bloody Decree, and I've spent far too long alone. I'd say I'm owed a chance to show off how bloody happy I am."
"No fucking kidding," Harry murmured. "After everything our family has gone through, you'd think Pius would be a bit more sympathetic."
"He hasn't issued our arrest warrant yet. I'm sure he considers that a great show of discretion on his part." James scoffed.
"How lucky for us." Hermione shook her head, clicking her tongue sarcastically before she leaned up, pressing a quick kiss against James' cheek, careful to avoid the blossoming purple bruise. "What do we do from here?"
"Well, I've paid bail, so I vote for getting the hell out of here." Harry slipped off the table, trainers squeaking lightly on the tiled floor as he moved behind Hermione, hooking a finger into the back belt loop of her denim trousers, playfully tugging her backwards. "You can play nursemaid. I'll even feign an injury to join in."
"Oh! I do like the sound of that." James chuckled, his fingers slipping from Hermione's grasp as he pushed off the table, wincing as he straightened his spine.
Hermione stumbled backward under the gentle tug, jaw dropping as she looked over her shoulder. "I thought you didn't have a thing for nurses."
"I don't—I've got a thing for you." Harry pulled her backwards until he could safely tuck her under his arm. "You gonna be able to make the trek to the floo bank, old man?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine." James rolled his head, slowly stretching out the tension that'd riddled his muscles since he'd been tossed into the holding room. "Just because I don't bounce back as quickly as you doesn't mean I'm not capable of scrapping—it's just been a couple of years."
Harry snorted. "A couple?"
"Quiet, you." James adjusted his jacket in a vain attempt at smoothing some of the wrinkles from it as he moved to the other side of Hermione. One arm curled around her waist as he slipped the other into her back pocket. "Let's just get the hell out of here. Nurse Hermione or not, I don't want to spend another bloody minute in this bloody place."
Author's Note:
Song: We Fight by Dashboard Confessional
hey. hey. hey! Sorry for the delay last week. Not sure how many of you are readers on my other WIP, but the beta & I had some real life things come up. Regardless, we should be back on track for a 1x per week posting! I have a decent little buffer of chapters written! I know some of you are not exactly happy with James as of late, but I swear he meant well! Don't give up on the bloke yet.
many endless thanks to my team for helping me with this. Without them, I would be a mess of words on paper.
until next time. xx