Chapter 29 – Riddle Manor – October 1st, 1946

Hermione apparated to the outside of Riddle manor, staring up at the sturdy home with a curdle of anxiety in her gut, it was the second time she'd been back since her mother's death, the first time being a week ago when she first brought the Skeeter-beetle here. Then, she'd just apparated right into her old room and left the jar on the counter of her vanity with a sticking charm, with plenty of vegetation for her to eat and water for her to drink (she wasn't heartless) before apparating out again.

Now, she entered through the front door and glanced around, the once grandiose marble entrance hall seemed dull and grey in comparison to the gleam and affluence it displayed not a year ago. She walked to her mother's office, for the first time since her murder, and glanced around with a shuddering breath. In her head, she could hear echoes of gunshots and kicks to the door by Edward and Henry, and she felt the panic from that day creep back up her spine, her breathing becoming ragged.

She entered the office and sat in her mother's seat, putting her head in her arms on the desk, thankfully clear of dust due to Tom's stasis charm, waiting for the attack to pass, while regulating her breathing and trying to get her heart rate down. These episodes happened sometimes, and she learned to get herself through them, the last time had been in the post office in York, where she'd held the key in her hand to check the box, and immediately had to leave and press herself against the wall in the alley beside the building, in hopes no one would see her and accuse her of being hysterical.

When the feeling of suffocation began to slowly ebb away, she pulled her head up and surveyed the room, nothing had moved or changed, from the expensive wine bottles on the shelf to her right, her mother's scotch bar to her back, or the muskets over top of the mantle, everything, except for the couch she'd died on, which was gone, leaving an empty wall, was exactly as it had always been.

She gave a shaky breath as she analyzed the room, all the blood had been cleaned, and there was no remaining evidence of the tragedy, but the memory of it was still burned into her retinas all the same. She ran a hand over the smooth, polished desk, and her eyes fell on the framed photo to her left, and she choked out a small laugh, reaching for it.

She remembered that day, her mamie hadn't wanted to sit for the photo, and she'd been angry over it, or, as angry as a seven-year-old could be. There weren't a lot of memories from her childhood that she remembered with perfect clarity, but that was one of them. She traced the blurred image of her maman's laughing face, before bringing her attention to her papa, they were together now, and maybe they were content, she'd like to believe they were, as going on without either of them in her life anymore was so very difficult.

She replaced the photo down, and took one last look around the office, before getting up and walking towards the door. Without a glance back, she turned off the light, and left, making her way to her old room. She hadn't taken any of her things when she'd left, all of her clothes and belongings were still there, untouched, she knew so because none of it was in Slytherin Castle, all the clothing or accessories she owned now had been purchased at some point, though she had an idea that Tom was behind it, it was the general understanding of living with him, that he was behind everything one way or another. As she approached the room, she cast an anti-apparition ward around that wing of the manor, she couldn't have her guest fleeing, after all.

She opened the door and closed it, and gave a once over around the room before turning the lights on, she then turned towards the jar on the vanity, noting the beetle was tapping against the glass impatiently with one of its tiny legs, a very human-like movement that had Hermione tilt her head at the insect. So without further ado, she spelled the cap off the jar, and as soon as the beetle flew out and landed on the floor, transforming into the witch, Hermione disarmed her of her wand, catching it as it flew to her.

"Ms. Skeeter, I hope your stay has been enjoyable," she greeted lightly while the older witch scowled, straightening her posture from where she'd been kneeling on the floor.

"You vile girl," she snarled, and Hermione only quirked an eyebrow at her, knowing that the other witch was calling her 'girl' to deny her existence as a witch herself, but she too, could play at that game.

"Says the vile insect," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, both her own and Skeeter's wand in one hand while she made to examine her nails on her other.

"You know, the minimum Azkaban sentence for an unregistered animagus is seven years minimum. Now, using it to invade people's privacy, as well as subvert my restraining order against you?" she asked, clucking her tongue to get the point across.

"So you're going to blackmail me then?" Rita sneered, and Hermoine shrugged delicately and pursed her lips.

"I prefer to think of it as taking advantage of an opportunity handed to me on a silver platter," she replied casually, watching the other witch's face carefully, which was going through the motions of looking like she'd swallowed a lemon.

"Fine, name your terms," she clipped, straightening her cat-framed glasses, and Hermione tilted her head, a slow smile blooming across her face.

"Well..."

Alcazar Deslizan – October 16th, 1946

Tom leaned back in his chair and brought his goblet to his lips and he watched his knights, as well as members of the Traditional Party of the Wizengamot, discuss current events. He was hosting a dinner to celebrate their recent success of loosening restrictions on trade agreements with certain countries, as loosening them entirely (as per the original plan) had needed to be trimmed a bit to appear as if the goal was international relations, rather than a grasp at raising personal wealth. He had invited Hermione to join, but she'd barely concealed a sneer when he informed her of who would be joining, preferring instead to stay in the library to overlook the finishing touches of her bill, which she would be presenting in five days. In fact, it was a smaller reason for this dinner, to gauge a response to it, as he surveyed all the occupied seats, his eyes fell on Orion, who gave him a loaded stare, before turning his attention elsewhere.

He could feel the vow almost like a pinch at the base of his skull, regardless of his intentions with Hermione, he would be voting in favour, and Orion knew that too, getting everyone else to agree on it was entirely his own responsibility though. Tom learned a valuable lesson in sealing a vow with Orion, and that was to never promise unnamed favours sealed with vows ever again, regardless of whether the recipient was one of your closest confidants. Orion Black still had one favour over him, and he had no idea what to expect yet from the other wizard.

"So, Lord Slytherin, I heard Ms. Granger-Riddle is presenting a bill that will take away our elves?" it was Draco Malfoy who asked calmly, and Riddle almost raised a brow, surprised by his lack of derisive chortle, he stared the other wizard down until he began to shift nervously.

"You would be misinformed, as I've looked over the bill and it's summarily to give elves the choice to leave with no repercussions if they wish it, and if they wish to stay, then compensation should be awarded," he answered slowly, swirling the wine in his goblet. He was not much of a wine person, but this was an aged red from Devereaux that Abraxas had brought, and he found he was enjoying it.

"Does that mean you will be voting in favour?" Rudolphous asked, amber eyes glinting, and Tom knew that he had to be careful with his answer, as it would be this answer that would shift Lestrange's eye away from Hermione.

"Yes, because I take care of my things," he paused, running his tongue over his teeth pensively, "house elves included." and he held Lestrange's gaze for a beat before the other wizard gave an almost imperceptible nod. He contemplated everyone else seated at the table and continued.

"This bill will prove to be a boon for us all, as it is the ultimate mask, the Progressive Party will be hard-pressed to predict our next move." he tapped his finger against the table, "and for what we want to accomplish, total and complete power, we will need that security," he explained evenly, to a few nods, only to hear a scoff. His eyes snapped to Draco Malfoy, whose previously calm demeanour changed to something contemptuous.

"Pretty words to disguise that you're only voting in favour because you're fucking the barrister presenting it," he sneered, the chatter around the table ceased immediately, and Tom tilted his head to regard him, but the other wizard wasn't finished, "Seriously, why do we listen to you, it was one thing in Hogwarts, but here? You're just a jumped-up half-blood, who acts like you're better than all of us when you're almost as filthy as that whore you're shagging." and he opened his mouth to continue, but was silenced by his brother Abraxas, who turned to him immediately with wild panic in his eyes.

"Lord Slytherin, I apologize for my younger brother, he doesn't know what he is saying," he rambled, but Tom already felt the yearning settle in his gut, the hunger to cause pain surged through him, that had been dulled by politics for far too long. He raised his hand to stop Abraxas.

"Oh, I think he knows exactly what he's saying," Tom replied affably, getting up. Yes, Draco knew what he was doing, and Tom guessed that Abraxas must have complained at some point to him about Hermione, and Tom's attachment to her. So, as he had no actual skin or money in the game they were playing, he'd developed his own distaste of him, based on things he'd witnessed, and no doubt his brother's testimony.

Tom also knew he was partially to blame, as he kept Abraxas on an extremely loose leash, he knew that eventually, the scraps of affection he gave him would sour eventually to complaints. That Tom had had so much on his plate that Abraxas's feelings simply couldn't have been a priority, was something he should have accounted for, as despite his competence, he was quite needy and sensitive.

He turned his attention back to Draco, he would have to deal with this disrespect, and he was certain it may sour his relationship with Abraxas even more, but he truly did not have a choice, as he'd been insulted at his own table. Such impertinence could not go unpunished. He walked towards him, around the table, trailing a hand lightly over the backs of the chairs of his guests.

"He insinuates that I am inferior, in my own home, while he eats and drinks at my table, and that I am, what did you call it?" he asked, stopping behind Draco's chair, "a 'jumped-up half-blood'?" he reiterated mockingly, and proceeded to turn his head to Lucius, who was now white as a sheet.

"Tell me, Lucius, is this how you've raised your son? To insult the host of the house?" he asked, lightly, only hinting to the cold fury running through his veins, and Lucius had the graciousness to give a swift shake of his head.

"No, Lord Slytherin, I have not, you have been a gracious host and this attack on your person is unwarranted," he lied, Tom knew he was because he also knew that, despite personal reasons for speaking out, Draco was echoing the thoughts of all the snobby purebloods seated in this very hall, they just weren't foolish enough to say anything out loud. It was a lesson he had learned slowly since graduating, that his half-blood status would always be seen as a problem, but only because he dared to seize power and respect whilst refusing to act subservient to actual purebloods, it was a fact of the matter that ground on his nerves daily but that he forswore to change anyhow.

He briefly glanced at Severus Prince, the only other half-blood in the room, who sat staring stonily ahead with a sneer twisted upon his lips. He had learned that Severus was once, apparently, a consideration to be Draco Malfoy's godfather, due to his close friendship with Narcissa Black-Malfoy, but had been hijacked out of the honour by Lucius Malfoy, who held preference for Lord Regulus Black, clearly for obvious reasons, and despite the insult, he still kowtowed to the purebloods, which was a perfect example of someone Tom hoped to never become.

He turned to Lord Black, who was observing the drama with cool stony eyes, the wizard was only in his early forties, and was still quite handsome, like his son, but just as indiscernible as him too. To Lord Black's left, Tom could almost feel the malevolent glee radiating from Bella, as she sat between him and her husband, Rodolphous. He decided that his next step had to be worded carefully, lest he be seen as unhinged.

"Lord Black, since I am an ignorant 'jumped-up half-blood', I could swear the proper response to such an insult would be a challenge to a wizard's duel, can you confirm?" he asked, keeping his tone light, ignoring the pleading look from Abraxas, who knew very well of his duelling capabilities and style, waiting for an answer from the regal Lord Black. By putting the answer, and further consequential action on one of the most respected members of pureblood society, it would save his reputation if he decided to become cruel while duelling, something he had every intention of doing.

"You are correct, Lord Slytherin, as a host who has been insulted at his own table, you are owed the dignity of requesting a wizard's duel," he spoke coolly, as if uncaring of whichever way the events of the evening proceeded. Tom smiled, bringing his attention back to Draco in front of him, who was as still as a golem.

"Draco Malfoy, I challenge you to a singular, no seconds, Wizard duel, do you accept?" he asked softly, and Abraxas undid the silencing charm on him reluctantly, to which he then gave a clipped nod.

"I accept."

Tom proceeded to lead them to the duelling chamber, which was in the east wing on the second floor, and once they were all there, he directed an elf to hold a protective barrier between the battle and the guests, who stood in observance against the wall, while he and Draco stood ten paces apart. When all was prepared, and the elf (Nini? Niti? Hermione was the one who cared the for the elves' names) was behind the barrier, only then did he give the requisite bow, which Malfoy mirrored, before they paced back to their positions.

He tapped his wand patiently against the inside of his palm, allowing Draco to make the first move, which he did, sending a fast confringo, that he side-stepped easily. In return, he cast a silent colloshoo, sticking the other wizard's feet to the ground, before swinging a bombarda at him. Draco realizing too late that his feet were stuck, leaned as far away from the blasting curse as he could, but was still struck on his left arm, which splintered.

He cried out from pain and shock, and Tom went back to tapping his wand against the inside of his palm, disappointed at the turn of the duel, even Antonin had set a better challenge than this, and this? This was an embarrassment for the Malfoy family, surely.

Draco started with school level spells, which Tom had returned in kind, which either exhibited that he was not taking this duel seriously, did not take Tom seriously, or, he was truly unskilled.

Malfoy undid the colloshoo and sent a reducto, which smashed against Tom's silent protego maxima, before quickly sending a curse called "sectumsempra," which, if Tom knew his Latin, and he did, took no chances with a shield, instead sidestepping it, not trusting a curse that roughly translated into "always cut". The appearance of a curse he did not know heartened him, allowed him to hope that this duel wasn't a giant waste of his time. So, in hopes that the other wizard would throw more unknown gems at him, he played with him, in an attempt to enrage him, like turning Draco's kneecaps backwards and turning to floor around his feet to ice, turning his silver hair, blue, all while batting away or shielding anything that was sent his way.

Draco caught on and began to shield from Tom's joke hexes, becoming increasingly tired with the injury to his arm, while Tom stood there generally unbothered. Until Malfoy sent an incendio that hit Tom's shield, but just as quickly followed it with a cucio, that he almost didn't dodge in time, as he felt the static of it against his arm. With that move from Malfoy, Tom decided to end this duel once and for all, and like he'd practised on Rathlin Island to destroy the little house of evidence, he twirled his wand, and in parseltongue, hissed the incantation for fiendfyre, his inherited language giving him more control than his human tongue ever did.

Draco's eyes popped in terror as a basilisk of flames roared towards him, and Tom directed it to encircle him, close enough to not burn him immediately, but enough to destroy his shield and injure him enough to win. As much as Tom wished to, he could not kill Draco Malfoy, because that would only serve to turn the Malfoys against him, however, that did not mean he would not teach the other wizard, and all of his guests, a lesson in what happened if they attempted to cross him.

He felt a bead of his own sweat run from his temple, the demon fire notoriously difficult to control, he decided to end it quickly before he lost the hold he had over it. Once Draco's shield was down, he guided the flames to brush against the wizard's right side, causing him to shriek in terror and pain, the right side of his face scorched entirely. Before he could fall forward into more flames, Tom ended it, the fire disappearing into the air, leaving a charred and smoking Malfoy barely standing, that is, until he collapsed and dropped his wand.

Tom stood there silently while Malfoy panted on the ground, obviously in a great deal of pain, and officially ending the duel, he summoned Draco's hawthorn wand to his hand. He walked towards where Lucius and Abraxas stood, both their pallor pasty in horror. He handed the wand to the father and nodded his assent to retrieve him.

"I've decided to be generous and leave him alive, consider it a gift between business partners, Lucius," he paused, before waving his wand towards the fireplace on the far wall, "I've enabled the floo for you to get him medical attention, if you take him now, perhaps the disfigurement won't be completely irreversible," he spoke coolly, clearly lying, and Lucius nodded his assent, thanking him while Abraxas refused to look at him.

Tom scoffed mentally, he knew his friend was angry that he'd requested the duel in the first place, but what he also knew was that Abraxas saw the world through his privileged lens, a privilege he and Draco both had to speak however they pleased, with no consequences. When they were gone, Tom turned to look at the rest of his guests, all of who held a glint of respect in their eyes, and he understood then, that the majority of them had been waiting for a moment like that duel to decide if they truly wanted to side with him. He scoffed in his mind because he knew that it was still only temporary, regardless, he would take advantage of it now. He fixed the cuffs of his robes before addressing them all.

"I hope no one else has any other critiques of my person they'd like to air, I'd like to think I am not unreasonable, but I will not take disrespect lightly," he chided gently, to a series of nods, and Orion addressed him.

"To reiterate, the bill on elves?" he asked, and the other few, Traditional Party members of the Wizengamot, looked to him for clarification, and he nodded.

"We move as one body, we vote in favour because we have more to gain from the security it will give us, than what we would gain from voting against it," he finalized, and though he was young, he could tell the older guests were considering his words and agreeing with them ultimately.

The dinner did continue, as everyone followed him back to the dining hall where they all retook their seats and enjoyed some food and drink, discussing different politics and plans for the future, until eventually, it all ended with nary another hiccup.

This, however, did nothing to dampen the itch under his skin, almost hoping as if somebody would challenge him again, so he could let it out, or scratch at it. When he reached his rooms and entered Hermione's, that yearning changed to something else when he found her asleep at her desk, bluebell flames in jars, lighting the angles of her face as her head was cushioned in her arms on the desk, and bouncing off the sating wrap around her head.

He cast a finite on the jar, dampening the flames, and carried her to bed before tucking them both in, feeling entirely satisfied. He pulled her body tightly against his own and proceeded to fall into a content sleep.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – October 17th, 1946

Leonard Riddle (né Seaborn) was a lot of things, most of those things consisted of monikers, names, and descriptors that people have called, hurled, and hissed at him before, that he'd carefully picked up and dusted off, adding it to the collection that was his identity. 'Mutt', 'dirty', 'retard', 'daft', 'waste of space', these were all things he'd come to assign to the identity of Leonard Seaborn as he grew. He often heard things like:

"Don't wave your hands, sit on them."

"Your pitch is too loud."

"Why don't you listen?"

"Why don't you speak?"

"What is the point of you?"

To the point where he'd even questioned himself, why was he the way he was? What was wrong with him? That was, however, until he met her, Helen Riddle. She had been kind, and she had been patient, she hadn't raised her voice, and had never asked demeaning questions about his existence. He'd read that abandoned animals sometimes imprinted upon humans, and he'd thought that might have been him, but when he voiced this thought to Hermione, she'd shaken her head and said "no, because you are not an animal, you're a person." and Leo thought she was very much like her mother sometimes.

Between the two of them, it was like the monikers, names, descriptors, and questions fell away, to reveal him, Leo, underneath, just a boy, trying his best, with magic.

Then she was gone, taken away by the man who'd fathered him, and Hermione went away too (although not physically), leaving him with Tom, an older boy he wasn't sure he liked very much, as he was cold and strict, but at the same time, he was fair. For a while, Tom was all he had, so Leo attached himself to him, in hopes to recreate what he'd had with Helen, but it felt like chasing a light that never got any closer, no matter how fast he ran.

The acceptance he'd felt had gone away, slowly, so when Hermione came back, he'd clung to her again, but she hadn't been the same, it was like something in her had broken, and she'd tried to piece herself back together only to find that the mould had changed. He felt to blame, of course, because it had been his father that had ripped Helen away, and he didn't know if he could ever make up for it.

When he went to Hogwarts, he wasn't welcomed into the society as he'd hoped, as finally being around people like him. No, he was given another moniker, this time it was mudblood, as if somehow his red blood, the same as everyone else, was somehow inferior or consisting of wet earth (which didn't make a lot of sense to him, but he wrote it off as a cultural gap he wasn't aware of). He'd been warned, of course, by Hermione, of the prejudice he would face, she had explained the houses to him, explained that she'd experienced the same because she was like him.

This had helped strengthen his resolve to finish this odd schooling he was given but had cemented his desire not to give this world his hope, or his future. He would do the best he could, he would follow the crumbs Tom had left him, but the way he saw it, there was only one person he could ever be loyal to, and that was Hermione, not only because she understood, but most importantly because he owed her.

He owed her a hand of support when she flinched as Tom settled his hand against the back of her neck, he felt that Tom only took him in and helped him, because of her; he owed her for the death of Helen, for obvious reasons, and he wanted to help her as she helped him, even when she didn't know that that was what she was doing.

He head to potions, eager to get his classes over with for the day so that he could go to the library. If he was going to help himself and Hermione, he needed to put this new Ravenclaw behaviour to work, he didn't know what he was looking for exactly, but he was sure whatever it was, he'd find it, and if he had to read every book and archive in Hogwarts to do it?

Well then, he supposed that's just what he had to do.

Wizengamot Election and Audience Chamber – October 21st, 1946

Hermione walked into the very same audience chamber that had seen Tom ascend to the Slytherin seat and lordship over a year ago, and she'd almost reeled back at the realization that the last year had felt like both the fastest and slowest year of her life. She walked to stand in front of the table provided, no files or papers in hand, because she did not need it, (she'd spent so long going over every single word agonizingly, that she'd memorized her entire presentation). She had prepared a copy of the bill which she entrusted to Madam Potter to oversee that the right people received it, like the current Minister for Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon, and current Chief Warlock, Griselda Marchbanks.

She waited until the chamber settled down at the sound of the Chief Warlock's gavel hit the podium, and nodded when Marchbanks addressed her, handing her wand to the scribe to record her presence as true, and not that of a polyjuiced impostor. She knew her friends were up in the audience section, and willed herself not to look up at them for support, so kept her expression forward and impassive.

Once the semantics were done, she was asked to present her bill, so she took a deep breath, refusing to look in Tom's direction, and casting a sonorous, she began.

"Good evening, members of the UK Wizengamot," she began, turning her gaze to address them all, hands behind her back, posture straight, and voice clear.

"I bring a bill today, to right an injustice that has been occurring under the noses of this nation, a phenomenon, if you will, built upon misinformation and ignorance," she was sour to admit, that a lot of her original speech had been scrapped by Tom because it had been abrasive and offensive. Personally, she didn't care to pat their heads and see to their comfort, but Tom knew politics are well as the back of his hand and had insisted that if she believed her cause to be more important than her pride, then she would trust him on this, so she had.

"The injustice I speak of is, of course, elves, or as we call them here, house-elves."

'Do not separate yourself from them, if they view you as an outsider, they are least likely to listen to you,' Tom had said.

"We have been under the impression that we share our magic with them that helps them keep their lives, and while that is true, that is not how it has always been," she paused for effect, "elves have existed for far longer than the four hundred and seventy-three years that they have been our housekeepers, our cooks and our nannies. There are records of elves travelling the world, to the Americas, to the Mediterranean, to Africa, and to Asia by different groups of magicals over the centuries, whether they were British Colonizers, Anglo-Saxons, or even by Vikings," she emphasized with hand movements, which were no longer behind her back.

"What does this have to do with their rights and freedoms? Well, for the majority of these voyages, alongside witches and wizards, they populated in these different continents just like us, and have of course, historically been observed in those different continents, and with that in mind, why is it that it is only in the UK that they are bonded to a wizard's magic?" she let that marinate for a moment, "I will not compare the UK to how other countries have handled their elves, because that is counterproductive, as every country and their governing bodies have their unique and circumstantial history to take into account."

Rule number two? Three? 'Do not compare countries, they will see it as evidence, as an immigrant, that you view them as inferior, which will lose you your case.'.

"From the writings of Fahad ibn Salmān al Saud, a scholar in 1327, in what is modern-day Saudia Arabia, he wrote that elves feed off the magic of the land, of the ley lines that cover the entire world, and this study is corroborated via the works written by Niamh Orlagh Peverell, or as you may know her, the mother of Salazar Slytherin." she had caved and had asked Tom to speak to his ancestor for her, and she'd had to pay dearly for that request, so come hell or high water, she was going to use it.

"What this means, is that it took only a single generation of wizards, and I theorize, who looked towards the Trans Atlantic Slave Trade and proceeded to erase hundreds of years of information to perpetuate an injustice to mirror that system, and with the truth, it is unconscionable as a society to continue with these ideals." she looked around, and they all seemed to be paying attention.

"With this bill, we will give freedom to our elves, however, with the understanding of the generational trauma they have likely accumulated, we will give them the choice of whether to leave or stay and in the event that they choose to stay, they will be compensated for their work. This compensation, as well as protection from abuse, will be enforced by the full extent of the law, as they are beings who are deserving of our help and respect, and in time, as well with our help, the hope is that they will be able to reclaim a connection to the ley lines of the earth and will no longer need to rely on our own magic to live."

She took a deep breath to prevent herself from going on a tangent, she had wanted to add so much more, like employment benefits, housing, the ability to create their own communities, but Tom had stopped her, gently chiding her to do one thing at a time, that small steps were the way she would see her success. She readied herself to finish her presentation.

"I have heard often the term 'Magic is Might'," she paused, before continuing after a beat, "but how can it be if we refuse to respect magic in all of its forms? Elves are the definition of magic, just as we, as witches and wizards are, and all magic should be sacred and protected. This bill is but a small step in a direction as a community, that we could be proud of. Thank you." She clasped her hands in front of her and inclined her head respectfully.

"Thank you, Ms. Granger-Riddle," responded Marchbanks, snapping the gavel quickly against the podium, "we will now take a vote, all in favour?" she called out, and Hermione had initially been hoping to win with the progressive party, and perhaps a few select cases from the swing party, but almost couldn't believe her eyes, when every wand in both the Traditional Party and Progressive Party raised in favour. A count was made quickly, before the few nays from the Swing/Neutral Party, and the one who'd abstained from any vote at all.

"Congratulations Ms. Granger-Riddle, your bill has passed." and she nodded stiffly, still shocked, only one question running through her mind.

'What did he do?'


Authors Note: I dunno, this is my 5th time trying to upload this chapter, if it doesn't work I dunno if I'm gonna bother trying to keep up with ffnet, might just stick to ao3 cause at least it works