That weekend's edition of The Daily Prophet had caught on to the goings-on at Hogwarts, and a reporter by the name of Elphias Doge had written something up about students standing up to pureblood supremacy through acts of civil disobedience.

Sirius cut it out of the paper and pinned it to the Student Notice Board with an extra-strength Sticking Charm so no one could pry it off, though someone did go in with red ink to write "HOGWARTS HAS GONE TO THE DOGS!" which only served to make Sirius howl with laughter whenever he thought of it (which was often).

Of course, this little blurb—as brief and casual as it was—didn't go unnoticed by its readers. Several letters to the editor made it into a special Sunday evening edition, covering reactions ranging from "proud and impressed" to "Can't Dumbledore control his students?" and, the faux-wise position of keeping politics out of school, because apparently we're all "too young and impressionable to form opinions outside of the faculty's biased beliefs!"

Thank you, Mrs. Greengrass, for that absolute load of crock. I'll be sure to say so next time Bellatrix Black threatens my life. "Sorry, Trixie, but you're much too young and impressionable to think you actually want me dead. Split a scone with me instead?"

As for things at Hogwarts, Augustus Rookwood got a month's worth of detention, his House was fifty points shorter than it had been before he'd cast his infamous Duplicate Charm, and Kettleburn had suspended him from his extracurricular activities, which included both The Hogwarts Post and Wizard's Chess Club, much to Peter's dismay.

"We've got to rewrite the entire timetable now Rookwood's out of the league," he griped the next week over breakfast.

Sirius threw him a pointed look and Peter sighed.

"Though I s'pose if it's for the cause," he said without much conviction, "it's worth it."

"Too right," said Jen with a curt nod.

Severus Snape hadn't suffered the same punishment. Professor Slughorn, partial though he is to me, is slightly more forgiving when it comes to members of his own House, especially if they show somewhat of a penchant for Potions.

The two week's worth of detention that I'd given him stuck, but that was about the size of it. Slughorn thought twenty points from Slytherin was an overreaction, and amended the amount to ten.

Ten.

And to top it all off, Severus was still on staff at The Hogwarts Post, and it seemed he was gunning for Rookwood's former position as editor-in-chief, though ultimately, the position was up to Professor Kettleburn at this point. He was taking applications.

Frank Longbottom refused to apply.

On Halloween, I caught up with him between classes and begged him to reconsider.

"Frank, you have to be editor-in-chief and take back The Hogwarts Post!" I urged. "It's the only way to ensure your zine doesn't become a vehicle for propaganda and remain true to its mission: the truth."

Frank set his jaw. "Evans, it's just not where I belong. I need to be in the field—literally, I'm a sports writer—not behind a desk somewhere, handing out assignments and splattering red ink everywhere. It's not me."

"Either way this turns out, it's going to be a sacrifice, Frank. You'll just have to choose which one is worth it."

He groaned. "We were meant to stop it from going on altogether. Any updates on the petition?"

Although we'd managed to get a good 280 signatures or so on our petition, it didn't really have much of a purpose. Jen had only managed to write, "We, the undersigned, disagree with The Hogwarts Post's justification for pureblood supremacy" at the top of it. Not much of a call for action.

I bit my lip and grimaced. "It's proof that students were unhappy about last week's issue, but it doesn't do much good for shutting it down, sorry."

"And now Snape might be editor-in-chief." He dragged a hand down his lightly bearded face in clear agony, and muttered from behind it, "I think that's worse, honestly."

"It doesn't have to be!" I said quickly. "If you would just—"

"I can't." His baby blue eyes peered sadly at me from behind his hand. "I really can't."

I frowned pathetically. There seemed to be no way to persuade him into it. I sighed at him, and he sighed in return, and then we entered our History of Magic classroom, where, astonishingly, everyone was gasping.

Professor Binns, who was normally rather dull in both appearance and demeanor, seemed to have surpassed all interest in liveliness at all for he was at the front of the class floating.

Floating!

Normally, I'd say he was at the front of the class standing meekly, or leaning slightly against his desk, but this morning, he was floating.

And suddenly not so opaque.

Or colorful.

Professor Binns seemed to have passed away at some point between last week and today, because he was suddenly a ghost.

A real-live fucking GHOST.

I sidled up to Jen, Mary, and Marlene, who were whispering furiously to each other in our usual corner of the room.

"Professor Binns!" I exclaimed under my breath.

"We know," answered Mary in an eager whisper.

"D'you think it's some kind of Halloween prank?" I asked. "Seven years in the making?"

Jen whirled on me. "Absolutely not!" she whispered fiercely.

"He's not that kind of man," Mary said, shaking her head.

I frowned. "I just thought—I mean, he's really—?"

Dead. He's really dead.

I couldn't say it, but the girls just nodded solemnly. Mary wriggled into the space between my arm and my side and hugged me.

"Bit sad, isn't it?" said Marlene, her arm coming around our shoulders. "Bloke dies and comes back just to keep teaching us."

"Maybe it's his unfinished business," reasoned Jen, patting my back comfortingly. "He has to finish up the school year and then he'll—pass on, or something."

We all nodded at each other as though that made perfect sense, but I knew we were all inexplicably sad about it.

Then, I asked, "Do you think Professor Dumbledore knows?"

"I don't think anything happens around here without Dumbledore knowing," said Mary. Then, smiling over my shoulder, she added, "But perhaps you and the Head Boy should go confirm?"

I turned around to see James Potter enter the room with his mates and stop dead (no pun intended) in the doorway. He and Sirius exchanged shocked gapes and James immediately confronted our professor.

"Professor Binns," he said.

The transparent, floating body of our History of Magic professor turned solemnly towards James. "Mister Podmore," he nodded.

"Sorry, Sir, are you feeling alright?" he asked, to which the class erupted in a wave of sudden nervous laughter.

James turned around and shot everyone perfectly serious glares, and we all quieted down.

Professor Binns hardly blinked. "Geronimo," he began, clearly addressing James, which may have resulted in another bout of barely concealed laughter. "This is most untoward. I am not in the habit of receiving inquiries about my health from students. Unless you have any other business to discuss, please take your seat."

Good Godric. Only Professor Binns could make the most exciting thing that's ever happened to him into some boring affront to good manners, as though waking up and finding yourself turned into a ghost happened every day.

James bowed his head, respectfully. "Actually, the Head Girl and I have been summoned to speak to the Headmaster. Urgent, you see. We might miss the entire lesson."

Professor Binns managed to blink down at the gleaming Head Boy badge pinned to the front of James's robes and waved him off. "Dismissed."

James locked eyes with mine and jerked his head over to the door.

"The most exciting thing to happen in this class ever and James is forcing me to miss out," I muttered in dismay.

Professor Binns chose that moment to glide over to the front of the room and drone out, "Class, today we will be discussing the formation of the League of the Legless, a flobberworm hobbyist convention from the fifteenth century."

"Doubt it," mumbled Marlene, and she promptly dropped her head on her desk and prepared for a nap. I couldn't blame her. Not even a ghost could make that particular subject interesting.

I met James in the hallway. His eyes were alight with excitement.

"I don't believe he knows he's dead," he managed to say before we broke out into chortles of laughter.

"Poor man," I said, when the laughter finally subsided. "I suppose we're on our way to tell Dumbledore?"

"We would have heard about it by now if he knew," James said.

Very good deduction skills, that one.

He interlaced our hands as we walked toward Dumbledore's office, and I tried very hard not to lean over and kiss him just for being so exceptionally James Potter.

Or Geronimo Podmore.

I sniggered slightly, and James threw me an amused look.

"Go on and share, then," he said.

I smirked mischievously up at him. "Sure thing, Geronimo Podmore."

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "I wasn't joking about that. It's been seven years of it."

"I wonder I hadn't noticed before?"

"Probably because you and McKinnon usually nod off during class and get your notes from Till afterwards."

I bumped his shoulder. "Watching me nap all this time? Bit creepy."

He bumped me back. "Sometimes, you drool."

Scandalized, I gasped. "I do not!"

He laughed. "Don't worry! It's cute!"

"Oh my Godric, shut up!" My eyes went as wide as saucers.

I was beyond embarrassed at this revelation. I'd been drooling in public for seven years and nobody thought it was worth mentioning until this very moment?!

James immediately turned me in his arms so that we were facing each other. He looked down at me, his eyes smiling, looking so goddamned charming I would have stared at him dreamily if it weren't for the imminent embarrassment I felt heating my skin.

"No one's ever said," I started meekly, blushing at the thought of drooling with saliva down my chin for all my peers to see, year after year in our most hellish of classes. "I've been drooling this whole time? Merlin, who else saw?"

James rubbed circles reassuringly along my sides, tempting a tickle. "I may or may not have cast a few Scourging Charms on you before you woke up," he admitted. "I know I should have asked first, but I didn't want to embarrass you any further, you know, like now—"

Sod it. I kissed him in the middle of the hallway, in the middle of his heroic admission. The boy had been silently casting cleansing charms on my drooling nap-face for years to save me from embarrassment; I could express a little gratitude.

He wrapped his arms tightly around me, and deepened the kiss, snogging me as though it was all that mattered in the world. My fingers tugged on the soft locks of hair at the nape of his neck, and he smiled against my mouth in response. We were suddenly a haze of lips, tongue, and touch, my heart beating at a hundred miles a second. I was lost in the feel, taste, and scent of him, clenching a fist into his robe as his tongue swept over mine.

The sound of a slamming door and approaching footsteps abruptly broke us apart, but it was very clear we wanted to do nothing of the sort. We righted ourselves as much as we could as a passing fifth-year Ravenclaw boy smirked at us on his way to the loo.

As soon as he was out of sight, James drew me flush against him and pulled the most extraordinary sound of surprise out of my mouth as he kissed me with renewed fervor.

"James," I said, between kisses. "Dumbledore—Professor Binns."

"I know," replied James, trailing kisses along my cheek and jaw. His breath was warm against my skin. He laid a final, sweet kiss on my lips and stepped back, placing his glasses upon his nose. "But regrets are for the ghostly, you know." He smirked dashingly and took my hand, leading me to the headmaster's office. I was quite flushed.

We arrived at the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, and I gave the password: "Fizzing whizbees." Reluctantly, we traipsed up the stairs chatting away about whether or not they'd keep on a ghost professor.

"It'd be economical, of course," contended James. "One less salary to pay."

"Not necessarily. I assume he'd need an assistant."

James turned to me. "What for?"

I levelled him with a smirk and a stare. "He hasn't got any hands, Potter, and as far as I can tell he isn't a poltergeist, either. How would he mark our assignments?"

"That is quite the conundrum, Evans. Quite the conundrum indeed." He winked at me and then opened the door to the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, sunlight pouring in through the windows and catching on the various metallic instruments about the room.

Without any great ceremony, James announced that we had some very dreary news.

Dumbledore rose from his desk and plucked up a plain black wizard's hat from a shelf. "Then, it is as I feared."

I frowned. "You feared Professor Binns would become a ghost?"

The headmaster, at least, had the grace to look surprised. "I feared our professor would not last the year. I never dreamed he would simply leave his corporeal form for another and remain within these walls."

James cleared his throat. "But you knew he would pass?"

Dumbledore lay the black wizard's hat back upon his shelf. "It was merely a suspicion. One can never know these things, you see."

"Of course," I answered, though I wasn't sure why I'd bothered to say that. It's not like I completely understood his meaning. Nothing about this conversation felt particularly comprehensible.

The headmaster set his light blue eyes upon us, and I swore they twinkled. "Thank you for letting me know. I will make the proper arrangements, according to the circumstances. It seems a deathday party is in order. Please await further instructions on this most important of events."

Before I could say, "What the bleedin' hell is a deathday party?!" James had nodded and pulled me out of the room. I didn't even remember climbing down all the stairs.

"Geronimo," I said, once my brain was back in working order. "What in Merlin's name is a deathday party?"

James sent me a look short of rolling his eyes, but didn't comment on the "Geronimo" business. "Seven years a Gryffindor, and you've never been visited by a woeful Sir Nicholas?"

I blinked. "The House ghost? The nearly headless one?"

"Yes, that one."

"No, never."

James clicked his tongue. "Consider yourself lucky."

"I thought he wasn't so fond of me."

James shrugged. "Might not be."

I shoved him.

He grinned, then asked, "Do you think Dumbledore means we're to plan a deathday party?"

It was my turn to shrug. "I don't even know what that is—is it like a birthday for a ghost or something?"

"Or something. Sir Nicholas invited the lads and me to his deathday party in second year. His four-hundred and eightieth anniversary. It was a rather macabre affair." He ruffled his hair with one hand, his brows pulling into a pensive frown. "Always the talk of how one died. Not exactly the warmest of festivities."

"No, I can't imagine it would be," I answered, wondering what in the world it was like for ghosts to come together at a party, commemorating their deaths. "How very peculiar a thing to celebrate."

"I suppose it's stranger still to celebrate one's birthday. We don't even remember those."

We'd reached the History of Magic floor.

"I suppose it's best left forgotten, considering," I replied. "Although, I am strongly in favor of any occasion that affords me a slice of cake. Just so you know."

James laughed. "Oh, I know. Your birthdays have always been an affair to remember."

"If you can't remember the first few ones, the rest of them should make up for it, don't you think?"

He laughed and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "I think it's time we rejoin our classmates and learn about the League of the Legless."

I groaned in protest. "As much as I love history of magic…" I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

"Come on," he coaxed with a smile, and he pulled open the door to the classroom, slipping inside and pulling me behind him.

At lunchtime, the entire Great Hall was abuzz with news of Hogwarts' newest resident ghost.

"What's happened? Peter says you were all there!" exclaimed Sruthi, sliding in beside Sirius and stealing a few chips off his plate.

He flipped his hair behind a shoulder dramatically. "We were, Sruthi."

She tapped his forearm impatiently. "And? Is it true what they're saying about Professor Binns?"

The corners of Sirius's lips barely turned upwards as he braced himself to say with great solemnity, "It's true, Sruthi." He took her hands in his and stared deeply into her wide eyes. "He gave up the ghost."

Sruthi groaned at his awful pun, slipping her hands out of his grasp in disdain. "I can't even blame you for that disgusting display of worldplay. I completely set myself up."

Remus, dipping a slice of bread into his beef stew, said, "Do you know—I think being a ghost rather suits our late professor."

Sirius snorted. "I don't know how, but he got even more boring as a ghost."

"Like I said," answered Remus. "It suits him."

Sirius leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're adorable."

Remus blushed, and ducked his head a bit, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, adoring or otherwise.

Sruthi giggled and said, "Why thank you, I've always thought so."

Sirius gave her a friendly ruffling of the hair and kissed the top of her head.

Mary sighed woefully a few seats away, and I realized perhaps her feelings for Remus hadn't disappeared as quickly as she might have liked them to.

And out of a habit of tactlessness, Marlene said very loudly, "On the bright side, your competition was Sirius Black, so really, it's nothing to do with you, Mary, love."

Needless to say, Mary spent the rest of lunch a very bright shade of pink.

James and I got an owl to say that we were henceforth excused from Operation Fire Dragon that afternoon in order to help the headmaster and head teachers organize Professor Binns's deathday party for that evening.

"I've literally never dreamt of this day," I muttered to James, as we dug through the back stores of food in the kitchens, searching for rotting and spoiled meals. Apparently, ghosts could only almost taste food if it's gone off. I understood now why the headmaster delegated this particularly nasty chore to us, the meager head students.

"House elf magic is certainly remarkable, isn't it?" wondered James, turning a perfectly red apple in his hand. "Just perfect."

"Perfectly exploited, I think you mean," I answered sharply.

James tutted. "Oi, I'm not condoning the enslavement of house elves, of course. I only meant—"

"I know, I know. House elf magic is extraordinary, which seems to be rather unfortunate for us at this moment." I looked around at the perfectly preserved food around us in the large pantry. It was about the size of the entire market at Hogsmeade. "James, there's nothing rotting in here. I can't even catch a whiff of wilting greens anywhere, or an off potato."

James stuffed his hands in his pockets. I could tell he'd much rather be out on his broom on the pitch than stuck inside, looking for decaying food. "There might be something in Slughorn's potions stores?" he suggested, though without much hope.

I shook my head. "Probably not."

He slumped forward.

"Although," I began, a brilliant idea coming to me rather suddenly. "We might be able to persuade our potions professor to hand over a vial or two of the Draught of the Living Dead."

"Lily, I know this is probably the worst extracurricular activity we've ever had to manage, but I hardly think offing yourself is the answer. Besides, it'd be awfully rude to upstage Professor Binns."

I shoved him lightly. "Oh, shut it, you ponce. I meant that we can dilute the potion and add a few drops to some food, and speed up the decaying rate. It should work, but we might have to do a bit of trial and error. Also, if we're wrong, the only people trying it are already dead, anyway."

"Morbid, much?" James asked, a single eyebrow raising in (very attractive) judgment.

Rolling my eyes, I tugged on his hand. "Let's go!"

The deathday party was an eerie affair. Dumbledore had announced at our annual Halloween feast that we were all invited to welcome Hogwarts' newest ghost in residence that evening in an impromptu ceremony.

"Bit too on the nose that, isn't it?" Peter had said. "Having a deathday party on Halloween?"

James had grinned. "Poor sod missed the feast, though. I think if it were me, I would have waited until after the feast to give up the ghost, as it were."

To which Sirius had sniggered, "Still gold."

I supposed if there were any good time to use that expression, this day had been it.

Any student interested in the goings-on of afterlife limbo returned to the Great Hall an hour after dinner to find it devoid of tables, with a platform at the front of the hall, and a swirling congregation of ghosts, both Hogwarts's residents and others, circling the room. There were enough seats for every student lined up in three columns, all made of iron to keep us safe from any wayward or belligerent spirits.

The food that James and I had managed to rot with a bit of Draught of the Living Dead was piled up behind the platform on an ornately decorated table, and encased in a bit of magic to keep the smell away from the living.

A large set of crystal goblets, glass saws, and a glass xylophone sat upon the platform, where they were spelled to play a most horrendous cacophony of high-pitched, ethereal "music." It had many students covering their ears and pulling faces. The ghosts seemed to like it, however, as quite a number of them had paired off to dance near the ceiling.

Professor Dumbledore stood behind an iron podium himself, bedecked in a glittering black robe and matching wizard's hat. The heads of houses lined up behind him in similar black and shining robes, perhaps to both mourn the death of their colleague and also welcome his ghost to Hogwarts. A gloomy-looking Professor Binns floated near Dumbledore, giving wary glances at the iron podium.

I sat between Jen and Mary in the fourth row of the center column. James and his mates sat in front of us.

Marlene, on Mary's other side, leaned over her and declared, "I would have thought they'd gotten the toad choir to do a number or something." She grimaced as the glass saw screeched loudly, the sound echoing monstrously off the vaulted ceiling. "I never thought I'd say it, but I miss it."

"Anything's better than this racket, Marls," Mary agreed loudly, having pulled her hands over her ears.

"At least we can't smell whatever putrid rubbish the ghosts are feasting on," Jen chimed in, eyeing the rotting food at the back of the hall with barely disguised revulsion.

"I'm never going to joke about haunting anyone when I die again," I muttered. "I just want to die naturally. None of this ghost business for me!"

"Hear, hear," approved Sirius, turning around to flash us all a brilliant, catlike grin.

"Does one even get to decide?" mused Peter, turning towards us as well.

At that, both Remus and James turned around to join in the conversation. Remus opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by an ear-splitting crystal goblet solo clashing with the sounds of a grating saw.

The entire student audience seemed to groan as one in response.

"Your soul gets to decide," Remus finally explained. "So even if you're the least bit desperate to hang on to your life, you could forego moving on for eternal ghostdom."

"No thank you," said James. "I want to either be alive or not. No in-betweens."

"I wonder why anyone wouldn't want to just—you know—die," wondered Mary. "I mean, once one dies, that should be it, right?"

Marlene shoved her slightly and Mary shoved into me. I sent a glare in her direction and helped right Mary, but Marlene ignored it all and said, "That's what happens when you live life and play it safe. You end up with buckets of regret."

"That's why we live life to the fullest, lads!" exclaimed Sirius, reaching his arm around Remus to pull James in and clapping Peter on the back with the other.

I was reminded of James's earlier pronouncement: Regrets are for the ghostly.

The boys all cheered despite the mild discomfort of Sirius's vicelike grip over their bodies.

I smirked, and said wryly, "Ah, of course. Now all of your mayhem makes sense! It was just an anti-ghost campaign, all these years."

"Got it in one, Evans," replied James with a smile, his eyes laughing.

We'd been dating a full month and he could still make me turn into Lily Evans, Girl Balloon.

Just then, Dumbledore turned toward the glass symphony of horrors in the corner and gradually silenced it. The waltzing ghosts bowed to each other and then clapped politely, slowly drifting down toward the floor.

He faced us, Amplified his voice, and began a short speech detailing the life and service of one, Professor Cuthbert Binns. He'd been born near Tintagel in Cornwall, sparking a lifetime fascination with the Arthurian legends, and sending him on a scholarly mission to document Merlin's preference for placing jam on his scones first and then clotted cream instead of double whipped cream, causing great scandal.

Although, the true scandal there is that anyone would put the cream on a scone before the jam? Doesn't the jam get all drippy? It needs traction, for Merlin's actual sake!

And because Professor Binns is simply fascinated by all things boring and hair-pulling, he wrote a book about Merlin changing the face of Cream Teas forever. Except he never published it.

"And it shall remain unpublished," Dumbledore said, as though it were a great feat, "until such a time as Mister Binns is prepared to leave existence in this plane and embark on the beyond."

Professor Binns bowed his head in what appeared to be gratitude.

"His unfinished business," whispered Jen, and we all turned to her and nodded solemnly in understanding.

A Ministry official in ivory robes from the Spirit Division walked onto the stage holding a tall, magicked candle with a burgundy flame. She presented the candle to Professor Binns, and he floated through it ceremonially, the flame flickering from burgundy to bottle green and back again. She shivered as his cold, disembodied form passed through her as well.

"You have been officially registered with the Ministry, Mister Binns," she said, and faced the students. "You are all witnesses, please rise."

We rose in an unorganized fashion, some of the younger students having fallen asleep and needing to be woken.

"Mister Cuthbert Binns," said the Ministry official. "We welcome you to your preferred residence, Hogwarts, and wish you a ghostly stay."

Professor Binns made to give some sort of speech, but Dumbledore thanked him after a minute of his droning, and asked him if he'd like to resume his duties as the professor of History of Magic. Even though he had no hands.

"I would be most honored, Headmaster," he answered.

Sirius, probably delirious with exhaustion, shouted, "Cheers, mate!" inciting a wave of laughter and clapping.

I continued to wonder about the no-hands thing, but decided I'd leave that to the Headmaster, joining in with the clapping around me.

Dumbledore smiled at us and ended the ceremony with a "Congratulations, Cuthbert, and congratulations, Hogwarts!"

We clapped politely, as it seemed the thing to do, and the Marauders and a few other lighthearted mischief makers cheered and whistled. Dumbledore dismissed us shortly afterwards, and we were only too happy to leave, as he'd started up the glass symphony again.

"I think I'm going to write to the Ministry and recommend that they provide earmuffs for future ghost registration deathday ceremonies," commented Jen, sticking her fingers in her ears.

"WHAT?!" screamed Marlene, and we all laughed, pushing our way out of the Great Hall.

James, however, grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the hall.

I turned to him, brows knitting together. "Did Dumbledore ask us to help strike the place, or something?"

He grinned and spun me into his side. "No, I just thought we'd take the opportunity to practice some wizarding dances."

I laughed against his chest. "You're mad. This music is dreadful."

With a wave of his wand, he cast a Silencing Charm around us, and the awful screeching of the glass symphony faded away to a low din. "Problem solved."

I giggled and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. "Clever swot."

He spun me out again, and placed one of my hands on his shoulder, slipped his hand into mine, and secured his other arm at my waist, leading me through a few bars of a waltz.

"You know, I think Muggles have this dance as well," I said, amused.

He chuckled, and pulled me closer, settling his cheek against mine. "I know. The wizarding version is a bit more complex." He nudged his nose against my cheek and led my gaze to the ceiling, where ghost couples were waltzing, yes, but with a lift every other measure on the third beat.

"Blimey," I said, watching as one particular ghostly man in a giant Elizabethan collar lifted his partner so high, he flew right through the ceiling.

"Don't worry, Evans," quipped James, settling both hands on my waist and lifting me in time with the ghosts above us, "I've got you."

A/N: Awww, aren't they just so sweet? Anyway, I've always wanted to write about the day Professor Binns became a ghost, so here's that! I dearly appreciate all of your support and feedback. Thank you, everyone, so much for reading! More Hippogriff next chapter. Stay tuned!