A/N: thank you all so much for your lovely comments on last chapter! I so, so appreciate it—I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did

/

/

/

They both collapse as they land on the grass.

Dobby's gone again in an instant; Draco can only hope it's to get his mother.

He moves to Hermione's side, looking her up and down for any further injury caused by the abrupt departure.

She's unconscious, the fresh wound on her arm yet to coagulate; she's not on the brink of death, or anything, but definitely needs immediate medical attention.

He's not sure where they are, but since it was Hermione's idea he can only hope it's safe—can only hope there's help on the other side of the front door.

Draco scoops her up in his arms, staggering toward the door desperately. Before he can knock, it's thrown open; wards must've been set off when Dobby apparated them onto the property.

Before him can only be a Weasley, but one he's never seen before: long hair and an earring confirm what the scarring of his face suggests—this must be Bill.

(Hermione and Harry were right about him being hot, he thinks.)

Bill's wand is pointed at his face before he can say anything.

"Please," he begs. "Please, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear I'm on your side—I've been an informant for the Order for almost two years, ask McGonagall. And even if you don't believe me, just—please, Hermione needs help. That's all that matters—please help her." His voice breaks as he tries to stress the importance of the situation.

Bill's eyes go wide as he registers Hermione's limp form, held tight to Draco's chest. "How do I know that's really her and not a Death Eater you've imperiused?"

There are footsteps, and then Fleur appears at his shoulder, her wand also at the ready. "Mon dieu—Draco, 'ow are ou 'ere?"

"You know Malfoy?" Bill narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "You trust him?"

Fleur cocks her head to the side, mind moving a million miles an hour. " 'e was kind to me when not many were. I always believed zat 'e was a good person, despite evidence others provided to ze contrary. But—it 'as been years. And I know 'e is a confirmed Death Eater."

"Please," Draco repeats, begging now. "Please, you have to help her. Floo McGonagall, or Harry, or Sirius and Remus—anyone, I don't care, but she needs help. She was tortured for hours and hours."

Bill turns to Fleur, an unspoken conversation passing between them.

"Worst case scenario, it would be better to 'eal 'er and be wrong than ze alternative," Fleur decides aloud. "Draco, 'and over both of your wands—I will do what I can to 'elp, and we will send for McGonagall once 'ermione is stable."

"Thank you—merlin, thank you," he whispers, almost overcome with relief. He allows Bill to summon his wand from the pocket of his robes, Hermione's own still being at the Manor.

He hurriedly follows Fleur into the cottage, through to the guest room where he gently lays Hermione on the bed.

"Cedric!" Fleur calls through the house. "I need you!"

He rushes into the room seconds later, eyes going wide at the side of Hermione's pallid form. "Fuck."

"Less standing, more 'ealing," Fleur commands. "You've always been better at magic like zis than me."

"Of course. Can you grab a few pain relief potions while I start on the spells?"

She goes to fetch them, leaving the rest of them alone, Bill's wand still out and his gaze trained on Draco.

As Cedric begins casting, he meets Draco's eyes with a grimace. "It's nice to meet you—without all the posturing and the war, I mean. I'm so sorry this has happened—I can't imagine how hard this must be for you."

Bill raises his eyebrows "What are you talking about—why would this be hard for him?"

"If it were Theo injured like this…merlin, I'd lose it." Cedric says with an empathetic frown. When Bill remains confused, he gestures as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "She's his soul mate,"

Draco's eyes go wide at the declaration. "How do you know?"

"Figured it out a while back. She hides it well, but when your soul mate is trapped on the dark side…well, you know the signs." He makes a face as he gently bandages her arm. "We got coffee at the muggle shop your mum goes to, the last time I saw her before the ministry fiasco."

"Your mother…never mind," Bill shakes his head incredulously. "You're really her soul mate, then?"

"Yes," Draco admits, thumb gently rubbing across the knuckles of her uninjured arm. "I love her more than anything. That's how I've been working for the Order—I would write information for her to relay as my liaison."

"Our spy," Bill murmurs. "The one McGonagall gives us intel from—it's been you all along." When Draco nods, he sighs, running his hands through his hair as he attempts to process. "I'll go send word to McGonagall to come—and Sirius and Remus."

A moment later, there's shouting outside the cottage, and Fleur and Draco both bolt outside, expecting an attack; instead it's Dobby, there with three other people.

(None of them is his mother, though—she's running out of time.)

Dobby's gone again in an instant, and Draco assesses the scene even as his mind dwells on the two most important women in his life being in peril; it's the goblin and the wandmaker his father and aunt have been holding hostage for months, and—

He sucks in a deep breath as he realizes exactly who's come with them; freezes and reaches for his wand, but it's still in Bill's grasp.

"Fleur! Stun him!" he cries, but there's no time—

So he throws himself, fully tackling Wormtail to the ground.

"Get off me! I—I'm a victim of the Dark Lord, same as anyone!"

Peter attempts to wriggle his way free, but Draco's grip is like iron, such is the hatred for this man after everything he's done—after the ways he's hurt people Draco considers family.

Without hesitation, Fleur stuns him, turning to Draco with a questioning glance.

"He's the one that brought You-Know-Who back to life," Draco explains, eyes burning with hatred. "And the secret keeper who betrayed the Potters."

Fleur's eyes narrow with understanding. "Zis is Pettigrew?" Nostrils flare as she levitates his body, taking no caution to prevent him from hitting bushes or tree branches. "I am sure we can set something up as a 'olding cell. Remus and Sirius will be wanting words with ze bastard."

And people like Wormtail are a special kind of horrible, Draco thinks; not ever willing to show their face, too cowardly to admit to the awful things they believe, and yet being the ones most instrumental in dark forces taking over. Being friends with people as staunchly anti-blood purism as James Potter and Sirius Black, while being a supremacist all the while; it's not just spineless, it's the insidious kind of evil that allows causes like this to persist.

(Because people believe they're not as bad as Voldemort, so it's okay; they're on the same page as timid Peter Pettigrew, so they must not be in the wrong.)

She marches Wormtail's unconscious form inside, and it's only a beat before there's another loud crack, another crash landing in the soft grass that surrounds the cottage.

"Mother!" Draco runs toward her.

Dobby's ears are pointed downward. "I is trying to save Mistress, but she insists Dobby gets the prisoners first." He waves an arm toward where Ollivander and Griphook sit in a daze. "I is trying to get Mistress out in time, b-but Miss Bella tried to—and then—Mistress took the knife meant for Dobby."

"This is not your fault, Dobby, and I would do it all over again given the opportunity," Narcissa rasps, holding a hand to her side. "You are family, and I do not let anyone harm my family when I can stop it. I took that knife for you just as I would Draco or Andromeda. Besides, Bellatrix would be nothing if she weren't violent; I consider this a sisterly parting wound."

Draco's face goes tight with rage. "No—Mother, tell me she didn't."

"It's fine, little dragon," she assures him breathily. "She didn't get anything vital. It's just a cursed knife, so I won't ever be able to run or anything like that, and I might not live quite as long. And of course I won't be able to heal it by magic. You know how Bella thinks to do it the muggle way is the worst thing imaginable."

"Do not sit here talking to me with her knife buried in your side," Draco hisses. "Merlin, Mother, are you insane?"

"Don't worry about me," she insists, getting to her feet even as she fights back a wince. "How is Hermione?"

He forces himself to take a deep breath before helping her to her feet; Dobby stands on her other side, casting every spell in his repertoire to make her steps lighter, her wound less burdensome.

"She's stable," he promises, voice thick. "Cedric is tending to her now. Sirius and that lot should be here soon."

With his child, hopefully—the child that is all he can think about, even as he panics over Hermione and his mother's health, even as he worries for what repercussions they'll face now that his father and Voldemort know of his betrayal and connection to Hermione, even as he worries for the future of the war and how they'll possibly find a way out of this mess—

All the while, the baby is all he can imagine, all he can wonder about; desperate to meet them, to know everything about them, everything he missed during Hermione's pregnancy.

He keeps trying to picture it—what they look like, how much Harry and Ron must have coddled Hermione along the way, how she must've felt when she found out, alone and on the run and unable to tell him.

(Which he instinctively hates, feels incredibly hurt by, but—her choices led to here and now, where all of them are alive and safe and okay, and how could he ever fault her for what may well have been the only reason they ended up in such a state?)

It's then that it hits him, and he pauses in their trek toward the house, turning toward his mother with a frown. "The tapestry—you knew?"

"Yes," she confirms, entirely unapologetic. "I disillusioned it so no one would see as soon as I saw." She sees the frustration in his eyes. "Go on and say it, then. You won't feel better until you get it out."

"I—" he sighs, free hand tugging at his hair desperately. "I understand why you made the decisions you did. And you were probably right in doing so. But I just—how could you know I had a child all these months and not tell me?"

"I knew all you would ever want was what was best for the baby—and that was for you not to know. So it was one of the easiest things I've ever done."

The cool, collected honesty with which she says it—merlin, it enrages him even as it makes him respect her even more.

They head inside, and Fleur casts the beginning healing spells on Narcissa while Cedric finishes up working on Hermione; she's stoic, despite the pain Draco knows treatment must be causing, and can see Fleur's respect for her growing.

(He's a little terrified at the idea of the two of them becoming friends, especially once Tonks is thrown into the mix, but at this point it seems inevitable.)

Cedric comes in a few minutes later, and despite the clear tiredness in his posture he smiles kindly as he takes in the sight of Narcissa, readily raising his wand to treat her. "Draco, she's alright—will need to be on bed rest for at least a week, more if we can possibly get her to, and I'll need to send for some things from the apothecary as soon as I'm done treating the both of them, but she's stable. We'll need to get an actual healer to check her out for any long-term impacts or side-effects, of course, but—she's through the worst of it."

Draco hurriedly murmurs his thanks, filled with anguish as he looks back and forth between his mother's pallid form and the door.

Taking pity on him, Narcissa lets out a light laugh, even as she holds back a wince. "Go to her, darling."

He's out the door without a word, practically tripping over himself to get to his soul mate. Takes his place at her side, gently taking her hand while he waits for her to wake.

And with the way things have been, and the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, it's nice to just—stare at her. Drink in the sight of her before him, real; not the dream he's been having for months, always interrupted by nightmares, not about to be ripped away from him, but here. Safe.

(Together outside of Hogwarts, for the first time, after so many years of hiding and secrets and suffering.)

He hates that she has more scars now, that she's been through even more pain than the last time they were together. Hates that she's been up against so much more than any person should have to be.

But the strength to survive it all, everything she's withstood—he hates that she has the scars, but merlin is she beautiful, evidence of her bravery on her body.

He knows for the rest of their lives he'll see the white line on her throat and feel horror at the memory of the blade that had been pressed there—but he'll also remember her defiance even as Voldemort himself tortured her, that she took it all to protect their family, their child.

(It's overwhelming, the love and awe he feels as he stares at her. As he considers all that she's done, all that she's borne—how much stronger she is than he can ever hope to be.)

A few minutes later, Hermione's eyelids begin to flutter; she lets out a quiet hum before they open all the way.

And then his favorite color in the world, that deep brown that owns his heart, is staring back at him.

"Hey, Juliet," Draco whispers, brushing hair out of her eyes. "You scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

She hums in acknowledgement, squeezing his hand in hers. "I missed you. I'm so glad you're safe." She shoots upward in the bed. "Your mother—is she okay?"

"I swear to fucking merlin," he mutters under his breath, eyes rolling. "Both of you asking about each other before making sure you're okay yourselves. You're going to give me an aneurysm."

Hermione's not fazed by his irritation, though; merely keeps her expression serious and locked on him until he caves with a sigh. "Yes, yes, she's okay. She was stabbed while escaping, and it will be a rough healing process and cause her some life-long side effects, but she's here and safe and alright."

"Thank god," Hermione lets out a breath. "Where is here, exactly—did we end up making it to Shell Cottage, then? I hope we're not being a burden on Fleur and Bill…"

"Yes, that's where we are. They're perfectly fine, and Cedric is here too—laying low after his stunt helping you lot at the ministry, apparently. He's the one who did most of your healing. And Bill sent for Sirius and that lot, so they'll be here soon."

Something within her settles, then. She swallows, not meeting his eyes as she explains, "It was just supposed to be for an hour, doing recon, but we were in Godric's Hollow—"

"So Harry got overly emotional and accidentally broke the taboo," Draco realizes, shaking his head.

"It's not his fault." Hermione's voice is steel, as though declaring him to contradict her.

"Hey, you know I would never say that," he promises softly. "I think he's the only person in the world who cares about you as much as I do. I know he would never do anything to hurt you. Honestly, I'm worried he's going to be blaming himself for what you went through for the rest of his life."

"Me too," she admits. "And I hate it—it could've been any of us, you know? There have been multiple times I had to clap a hand over Ron's mouth, or stop myself mid-sentence; it's just bad luck no one was able to remind him in time. And given how emotionally volatile we all were, and the fact that it was the first time he was seeing his parents' grave in his life? I can't imagine what he was feeling."

"So how did the snatchers just get you?" Draco sighs, and before she can reply, says, "It's going to be something idiotically self-sacrificial, isn't it—I already know I'm not going to like the answer."

Hermione laughs, and then winces. "Threw the cloak over them, pretended it was all me, yes. I had to. Neither of them can occlude. I couldn't risk You-Know-Who using legilmency on them and finding out about you and I—about the baby." Eyes closing, she takes a deep, stuttering breath. A tear slowly drips down her cheek. "This is the first time I've been away from her since she was born. It's killing me."

Her eyes fly open, then, wide with horror. "Oh, god, that must sound so incredibly selfish when you only just—and I've had all this time, and I'm complaining, when you haven't even had the chance to—"

"Hermione," Draco says gently, free hand wiping a tear from her cheek. "Stop panicking. It would never in a million years cross my mind to feel offended that you're worried about our child—especially not your first time away from them, and in the middle of a war. Of course it's killing me too, but that doesn't mean you don't get to feel your pain, baby."

He bites his lip nervously before asking her to clarify. In the smallest voice he's ever used, he whispers, "It's—we have a daughter?"

Hermione nods slowly, trying to force herself to stop crying, but now that it's started a flood begins.

"I—Draco, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you every day, but—"

"Shh, shh, you did the right thing, love. Don't apologize for doing what you had to for us all to survive." He rubs his thumb along the back of her hand. "I—god, I'm sorry you were alone through it all. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. What—" he swallows heavily, nerves showing through for the first time that day. "Tell me everything."

And she does—once she starts talking she can't stop, and all the details of the months he's missed spill out of her; them being hungry and terrified on the run, the day she realized they had a tag along, desperately hiding it and being so full of both love and terror throughout her pregnancy.

She tries to shield him from the worst of it, but he knows her too well; stops and convinces her to open up about the loneliness, how scary it was, the moments she was so worried out of her mind something would happen to the little nugget before they would ever see the light of day.

There are good things, too: the way Draco's eyes light up when she tells him about tracking her growth, the photos on her muggle camera she took to document it for him when she had the chance, the way he laughs when she tells him about panicking thinking she'd eaten something poisonous only to realize it was the baby moving for the first time.

She hates feeling like she's monopolizing the conversation, but anytime she attempts to shift the focus to him, or the war on the whole, he shushes her and demands to hear everything about what she went through, about the path to their child coming into the world.

(And he didn't get to be there, so—she can't blame him. Indulges him entirely.)

After a little while, the door flies open without a knock, and she tenses preparing to ask whoever it is to leave—

But then it's her brother, eyes wide with concern, bundle held gently in his arms.

"Hermione—thank god." He's at her side in an instant, free hand reaching for hers as though to prove to himself it's really her, that she's really safe.

"I'm okay," she promises, reaching for his face as she attempts to soothe his fears. "I'm alright, I promise."

"If you hadn't—if you weren't—" tears well up in his eyes and he shakes his head, unable to finish the sentence. Turning to Draco, he reaches to hug him with the free arm. "I'm so glad to see you, too. And that your mother's okay—Andy's right behind me and beside herself excited to see her. Dads too, of course."

Before Draco can respond, the form in Harry's arms whimpers—and then Draco's attention is consumed.

Harry smiles sadly. "Haven't let her out of my sight since the moment you were taken."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione lets out a deep sigh as her baby is pressed into her arms—at last, feels like everything is right for the first time in so, so long.

(The war is still going, but—her soul mate is beside her. Her daughter is in her arms.)

(In this moment, everything is okay.)

Harry silently pads out of the room, seeing the moment that's about to take place, and Hermione can't help the bittersweet smile that forms on her face.

"Draco, she says, voice soft. "This is our daughter, Lyra."

He presses a fist to his mouth as he takes in the sight of her for the first time.

Unsteady on his feet, Hermione can barely hold back further tears as Draco falls to his knees beside her, eyes locked on the tiny face that so mirrors his; tiny blond tufts of hair sticking out of her beanie he can already tell will grow into incredibly thick curls like her mother's.

"I know we'd planned to wait longer—obviously the timing wasn't our idea," she begins, and Draco's lip twitches at the mention of Zacharias and the circumstances regarding their daughter's conception which he still doesn't fully understand.

"She's perfect, though," Draco murmurs, wholly enraptured. "I can't believe we made someone so perfect."

"Me either."

He just stares, for a moment, taking their daughter in, as though he's trying to memorize the shape of her tiny nose, the shade of her lips, the exact number of eyelashes brushing her pale cheeks. Eventually, he gets to his feet—clearly too anxious to ask the question his soul mate knows he wants to.

(She takes pity on him.)

"Do you want to hold her?"

He nods so sharply she worries he might crack his neck, carefully reaching down to lift their daughter from her chest.

(It's already clear Lyra is the most precious thing in his world.)

"Hi, sweetheart," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

And he cries—of course he cries, when she snuggles into his chest, tears silently pouring down his face.

"I—Mia." He shakes his head, lip trembling with emotion. "The last year has been hell. And I—so many times, I thought I'd never be happy again. It felt like the end. But now you're—you're here, and Lyra…" a heaving gasp for breath as sobs shake him, even as he tries to staunch them so as to not disturb the little girl in his arms. "Now none of it matters. This, you two, it's—it's everything. I didn't even know I was still capable of being this happy again."

Hermione scoots over on the bed, patting the now-empty space beside her; Draco gives her a look, but relents once she gives a pleading frown, cautiously lowering himself onto the mattress without jostling Lyra.

She lets out a sigh as she leans into him, feeling like she can relax for the first time in nearly a year. "Harry calls her LJ," she says into his shoulder. "Because her middle name is Joy—something Lily said to me, when we were talking about life and motherhood and being so young and bringing a child into the world…"

"Lily, as in—Harry's mother?" Draco clarifies with raised eyebrows, looking concerned. "The one who's been dead nearly two decades?"

"We found the resurrection stone, it was one of the horcruxes as a ring and then Dumbledore left it to Harry in his will."

Draco closes his eyes in defeat. "Every time I'm away from you lot for two seconds it's something. Of course the fucking hallows found you too."

"Harry has two of them, actually. We're hoping if he gets the wand too he can survive the whole being-a-horcrux-himself thing."

They're quiet for a moment, and then Draco's eyes fly open, and he looks at her, expression urgent. "Her middle name is Joy—but you didn't give her one of our last names, right?"

A giggle escapes her; the happiness she just can't help at having him with her again, of no one else understanding, but them being on the same page even without having discussed it. "Everyone else was confused by it, but no, I would never. She's a Black, from day one."

Hermione falls asleep again, eventually; when she wakes up again, Draco's whispering to Lyra, who's staring up at him with big brown eyes.

She considers pretending to still be asleep, for a moment, but Draco notices before she can, giving the biggest, most genuine smile she's ever seen on his face.

(And they might still be at war, but—he's free. And they're a family, at last.)

"I can—if you want a moment, just the two of you—"

"If you think I am ever voluntarily letting you out of my sight again you're insane."

/

By the time the door swings open next, she's impressed they've managed to restrain themselves so long.

"Kitten," Sirius declares, "Why am I, once again, finding you in a recovery bed?"

"We are in a war, you know, it's not entirely my fault."

He goes to Draco, who's once again in the chair, having finally relinquished his grip on Lyra a few minutes earlier so she could eat, now snoozing in her mother's arms.

Sirius slowly reaches to pull him into a hug; the younger man flinches, stiff in the unfamiliar embrace, until Sirius quietly tells him, so no one else can hear, "It helps, I promise. One day it won't feel so foreign."

And he understands, then; it's not just a hug because he's glad to finally see him again, to know he's free, but because Sirius is perhaps the only one save his soul mate who understands exactly what it is to escape a home life like that—who knows what he needs despite how unused to it is, in order to heal, now that he's at last out from under Lucius's thumb.

Remus is quiet, just sits at the edge of Hermione's bed, taking in the sight of her with an ever-worried frown.

"Get on with the lecture," she tells him, holding back a snicker when he rolls his eyes.

"No lecture this time," he promises. "You did—exactly what I would have in your shoes. I hate that it brought you pain; I hate that we're seeing you having to heal once again. But you did everything right as a member of the Order. And as someone I think of rather as a daughter…"

He's choked up and can't continue, so Sirius finishes for him. "We're very proud of you, kitten."

"What, you won't let me in because you want to let them have time alone but you'll let those heathens barge in?" Ron's outraged voice comes through the other side of the door just a beat before he does.

"Maybe we should go out there before he and Bill start with a full on Weasley fight," Hermione suggests.

"I hope you don't think you're walking any time soon," Sirius says with a scowl, as though daring her to contradict him.

"What, you're going to carry me?"

"If it keeps you from further injuring yourself, yes. Draco, take the baby from your girlfriend, please."

Wide eyed, Draco shrugs apologetically at Hermione before doing exactly that; she glares at him, but lifts her blanket, sitting up so it's easier for Sirius to scoop her into his arms.

"I am sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," he says quietly as they head out of the room. "But you really can't afford to be injured any longer than necessary during times like these."

Hermione sniffs at him in response. "Don't lie to me. You just want to impress your husband."

"Yes, well, multitasking, then, isn't it?" He winks cheekily.

She sighs, reluctantly thanking him as he sets her on the couch in the living room.

Ron's on her in an instant, being gentle as possible as he reaches for a desperate hug, letting out a deep breath.

"I'm okay, Ron. Really," she promises.

"I know, and they told me that as soon as we got here, but. You know how I am."

"Mother hen," Hermione says fondly.

Cedric approaches, keeping his distance so as to not overcrowd her, but clearly concerned. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine—thank you for making that the case. I really appreciate it."

He smiles gently. "Of course. I'm just glad to see the three of you alive—and that you and Draco are finally able to see each other again."

Hermione grimaces with understanding. "Me too. How's Theo?"

"Alright. He's in and out, so I can communicate with him often, which I'm very grateful for, but I haven't seen him in months, so. You know how that goes."

Lyra lets out a cry just then, and the inhabitants of Shell Cottage seem to notice her only then, their attention having been focused on Hermione.

"Um," Bill looks unsure of how to articulate his question. "Obviously we're an Order safe house so anyone who needs shelter here is welcome, but—can I ask why there's a baby? And why Malfoy is holding them?"

"Just Draco," Hermione corrects habitually. "And the baby is ours."

Fleur and Cedric's eyes nearly bug out of their heads, and Cedric chokes on the water he'd been drinking. "I'm sorry, what? You had a baby?"

"It's been…one hell of a year," she replies.

Unlike the other two, Bill doesn't look shocked; instead, his shoulders shake with laughter. "Hermione—you have to let me be there when the rest of the family finds out. This is priceless."

She rolls her eyes. "If you like. But given that the twins and Ginny have known about Draco and I for years and Percy is married to his cousin I don't think it'll quite as dramatic as you're hoping."

"He really just means Mum," Ron calls out, ducking when a pillow comes flying at his head a split second later.

"Speaking of mothers," Draco says, neatly changing the subject, "Where is mine?"

"She and Andy ducked into a guest room as soon as we got here," Harry explains. "They were both crying before they got the door closed so I don't know how long it'll be till they come out. But Dobby's in there with them, so I'm sure they're alright."

"Oh! Zat reminds me," Fleur pipes up, snapping her fingers when it hits her. "Remus, Sirius, did you 'ear? There's a present for you."

Sirius grins, but after working so many hours together Remus knows her too well not to catch the gleam in her eye. "For us? Where is it?"

"Oh, in ze pantry, of course. Zat is, after all, where one would usually find a rat."

/

/

/

A/N: chapter title from daylight by taylor swift

Also tiktok informed me there are lots of dramione fans on wattpad so currently working on uploading this there as well (user everydaynerd1) if that is any of y'alls preferred ff medium

Take care of yourselves out there! as always, thank you so much for reading.

I promise I will update as soon as I can. all my love