Welcome back!

So, one thing I want to mention. I got a very helpful review from JuliaLestrange, who was not afraid to tell me of her concerns regarding my story; and English isn't even her first language, so I admire her willingness to communicate with me despite that. She brought up the dreaded "Hermione is a total badass and has crazy awesome powers and kicks everybody's butt and has no weaknesses" cliché that you sometimes find with wartime HP stories.

I share her concerns. Of course, as someone who loves Hermione's character dearly, I want her to be this unstoppable force of nature that can take on the world and crush evil villains under the heel of her shoe. However, I am very aware that that scenario is more than a little unrealistic. Hermione is not infallible. She isn't this perfect ninja witch that can cast Avada Kedavra with just a glance and a twitch of her finger. However, keep in mind that Hermione has been training for years; she is now a war-hardened soldier. She is twenty-three, no longer a teenager, and she's been fighting an increasingly violent war since seventeen. While she's not the greatest thing to ever happen to the wizarding world, she is better at magic (in general, but also wandless and nonverbal) and more powerful than most people she will encounter along the way – especially considering her age. She also has a little bit of help from Fawkes, but that will be explored more as the story goes on. She has something that most wizards and witches don't have: incredible control over her magic. She also knows a lot of Riddle's secrets, and this gives her an advantage.

But Tom Riddle, even as a young man, is still more powerful than she is; she just has more practical experience, and it puts them on even footing, so they are very well-matched at this point. They both still have a lot to learn. Also, Hermione has quite a bit of experience in fighting dirty, which gives her a leg up – she doesn't exactly play by the book. Anyways, there will be a lot of push-pull in this story; she isn't going to be some weak-willed maiden who Tom is able to "own," but she isn't going to be some all-knowing, all-powerful ninja Jedi hell-angel. She will run some circles around him and his minions a couple of times, but they'll get the best of her on occasion as well. And then there will be times when they all get along just fine. Like I said, push-pull. This isn't going to be your traditional protagonist-meets-antagonist story. The lines drawn are faint and fairly ambiguous. And while Hermione isn't technically afraid of Tom – she has nothing left to lose, after all, and teenage Tom isn't half as bad as Voldemort from her time – she is wary of his power and maintains a healthy respect for him as a wizard. Likewise, he comes to learn that she isn't just a pretty girl who's good at spells – she is dangerous. He first starts to realize this in chapters 8 and 9, but it takes a while for his goons to catch on.

So. Yeah. Now that that's out of the way, let's get on with it. Otherwise I could prattle on for another seven paragraphs, and nobody really wants to read all that. So let's do this!

oooo

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place." -Emily Dickinson

She can't see the landscape anymore
It's all painted in her grief
All of her history etched out at her feet
Now all of the landscape
It's just an empty place
Acres of longing
Mountains of tenderness
Cause she's just like the weather
Can't hold her together
Born from dark water
Daughter of the rain and snow…

- "Landscape" by Florence + the Machine

oooo

Monday, July 3, 1996
Granger residence, Oxford

"Please, be at ease, Miss Granger."

Hermione shifts nervously in her seat, unable to relax when Albus Dumbledore sits on her parents' sofa and drinks their tea. Her mum and dad are sitting outside on the back porch, undoubtedly curious but respectful of the privacy that Dumbledore has asked for.

"Professor…" she begins, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Is everything all right? Has anything happened? Harry and Ron –"

"Are perfectly safe," Albus says with a chuckle, waving her off. Then he sighs, and his eyes are serious. "For how long remains to be seen."

Hermione swallows. She has a quick mind; while she admires and respects and loves her headmaster, she also knows that he is calculative and manipulative, and he is here because he wants something from her. Dumbledore has always liked her, but he has never shown any really special interest in her – only Harry. So she finds it doubtful that he has come to call for anything other than a very specific reason.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks quietly. For while she knows that Dumbledore is using her, she doesn't mind it so much. She would do anything – anything – for Harry and Ron.

Dumbledore smiles at her. "Ah. You've figured me out already, have you?"

She gives him a small smile in return. "While we haven't interacted much one on one, Professor, I still know you rather well. I'm observant that way."

He sets his teacup down on the table – white, blue and yellow floral patterned china that had been a wedding gift for her parents – and folds his long-fingered hands in his lap. "Indeed, Miss Granger. So shall we skip the formalities?"

"Yes, let's," she replies, nodding.

Albus sighs. "What lengths would you go to in order to keep your friends safe, Hermione?"

She meets his eyes determinedly. "Whatever you need me to do, Albus, I'll do it. Please don't hesitate to ask me."

If Dumbledore is surprised by her use of his first name, he does not show it. In fact, he seems rather pleased. "Good, Hermione – that's very good. So if I were to ask you to lay down your life for them, you would do it without hesitation?"

"I would," she replies steadily, and she finds that she means it.

Dumbledore smiles at her. "Don't worry – it will not come to that, I don't think." He pauses, and she waits patiently for him to continue. "You are, by far, the smartest person I know, Hermione Granger," he said casually. She does not flush under the praise as some would – it is said as a fact, not a compliment, and she takes it as such. "You also have an unwavering sort of loyalty to your friends."

"I love them," she said. "I love them more than anything."

He nods. "Which is why I will come to rely heavily upon you from here on out, Hermione. I need your mind, I need your courage, I need your ability to see things objectively. You are not like your two friends, Miss Granger. While Harry is magically powerful, kind of heart and rather intuitive, he is sometimes unable to make rational decisions. And while Mister Weasley is unflinchingly brave and has a mind for strategy, he lacks the ability to think logically. That is why the three of you make a great team." He smiles at her. "Those two boys wouldn't have gotten very far without you over the years. You are good at keeping them alive, Hermione. Unfortunately, it's only going to get worse from here."

"Sir?"

"Voldemort has a body now. He has his wand back," Dumbledore says, and for the first time ever she sees the age and stress on his face. "He is a hundred times more powerful with a corporeal form – you've seen this, at the Department of Mysteries two months ago. The wizarding world and Harry Potter are in more danger than ever before."

She swallows, wiping her sweaty palms on the denim of her shorts. "What can I do to help?"

"You can train," Dumbledore says, and Hermione's eyebrow climbs up her forehead of its own volition.

"Train, Professor?"

"Every other Saturday and Sunday I'd like you to train with Professor Snape. He has volunteered to give you special training in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Mister Weasley will spend this time with Minerva, and I will take responsibility for Harry's training, as his will be unique," he finishes, patting the end of his beard.

Hermione stares at him. "You want me to train with Snape." It is not a question. "Do you really think things will get that bad, Albus, that students will be forced into combat?"

Dumbledore bows his head. "I think it would be wise to prepare for it, Hermione. Besides, the three of you aren't just students. By associating with Harry, you and Ron have thrown yourself into the thick of things."

"I don't regret it," she says quietly. "I wouldn't have it any other way. And if you deem this training wise, then I will train my hardest. Snape hates me, though."

Dumbledore chuckles. "I assure you, he does not. Most students irritate Severus, but he has a grudging respect for a select few, and you are one of those few. I suspect he jumped on the chance to train you simply because he didn't want to be saddled with Ron or Harry, who he thinks are especially thick. You are a quick learner, and you pay attention, and you don't let his prickly demeanor get under your skin. I think you will do well with him, one on one. Trust me on this."

"I do," Hermione says quietly, though there is a small part of her that has always been suspicious of her headmaster. "What about the others?" she asks. "What about Luna and Neville and Seamus and Ginny and the twins and all the other DA members?"

Dumbledore nods. "They will continue to practice DADA in a group, much as they did last year – Moody will be handling that."

"When do we start?" she asks.

"You will begin at the end of this month, and it will continue in the same manner when school begins," he answers. He stands, and she follows suit. "Do you have any questions?"

Hermione shakes her head. "As soon as you leave I'm sure a hundred will come to mind, but not at the moment. I'm processing."

Dumbledore chuckles as he leaves, and she waves at him in farewell.

oooo

She wakes up in the dark.

It is cold down here, in this place – wherever this place is – and she pulls her nightgown and robe more tightly around her, shifting on the hard stone floor and blinking rapidly until her eyes adjust to the darkness. She is on her back, still in her nightclothes, which are nearly soaked through with moisture. She tries to sit up, and it takes several attempts before she is successful. Turning her head this way and that to work out the kinks that have formed from sleeping on a cold, stone floor, she squints and pushes her loose, sticky hair from her face.

And then she remembers.

When Hermione woke up, the sky was shaded with cherry and indigo and ginger.

She stirred, groaning when she realized just how sore she was. Looking to her left, she saw Draco, still unconscious, on one of the hospital wing beds. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, and sighed in relief.

And then it all came flooding back to her. Tom Riddle. Voldemort. As a teenager, here in Hogwarts, where she and Draco were trapped for an indeterminable amount of time, thrown here by an unknown force that had something to do with Fawkes.

Bolting upright, she cast her eyes around in a panic, seeking out the face that she least wanted to see; but he was not there. The hospital wing was nearly empty, save for one solitary figure sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed.

She relaxed minutely. Still trying to reconcile this version of Albus Dumbledore with the one she had known from her time, she cleared her throat.

"How is he?" she asked timidly, unsure of what else to say.

Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile. "Your friend is as well as can be expected. He needs more rest – Madam Soranus has given him potions that ensure that he is in little to no pain as his body recovers."

She nodded, slowly stretching and testing her muscles before sitting up, propping her back against the pillows. She looked him over slyly, noticing that his beard was a few inches shorter, and his hair mostly grey shot through with bright auburn. His face lacked several of the lines she was used to seeing on his face. She looked him in the eye, sure to keep her mental barriers strong lest he decide to do a little more "digging" in her head.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked bluntly, watching his face closely. She had not known Dumbledore as well as Harry had, but she'd known him enough that she could read him fairly well; as well as anyone could read someone who had nearly perfected the art of guarding his emotions. But if she had learned to read Draco Malfoy, she could hopefully keep up with Dumbledore enough to suit her purposes – especially a Dumbledore that had fifty years less experience than the one she had come to know in the nineties.

He cleared his throat, watching her carefully over his half-moon spectacles. "What do you think I am leaving out, Miss…?"

"Granger," she confirmed. "Hermione Granger. My companion's name is Draco – Draco Mallery," she lied, thinking quickly. The Malfoy name was a conspicuous one. She paused, and gave him a gentle but somewhat pained smile. "Please, don't spare me details because you think they will cause me sorrow, Albus." She could not help her slight smile, for, even if she might not be able to completely trust him, Dumbledore was a familiar face in this place, and his presence brought her comfort.

The professor sighed, his blue eyes sparkling. "I do not think this is the time to impart to you any information that may cause you suffering, Miss Granger. You need rest."

"I've had hours to rest," she said, staring him straight in the eye. "I can handle it, Professor. Tell me."

If he seemed surprised by her candor, or with the straightforwardness with which she addressed him, he did not show it. "Mister Mallery has been hit with a very dark curse. Whatever it was – and I don't know what that is, to tell the truth – has started to slowly shut down his organs, and, though Madam Soranus has managed to somewhat suspend the curse and therefore slow down its progression, she has not been able to cure him of it; nor does she think she will be able to."

Hermione swallowed. Tears threatened, but she ignored them. "How long?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Albus exhaled through his nose. "A few weeks, perhaps? Months, if he's lucky. It's hard to tell." He paused, letting the news sink in. "I am very sorry, Miss Granger."

She nodded, shutting her eyes. "It won't be the first time I've lost someone," she said softly.

"If I may ask…?"

"Not yet," Hermione responded, cutting him off before he could even begin. "I need to think about a few things before I reveal any detailed information about us or our circumstances. I hope you can understand, Professor. We are…in a delicate position, you could say, and I can't trust anyone right now." She sighed in relief when he simply bowed his head in acquiescence. "Just know that we do not pose a threat to Hogwarts." She smiled. "I did go to school here once upon a time, after all."

He replied, speaking with great deliberation. "Would you be amenable to being asked a couple of questions under Veritaserum, simply for me to verify that you and Mister Mallery are not a threat? I do not trust easily either, I'm afraid," he said with a faint smile.

She inclined her head. "Very well," she agreed, trying to fake reluctance. She did not mention that she and Draco and most of the Order of the Phoenix had developed a strong resistance to most strains of Veritaserum. She was immune to all but the strongest, most complex brews – and most assuredly to anything that had been invented by this decade. But it would not do to let that information slip.

He produced a vial from the pocket of his robes that contained a measured amount of the transparent potion – about an eighth of a teaspoon. She took it in her right hand (her left was bandaged heavily, still under the effects of Skele-Gro and still throbbing with pain). She popped the top off with her thumb and tossed the contents back, swallowing repeatedly until the very subtle astringent taste was out of her mouth. She felt the potion take effect – felt the urge to spill all of her secrets, the eagerness to answer any question asked – and isolated the feeling within her mind as she had been taught, bypassing it completely. Dumbledore waited a few seconds and then, believing she was properly susceptible to the potion's effects, began to ask her questions.

"What is your full name, and the full name of your companion, and when were you both born?"

"Hermione Jean Granger, born September 19, 1979, and Draco Lucius Mallery, born June 5, 1980," she said. No use lying about the years – he already knew about the time traveling. The issue was that they needed to appear to be school aged if they were to pull this deception off – even if Draco looked a bit old to pass as a believable seventeen-year-old.

A small about of shock registered on his face. "So far. That is a long way back to travel, Miss Granger." He shook his head, seemingly deliberating, before he continued. "And I assume you are both of legal age – and it seems you have a birthday right around the corner?" he said, eyes twinkling familiarly.

She nodded. "I'll be twenty-three tomorrow, Professor," she confirmed. She tried not to think too hard about it; it only incited painful memories.

She could still pass for a comfortable seventeen or eighteen. What really affected her and Draco's looks, age-wise, was the stress that years of war had put on their bodies and faces. They were good-looking young adults in their prime, but both were scarred significantly – both physically and mentally – and they were far more physically fit than any school-going teenager had any reason to be. They were hard with muscle and browned from the sun, despite both having naturally fair complexions. Although Hermione had gained all of the curves of a woman, she was just a bit too skinny and a bit too firm to pass normal inspection, although under robes it wouldn't be quite as noticeable – she hoped. Draco's jaw was square and rough with stubble befitting a man, not a boy.

"And where are you originally from?" Dumbledore continued, folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward, giving her his full attention.

"England, Professor, though Draco was born in France and both of his parents were of French descent." Lie.

"And your parents?" he prodded.

She frowned, not sure what exactly he was asking. "What about them, sir?"

"Have they passed on as well?" he asked, having picked up on the past tense with which she'd referred to Draco's parents.

She stiffened, her face hardening quickly with anger, before she forced herself to relax. After all, it was not his fault that her parents were dead. It was hers.

And Voldemort's.

"Yes," she confirmed, pushing the word out of her mouth as one might try to tug a stubborn mule out of a stall.

"I see. I'm sorry for your loss," he said, looking sad. She did not doubt that the words were said genuinely – after all, despite his many flaws, Dumbledore was still a compassionate soul. "And – I hate to ask, because to me it is unimportant, but I need to know for your own safety – are either of you Muggleborn?"

She nodded slowly. "I am," she confessed, albeit reluctantly. Proud of her heritage though she was, she doubted the wizarding community of 1944 saw it that way. Especially with Grindewald still at large, and with a young Voldemort right here in this very school. "Draco is a Pureblood, but not as 'pure' as those who consider themselves part of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' – or any of that rubbish," she sneered quietly. Lie.

Dumbledore chuckled agreeably. "Quite right, Miss Granger – quite right," he said with amusement. "And – of course – do you wish to inflict harm upon this school or any of its inhabitants?"

"No, sir," she responded, even if her brain was screaming Tom Riddle! Tom Riddle and his Knights of Walpurgis and his giant bloody basilisk!

"I am glad to hear it, Hermione," he said, leaning forward, "although from the kindness in your eyes I can see that you are not the type of person that might enjoy hurting another." He smiled at her.

How wrong you are, Albus, she thought cynically. If only you knew how many people I've killed. If only you knew how satisfying it was to watch Bellatrix Lestrange writhe in indescribable pain – how easy it was to condemn her to the slowest, most agonizing death I could think of. Smartly, she remained silent – merely gave him a grateful smile. It hurt to know that once, he would have been right. That she had once been the person he had just labeled her as.

"And one more – I have to know for security purposes and, frankly, to satisfy my own curiosity – how did you come to arrive at Hogwarts, how did you bypass some of the best wards in the country, and where were you before you came here?"

"I don't know, sir," she admitted – truthfully, this time. "One minute we were in battle, at Hogwarts in my time, 2002, and the next we were here," she said. "If Fawkes could talk, I would recommend giving him some veritaserum," she joked. "I can't tell you any more, though, Professor – like I said, I really need to get my bearings before I reveal any more information." She swallowed. "And some more rest wouldn't go amiss, either."

"And what am I to tell others, when they ask?" he inquired.

"There is a war going on in China," she said, leaning farther back against her pillows. "I figure we can tell people we went to Yanjiu. It's a small wizarding school outside of Aba in the Sichuan province of China. It was first attacked a couple of years ago, and then the Chinese Ministry came under attack – as far as I know, it is not a good situation over there. A lot of violence, and a lot of people at war. Very bloody, and compounded by muggle Japan's involvement with the Nazis and the war going on in the Pacific. We can claim that our parents moved over when we were children, or some such rubbish," she finished, waving her hand nonchalantly.

He seemed to ponder something for a moment, but then he nodded and stood, rising to tower over the end of her bed. His shadow stretched impossibly long, cast in stark relief against the bright sunset that flooded the room and reflected on the smooth marble floor.

"Also, before you go, if you wouldn't mind a quick Wizarding Oath between the two of us…I would very much appreciate it, sir," she said, pulling out her wand.

His mouth tightened, but he acquiesced, moving over to sit in the chair by her bedside. "The terms?"

"Simple," she replied, taking his hand. "I just need you to promise that you will not tell a soul of what you have come to learn about Draco and me. Not even someone you trust implicitly. It's very important, Albus." She swirled her wand, and she felt the air tighten invisibly around their clasped hands.

"I promise," Albus said, nodding.

"Thank you," she said, the sentiment genuine. "It puts my mind at ease."

While not as binding as an Unbreakable Vow – a Wizarding Oath would not kill you if you rebelled against it, but it would certainly hurt, and their might be some unpredictable magical consequences; she'd heard of people losing some of their power and their ability to cast some spells – it still gave her comfort knowing that she didn't have to worry about anyone finding out and using it against her.

"I take my leave then, Miss Granger – "

"Call me Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, please," she interrupted with a smile as he once again stood up. "Miss Granger feels so dreadfully formal, and hearing you call me by my given name as you once did brings me comfort in an otherwise uncomfortable situation."

He chuckled, straightening his robes – a strangely mild navy color, compared to the glaringly bright robes she knew he was fond of – and patted her on the foot in a gesture that almost made her eyes water, it was so familiar. "Then I suppose I should let you call me Albus, my dear, as you already have – but only in private, mind you. It wouldn't do to give my students any designs of familiarity whilst in my classroom, you see. They are already terribly rude already."

She smiled fondly. He turned to leave. "I'll be back to check on you in the morning, dear – I'll have Madam Soranus bring you some dinner. Try to get some more rest, Hermione. And please know that you are safe here at Hogwarts, and you are welcome to stay as long as you like. Headmaster Dippet and I will sit down and discuss your options with you tomorrow, and then we will speak again whenever Mister Mallery wakes up."

"Thank you, Albus," she said as he left, genuinely grateful for his kindness…especially since she was trapped in this hell.

Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

oooo

Albus Dumbledore walked briskly down the corridor towards the Great Hall for dinner, his stomach rumbling. His mind was buzzing with curiosity about Hogwarts' new acquisitions, Hermione Granger and Draco Mallery.

Professor Merrythought, having waited down the hall from the hospital wing, fell into step beside him. "What did you find out, Albus?"

He shook his head, frowning. "Not much, Galatea. They aren't a threat to the school, that much I am sure of."

"But?" she asked, sensing that there was more. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had always known him better than the rest.

He sighed, preparing to lie to his friend. "They came from China. I wasn't able to get much more than that, other than basic information, but, judging from their condition and what little she told me, they undoubtedly have been in the midst of the war over there – though what two English wizards were doing in China, especially those of school age, I have no idea," he continued, leaving out the part about them moving to China as children until they were able to get some more details worked out. It wouldn't do to get the littlest bit of information wrong, only to have someone figure out that it was all one big falsehood. "Have you already eaten?" he asked her.

"Not yet," she replied. "Would you like to take dinner in my office?"

"You read my mind, Galatea," he replied. "Will you call on Tinker and have her put together two plates for us, and then go to the library and find as many books as you can on French wizarding genealogy? I'll meet you there in a few minutes," he said, veering off to the left toward the stairs. "I have a floo call to make to a good friend of mine in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I have a few questions about the Orient that need answering."

oooo

China, eh? How curious.

Edmond Lestrange stepped out of the shadows, having hidden as soon as he'd seen the two professors barreling down the hall toward him. He tended to avoid interacting with the staff if he could, especially Dumbledore; the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmaster watched all Slytherins a bit too closely for Edmond's liking – particularly those that had the most contact with Tom Riddle. Merrythought was not much better, despite how she often favored Tom in class because of his superior dueling skills.

Edmond was glad that he'd overheard this little tidbit of information, however – his Lord would be pleased with him. Anxious to impart what he'd learned, he hurried toward the Slytherin common room.

oooo

Hermione lay back on her bed as the moon rose high in the sky, tears rolling silently from her eyes. Her dinner tray was barely touched, though she had eaten some for the sake of showing her appreciation to the elderly (but surprisingly sprightly) matron that had so kindly brought it up for her.

Tears burned her cheeks, strangely hot. She brought her fingers up to touch them and then looked at the moisture on her fingertips, half expecting it to be red and steaming, like lava. The tears were clear as usual – there was no visual indication of their heat. But she knew that it had something to do with Fawkes and what he'd done to her.

She closed her eyes. Fawkes? she called out in her mind.

There was no response. She sighed, feeling foolish, but couldn't help the sense of disappointment all the same. The only evidence she had that anything within her had changed was that constant burning heat inside her chest. Madam Soranus had also commented earlier that she had an unusually high fever, and gave her a potion to help reduce it. Somehow Hermione knew that it wouldn't help. She figured this fever was at least semi-permanent, although she had no idea how she would go about trying to expel the phoenix's presence from her body. And she had no idea how to feel about having such a powerful being's essence within her; would Fawkes' special magic do damage upon her own, or would the two join together? Would his presence drain her energy and weaken her internally, or would he lend her his energy, making her stronger? Had the process physically changed her? She hadn't been able to look in a mirror since it had happened, though she was certain that she didn't look as frightful as she had upon arrival – she had been Scourgified, though not bathed, and someone had changed her shorts and shirt to a thankfully blood free nightgown; her bra and panties remained untouched, and she was glad. She still felt the stickiness of blood in the hair at the nape of her neck and behind her ear, but for the most part she was in much better shape than she had been.

Swinging her legs out of her bed, she touched her bare feet to the floor, relishing the cold marble against the calloused, no doubt ashy skin of her soles. She stood, testing her balance, and stretched her muscles one by one, assessing how her wounds had healed and how much mobility she had. The burn on her back was still miserable – it seemed Madam Soranus hadn't been able to do much with it other than put a poultice on it, as the severity of the dark magic which had caused the burn (thanks ever so, Macnair) was unable to be fully healed magically. Otherwise, only her tender left wrist still ached. All of her other wounds had been attended to with great care and skill.

She walked the three yards between her bed and Draco's, looking down at his still form. His chest was bare, a puncture wound on his taut abdominal muscles mostly healed and plastered with gauze. White pajama bottoms dressed his lower half. She smiled. She could imagine his indignation at the thought of somebody else dressing him.

Pulling back the covers, she slipped into the narrow bed beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and carefully placing her arm over his broad, pale chest. Despite not having much room, his steady breathing lulled her to sleep in record time, and she slipped into the land of dreams – dreams that nearly always turned into nightmares.

oooo

Sorry guys, no Tom this chapter. We'll see him in the next one though. Like I said before, I tend to take things too fast, and I'm really trying to resist the urge with this one.

Anyways, I hope you still enjoyed getting a little bit more of the foundation for the story, and I promise there will be more Hermione/Tom interaction in the chapters to come.

Review if you feel so inclined!

Giraffe :)