A/N: After my request for beta readers awhile back, I got replies from many lovely people. They were absolutely wonderful, with some of them even editing this chapter. I had originally planned on letting them know who would be my new editor within a week, then post this update soon afterwards. Unfortunately, real life snuck up on me. Which was how I found out that my time managing skills go to hell when I'm balancing a new (incredible!) boyfriend, a massive revamping at work, and a new volunteering gig. I realised that, even aside from my present, unpardonable rudeness, it would be wholly irresponsible of me to stick someone with an editing job while being uncertain if I myself could keep to any deadlines. Simply, I bit off more than I could chew.

Because of this, though I can't apologise enough, I feel like it would be a mistake to pick a beta reader. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but it's clear it's best to nip this horrific rudeness in the bud rather than drag it on for whichever unfortunate soul became my editor.

Of course, I cannot begin to say how thankful I am to the amazing people who contacted me. So from cpalmer647, Gracie Pearl, and sheltie26 (who helped edit this chapter), to Just William, Maiden of the Heavens, and thefirstservant (who showed interest in betaing), to DarkPhoenix, Mists, and Gambitized (who gave me wonderful ideas for the story summary, which I'm still working on), I can only say thank you (and sorry) from the bottom of my heart.

Now, I do have two small attempts to make amends. As an apology and thank you to any of the people I just listed, I have a document where I've charted out the entire plot of this story. If you're interested in seeing this 'spoiler sheet', please let me know. I've already shared this with one or two of you so if either of you would like something extra as my way to apologise, you can contact me with any sort of HP one-shot plot that you'd like me to write up for you.

Finally, for all of you patient readers? As an apology for my insane posting times, I'm going to be putting up an ADDITIONAL chapter within 24 hours of this update. I know this is too little too late, but it's unfortunately the best I can do.

Thank you again.

"'You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.'

'I'd like to see your mom and dad,' Ron said eagerly.

'And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.'"

—Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

It was the silence from the other room that made Ron think something was wrong. He'd been in the kitchen at the time, making fried pickles with peanut butter slathered on top.

"Lots of peanut butter," Hermione had groaned into a pillow shortly before, hand over her mouth. "Until it's overflowing and, and, oh god…"

After helping his pregnant wife to the bathroom ("Ronald, if you touch my hair again I swear I'm going to—uck. Oh, oh Merlin…NO, I don't need your help! I'm barely throwing up, don't be silly."), he'd made a quick escape downstairs. That was, first to Rosie's nursery as she was crying up a storm. Then to the living room, as being in the self-rocking crib always calmed her. And then—finally—to the kitchen (that is, once his daughter had paused in her fussing).

Ron had begun cooking the odd food when Rose's annoyed shrieks again erupted from the other room. He looked doubtfully at the stove, then through the doorway. He'd left his wand by the crib and didn't have enough trust in the muggle stove to leave it even for a moment. Deciding that another minute wouldn't hurt his daughter, he hurriedly finished making breakfast. It wasn't as neat as it could have been, but he doubted Hermione would care. He'd be surprised if she even got it down. He hoped she would, of course, but not many meals were sitting right with her these days…

Ron frowned, looking back at the doorway. It was quiet. Rose had stopped screaming.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Shovelling the pickles on a plate, he turned off the stove and made his way to the fridge. As he was reaching in for the peanut butter, it dawned on his half-asleep brain that something wasn't right.

Rose never stopped crying. Not ever, not of her own accord. She had lungs of steel and took inertia to heart. She was a stubborn little girl and, unless someone rocked her or stuck a bottle or breast in her mouth (whatever the case may be), she'd continue fussing until she lost her voice. Her dad wouldn't be shocked that, if the last happened, she'd have a bout of accidental magic and amplify her shrieks.

Yet, she wasn't screaming. Hermione was surely still 'preoccupied' with morning sickness, Crookshanks had been dead asleep on their bedroom floor, and there was no one else in the house.

Rose wasn't crying.

Ron, closing the fridge, picked up the cooling frying pan. Gripping it he skidded across the kitchen and down the hall. He'd partly closed the living room's door before, so he hid just behind it. Listening closely he realised it wasn't actually silent like he'd first though: there was a low murmuring from within. A very low murmuring voice. A male voice.

Tired, panicked thoughts flew through his head. Should he race for Hermione and her wand? No, the intruder had Rosie! There wasn't any time, he had to attack. Standing against the wall, pan raised high, he glared around the door into what he could see of the room. Not much was in his view and, aside from green sparks in the fireplace, nothing seemed out of place.

Green…sparks.

Ron's hands drooped, pan falling to his side. He suddenly felt more awake. And foolish.

As his heartbeat settled back down he placed the pan on the floor. Now that he was thinking straight, he remembered how many wards were around the house. More importantly, he recalled how common it was for his family to burst in unannounced. Any of them could get through the floo and, though it was just past dawn, even the Weasleys had a few early risers (all of whom were mental, Ron was convinced, but to each their own).

Now relaxed, Ron strode forward and pulled the door properly open. He blinked at the sight. Before a second had passed he'd leapt back and slammed against the outer wall, heartbeat pounding away once more.

'Fuck fuck fuck,' Ron silently cursed, not daring to take another peek into the living room. Not when Harry was standing only a few feet from his current hiding spot. That the other man was levitating a stuffed animal over the cooing Rose was hardly reassuring.

His suspicions returned in a rapid free fall. Was Harry planning on grabbing Rosie and running? Was he going to hold her hostage until Ron apologised for the gala? Not that he was worried about his daughter's safety. When he got her back she was sure to be filled with biscuits and happily rambling about her 'Unca Hawy'. But that was beside the point!

Ron dismissed these musings and willed himself to properly wake up. Because Harry wasn't going to steal Rose, obviously. That wasn't his thing (spoiling her or no). Unless he'd accidentally driven his friend so far over the edge that…

Ron dismissed this even more frantically. He was being stupid. Rose would most likely be used for sympathy points. After all, one word from her beloved godfather and the little girl would make big puppy dog eyes at any who dared challenge Harry. It didn't matter if the 'challenger' was her actual dad.

That, or Harry would use Rosie as a human shield. Which was a possibility, bluff or no.

Ron took another another wary look into the living room. Rosie had stopped fussing and was delightedly clapping her hands and her new toy bunny at Harry, who was making funny faces at her. The watching wizard sighed, certain now that the plan was to turn his daughter against him. He supposed he should meet this head on, hopefully preventing the two from hatching a nefarious plan…not that he actually thought his baby girl would conspire against him. But with Harry involved, he wasn't ruling anything out.

Taking a deep breath, Ron left the hallway and strolled into the line of fire. He didn't alert them to his presence until he'd grabbed his wand and tucked it into his sleeve. Then he faced the threat, gathering his Gryffindor courage to him. "Look, pranks or no? Corrupting my daughter is—"

"Ron, hey!" Harry turned around brightly. He didn't seem to be annoyed, plotting, or raging. He was grinning like he hadn't a care in the world. "Sorry I barged in early. Hermione up? I think the floo bugged Rosie. But she's calm now, aren't you sweetie?" He spoke the last down to the crib, voice gentle and happy.

"Dada, dada! Unca Hawy gave me bunny!" Rosie giggled, hugging the stuffed animal to her. "S'call you Fluffy. FLUFFY!"

Ron was at a loss. It was odd enough to see Harry this cheerful, but the bloke ought to be royally peeved. Maybe he hadn't seen the Prophet yet? Even if he hadn't, he should still be at ends about everything else. "You're, ah, in a good mood?"

"The best!" he didn't seem able to stop grinning. "Really great night. Hermione here?"

"Upstairs. Though she's sick, grouchy, and has a wand. Best not to disturb her." Ron scratched the nape of his neck, not knowing what to make of this. He didn't want to think about what the 'really great night' comment could mean. "What's up?"

"Oh. Hope she feels better soon," Harry's smile momentarily fell out of concern for Hermione. Still, it seemed impossible for him to stop beaming for long. "But I have brilliant news! You know Ginny's going on a writing retreat for the week? We figured a check-in at St. Mungo's would be an idea. Nah, stop frowning: everything's fine, they're both good. Though see, part of the prenatal tests was an ultrasound. I know you want to keep yours a surprise, but Gin and I were talking and, well," he shrugged, grin giddy, "we're having a daughter! A baby girl!"

Ron's worries fell away. Replaced with good cheer, he clapped his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Fantastic! Congrats mate. Lucky man: girls are much easier than boys."

Harry humphed, though his delight didn't falter. "Says you! You only have Rosie here." He turned to address the little toddler nibbling on her fist. "Not that you aren't adorable. But your dad's a bit daft."

"Only Rosie?" Ron repeated. "Hah! Like I'm not stuck babysitting your hellions enough. Or have you forgotten when Jamie hid a grindylow in a bathtub? Oh no, don't tell me it was 'just a baby monster fish'. The fact that you missed the thing floating around for a bloody week tells me you have too many bathrooms. Not sure if my godson's a genius or you lot are idiots. Still, trust me! Girls are easier."

"Jamie's…well, Al's pretty normal. As for Rosie she, ah, screams?" Harry pointed out with an apologetic look at his uncaring goddaughter. He didn't take offence at the hellion or idiot comments: likely due to the reminder of how many creatures had so far followed his baby boy home. "Besides, that doesn't matter to me. A girl! I'm having a daughter!"

"Which is brilliant. Really, that's wonderful." Ron was being completely sincere, but he had to stop a laugh at the other wizard's jubilant expression. This new baby already had Harry wrapped around her partly formed finger. Good on her. "Thought of names yet?"

Ron was amazed at how quickly the beam slipped off Harry's face. "Unfortunately."

"Eh?" Ron was taken aback by the abrupt change in tone. But in realising what the problem was, it took all his self-restraint not to snicker. "What name has Ginny come up with this time? I didn't think she could get worse than 'Hedwig Pigwidgeon' for Jamie. Or wanting her own codename for the Aurors to be 'Harpy'."

"Worse. Much worse." Harry rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up. "I'm this close to going back to her suggestion of 'Fleamont', just to make her relent."

The conversation suddenly became far more entertaining. Ron moved closer, not willing to risk missing a syllable. "Fawkes Fleamont? You'd, you'd go with Fawkes Fleamont Potter over whatever crazy—"

"She likes the name Lily," Harry sighed, looking back up at his friend. The entertainment factor somewhat dwindled. "So, yeah. I'd go with a mad name over what'll get me threatened for my supposed name-hogging."

"Come on, we know it isn't you." Ron caught Harry's incredulous look. He backtracked. "That is, most of us know Ginny's the barmy one. Even I'll admit Severus trumps Fleamont. Though, ack, what a compromise! Why was she even on the memorial thing in the first place?" He clicked his fingers in mock remembrance. "Wait, wasn't that your fault?"

Harry sent him a look. 'A look' which said he was well aware Ron hadn't forgotten anything and merely relished making him rehash it. "Yeah, because someone got George and me drunk."

"Right. Then you geniuses decided to take some Unbreakable Vows," Ron said wisely. He ignored the deep scowl Harry gave him. "Which resulted in James Sirius, Fred George, and McGonagall's vow of eternal vengeance."

"Will you shut up!"

"Which Angie and Ginny weren't pleased at, and how did you not know she was gearing for revenge?" Ron sniggered. "Still, I wouldn't be shocked if she genuinely liked the name 'Albus' and only 'Severus' was added to piss you off." There was no attempt made to hide his chuckling. "Which you only went along with because it trumped 'Fleamont'—which I'm almost positive she was sincere about, mad woman with her obsession for hair products. Even Hermione was close to naming Rosie after your grandfather!" He frowned, remembering his own close call. "Only got her to relent by distracting her with the hilarity that your family made hair taming products. Always makes her laugh for hours, that one."

"You enjoy my pain, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Ron was glad his best mate was catching on. It had taken him enough decades. "So, little Lily Potter the Second. Cute."

"We aren't calling her Lily!" Harry's tone was as stubborn as it got. "It's not happening: bad enough two of my kids have morbid names. I'm talking her out of it." Doubt fell over his features. "Ginny liked 'Fawkes' before, it might sway her? It sort of sounds normal said aloud. Right? Tell me I'm right. Or is it even weirder as a girl's name? Least her birthday will be in early December and not November. That's something, yeah?"

Ron shrugged, certain he'd burst out laughing if he opened his mouth.

"Why is this even a problem? We're talking about a namesake from my mum!" Harry exclaimed, now undeniably worried. "Sure, Ginny's the one who's pregnant. But the possible name's on my side of the family! I should be able to veto this. Or, hey. How about 'Molly'? Molly's a fantastic name! Similar meaning but not depressing."

"Percy beat you to it," Ron managed to get out without guffawing.

"He doesn't have a monopoly on it!" Harry protested. "Why does he get the nice names? All I'm asking for is one bloody name that isn't dea—Hermione. Hermione! It's, ah, Shakespearean yeah? Course, 'Winter's Tale', like her codename. Classical's good, I think. Isn't it?"

"Hermione will slap you if you do that," Ron pointed out. "Rant at you for hours about 'cursing the poor child with a mouthful of a name'. Anyway, what's so bad about 'Lily'?"

"It's depressing."

"Well sure. But aside from that it's nice enough."

"Or, or 'Luna'!" Harry grappled for an alternative. "That'd be great."

Ron snorted, seeing the obvious problem. "That works."

"Brilliant! I can just—"

"After all, there's no way Ginny will think 'Lily Luna' sounds precious." Ron eyed his best friend's falling face. "It's not like she's been itching for an alliterative name…"

"She was serious about that?" Harry said weakly.

Ron didn't even bother responding. But he did let out the laugh he'd been holding back. It wasn't appreciated.

It was shortly thereafter that Ron remembered he'd left the half-done peanut butter pickles in the kitchen. Harry didn't raise an eyebrow at the odd food, or at Ron's hesitance to go back upstairs after such a lengthy delay. Though Harry had looked askance at the pan by the entrance to the living room, Ron had shoved a coffee in his face to stave off any questions.

Soon enough, the pickles had been delivered, Rosie was slurping a bottle in her dad's lap, and the two wizards had managed not to burn a few pieces of toast for breakfast:

("Audrey got to it last week," Ron groaned in true anguish, staring at the steaming pile of molten black bread slices. "'Revolutionary toaster', she told us. 'Toasts in seconds', she said. Didn't mention it was using heliopath fire! Should've learned all Unspeakables were batty after that time-turner nonsense."

Harry spat out the edge of his harshly-crisped toast. "Heliopaths exist?"

"Too afraid to ask. Aha! There we go, this one's near edible.")

Frankly, Ron wasn't sure why Harry was still in his kitchen. Not that the bloke didn't usually linger about at all hours (recent cold war aside), but he'd thought the news about his daughter would be enough to make him stick to Ginny like glue. Also, Ron was rather hoping the Dark Lord Defeater would piss off well before the morning's Daily Prophet came. Best not be in the direct line of fire.

"Sooo," Ron drew out, patting Rosie's back, "as much as I love hearing about little Lily Fleamont Potter—yeah yeah, don't spit toast at me—why're you cleaning out my fridge?"

Harry gave Ron a look. 'A look' that clearly asked how a coffee and molten bread slices could clean out a fridge. Or, perhaps, 'a look' that pointed out Ron's hypocrisy as he frequently invited himself over to dinner at the Potters. But then the Head Auror, shaking his head, visibly put this aside.

"There was another reason I popped over," Harry chewed over his words sheepishly. He paused to glance down at his communication mirror that had begun to buzz, but didn't answer it. "Hearing the news put some stuff in perspective. I'm…well, I'm sorry for overreacting at work. It's, what did Hermione say? Like the pranks you pull on your siblings? I hadn't thought about it like that. I'm sorry, sending you to that acromantula was cruel. Even before that, I shouldn't have made McLaggen your partner just because you were taking the mick. Not only was it too much, but making a work decision based off of my irritation? It was childish of me. I'll reassign McLaggen when I get in today. To make it up to you, you can get your pick of available partners. How does that sound?"

"Oh. Huh." Ron froze, thoughts flying back to his call with Shacklebolt. He eyed the window nervously, certain the paper was due soon. The mirror had stopped buzzing.

"I like the idea of a mentoring partnership in the short term, but there's plenty of Junior Aurors able to hold their own," Harry continued, oblivious to Ron's fidgeting. "After that, it's your pick and…seriously, I'm sorry. I know you're mainly out of sorts because I'm not in the field anymore, and I haven't been making things easier. You shouldn't have done all that to your partners, but me shoving that git on you for months was underhanded. Not to mention the acromantula! So, err, we alright? Truce?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course we're alright," Ron said weakly, listening to Harry's mirror as it resumed buzzing. Was it his imagination or did it sound more urgent? "Still, me constantly bothering you? I was kind of out of line."

Harry scoffed. "Ron, it's us. I got caught up with things and took all of this too seriously. Don't worry about it. Like I said, I should be the one apologising."

"No, really. I'm sorry." Ron silently cursed the still-ringing mirror. "Absolutely not okay of me. You get a new job and I make your life more chaotic?"

"You were rightly pissed off, but went a bit overboard." Harry then sighed, reaching for his pocket. "Wait a mo, I should take this."

"Sure." Ron eyed the exit. As the other wizard put the device to his ear, he wondered if using Rose as a human shield might actually work.

"Lo Taylor," Harry said into the speaker, a veil of impatience over his tone. "Is this an emergency? I'm in the middle of something."

Ron slowly lifted up his cooing daughter.

"I'll be in by seven," Harry continued, glancing at the ceiling. "Whatever's there can wait. I'm sure that, hold on. What did you say? Have I seen the Prophet? No, not yet. Shacklebolt? Course we're still at odds. Why…never mind, tell me when I'm in. I'll head for the office now."

Harry grumbled a bit, putting the mirror in his pocket before looking back up. "Like I need another tabloid story in the—Ron? Uh, why are you holding Rose like that?"

"Like what?" Ron said normally, speaking as his daughter was dangling—laughing—right in front of his head.

"Like that."

"Nothing wrong with this!" Ron said quickly, false cheer in his voice. Rosie giggled at her funny daddy, swishing her legs back and forth. "Not like I'm using my daughter as a human shield or anything. Pfft, course not. On a completely unrelated note: what did Taylor say about the Daily Prophet?"

Harry eyed him strangely. He also slowly got up, as though afraid Ron was about to leap at him. "Not much. Say, ah, I'm going to head to the Ministry. You are feeling okay, yeah?"

"Course I am!"

"Sure," Harry backed away, though sent a concerned look at the gleefully squirming Rose who was still held aloft. "I'm glad we get the other stuff squared away. I'll, I guess, see you in a bit? Please don't drop Rosie."

"See you!" Ron said with an edge of hysteria. He was already considering taking the day off sick…though that would mean Harry would hunt him down. Might be best to face the music.

Rosie giggled, squirming around to poke her dad's nose.

Ron crept quietly into the Auror department, intent on racing to his office before he could be spotted. But this idea came to an end before it could begin. For there, waiting a foot from the main door, stood his very unimpressed brother-in-law. It looked like he'd been waiting for awhile (as a group of eavesdropping-happy Aurors had gathered just beyond reach in 'hiding places', eagerly listening in).

"My parents?" Harry said as Ron froze mid-step. His stare was steely. "You used my parents' memory as a prank?"

"Huh?" Ron batted down his triumphant grin (scared or no, he was still impressed with himself at a plan well done). This was aided when he saw his brother-in-law itching for his wand. Things became a lot less amusing when a Wizarding Saviour was eyeing you like a bullseye. "Course I didn't. That'd be as mental as using a dead acromantula as a prank."

"You aren't switching partners!" Harry's eyes furrowed into a glare. Forget the wand: he seemed ready to deck Ron. "I'm not reassigning McLaggen and you're damn lucky I'm not doing anything worse! You've forced me to go to the blasted gala! If I continued this idiotic thing, I'd be more than justified! But I'm going to be professional and take the high road. So shut the hell up and stay out of my way!"

Harry turned to storm away (the eavesdroppers breathed disappointed sighs). Ron knew he should be quiet. He really did. But… "What happened to you taking things too seriously?"

The Head Auror stopped, his shoulder-blades tensing. He gave a harsh look back at the Senior Auror. "If you say another word, I'll let Hermione know you're behind this. You think she'll like you using a poor orphan's parents as petty revenge?"

Ron blinked. Then blinked again, opening his mouth. "A, a poor orphan? What're you on…?"

"One more word!" Harry hissed out. Without waiting for an answer he spun around and strode off.

A chill swept through London as October flew by. It was a pleasant chill, however, brought about by the foggy weather and changing leaves. In most other ways a warmth had returned to the city: museums were stuffed, St. James' was filled with prams, and a cheery hustle and bustle rose in every street centre and corner pub.

Wizarding London was equally cheerful. By late October the Sweenies and the Rippers had barely struck since the King's Cross incident. The fear that had gripped Diagon Alley during the Summer had quelled, and now shoppers happily browsed the shopping area until well past sunset. The Ministry was also optimistic at this reprieve. From the Atrium's Fountain spouting streams of candy (thanks not to a whole department but to Arthur Weasley, who had embraced the spirit of trick-or-treating by sneaking in WWW products which turned every bite into an animal's roar) to the excited candour throughout the offices, one and all had put the darkness to the side and were comparing outfits for the Halloween Gala.

There were exceptions to this cheer, of course. Kingsley Shacklebolt had found to be careful for what he wished for. Though he was no longer being blamed for Fudge's disappearance and had a lead in the election (with no other viable candidates), the hit to his popularity was hard to swallow. Getting Harry Potter to give the keynote speech at the gala had also turned sour. For while the celebrated wizard had reluctantly agreed and this had promoted both of them in the papers, the Head Auror had made it clear that this meant war.

As for the MLE, only the junior agents bothered with cheeriness: the rest were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Extra security measures abounded, focused on the Ministry and the upcoming gala. There were also more guards around to keep back the press, who'd taken a newly giddy interest in the Potters (as nothing could beat ensuing scandals, crime sprees, and a pregnancy).

Worst for Ron was that the calls from the victims' families never slowed. He also wondered if the Sweenies had truly stopped, or if they'd retreated back to easy targets who weren't being reported as missing. Lisa had a similar concern about the Rippers, thinking that they'd reacted to the increased press by starting to discreet dispose of the bodies rather than display them. Both were aware of the simultaneous break in the two groups and did rethink that they might be related. But the signatures and motivations were simply too different, and it made more sense that they'd both backed up due to the high Auror and public focus on their crimes.

Aside from this speculation, progress on the crime sprees was as halted as ever. The manpower that had been involved with them shifted to checking every little bit of the wards in and out of the Ministry to make sure nothing would go awry at further Wizengamot meetings and at the Halloween gala. Course, there were other problems concerning Halloween that they couldn't prevent.

Witch Weekly was speculating that, instead of giving a speech, Harry would honour his parents' memory by giving a reenactment of Voldemort's defeat (using Kingsley Shacklebolt as the Dark Lord's stand-in). The Daily Prophet felt that Harry would use the spotlight to announce his creation of a breakaway party in the Wizengamot and his candidacy for Minister of Magic.

Soon enough, the MLE cued into the fact that the extra guards keeping back the reporters was more for the press' safety than the Head Auror's.

Given that demolishing the paparazzi was standard operating practice for Harry, Ron tried to settle down. But he couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling that Harry really might do something outrageous on Halloween, and that it would surely have more to do with vengeance on himself than a political coup d'état.

Ron remembered when he'd realised how strange the Sunday Dinners at the Burrow were. He'd been chatting about the tradition years ago to Susan, making small talk while on an overnight stakeout with her and Harry. She, an only child with no surviving relatives, was flabbergasted that so many of them crammed into his parents' house each weekend. But she'd smiled, saying how nice it must be to get together and have a relaxing evening to catch up.

Harry had snorted at that, choking on some water. "Relaxing?" he coughed, regaining his breath. "That'll be the day! Even calling it a dinner's a stretch."

Ron had sent him an odd look. "Okay, sure, there's some screaming. But between the potluck and mum overfilling the place with food, of course it's a dinner. What else is it supposed to be?"

"Screaming? Screaming?" Harry had given him a long look. He'd turned to Susan with a scarred expression. "It's not a dinner. It's a massacre."

While Ron had drawn this up to his best friend being his typical, melodramatic self, he did admit there was a grain of truth in it. Sunday Family Dinners were a tinge terrifying. This was because gathering every Weasley/Potter in the same place was guaranteed to begin and end in disaster.

Much of the terror had originated in Angelina's and Ginny's games of pick-up Quidditch, Charlie dragging in one ferocious beast after another (who were all, "Cuddly, misunderstood animals in need of adoptive homes and, say Percy, don't you have a spare bedroom? Audrey doesn't mind scales, yeah?"), George's latest explosive invention (which he'd oh-so-accidentally add to the shepherd's pie), and Audrey 'bringing around' dimension-shifting experiments from the Department of Mysteries. Still, Ron knew Harry's massacre comment had nothing to do with any of that. It was instead in reference to a practice that'd begun as soon as multiple couples had started having kids.

It had started innocently enough…Requests for a babysitter while someone was out of town. Or two working parents found that their schedules clashed every other Wednesday, leaving neither of them at home. Or the knowledge that dumping more than five toddlers at the Burrow would make Molly shift from being a thrilled grandmum to a sabertoothed mum/mum-in-law. So it was decided that using Sunday Dinners to trade off babysitting favours would be a grand idea.

They should have known that nothing involving them could be that easy. Not only were there too many kids, but most of the adults had demanding work schedules. The supply didn't meet the demand and tallied up 'favours' soon became more precious than gold.

The Potters had been the first to try to innovate this system (to no one's great surprise). George was mildly put-out he hadn't thought of it first, but was consoled by Angelina that not even his love for trouble could match the terror that resulted from mixing Harry's sarcastic creativity with Ginny's sheer nerve (or vice versa: no one could agree on that point).

Waltzing into the Burrow one night a few years previously, Ginny had given a high-pitched whistle to the startled faces. "LO! We need someone to take Teddy and Jamie for the weekend. No, we don't have any favours, and we're too busy for the next few weeks to trade off babysitting. Any takers?"

The assorted Weasleys in the living room had immediately snorted. Before any could respond, Harry had spoken up. "George, the nundo incident Andy still doesn't know about. Bill, the 11th of June last year. We'll take an Unbreakable Vow to never mention it again in return. Sound good?"

Everyone blinked, staring at them in confusion. All except the two mentioned.

"Evil," Bill gaped at the unrepentant couple. "You two are actually—"

"Evil incarnate." George, as he got over his instant horror, was supremely impressed. "Ginnikins, you've been hiding inner depths!"

"Really? I always thought I made them obvious," Ginny hummed. Harry gave her an adoring look. "Now then, next weekend?"

"Stupid buggers, alright." George gave in without protest.

"Hold up," Bill retorted, glaring at George, "I want that Vow!"

"I said it first." George was unapologetic. "Whatever they have on you, it can't be as bad as a literal nundo."

"You'd be surprised," Bill sent a peeved glance at the Potters. "You swore you'd take it to your graves!"

"Which we still might," Harry coaxed.

"There's plenty of other weekends," Ginny happily agreed. She turned to the rest of the room. "By the by, just because we didn't mention you doesn't mean you're safe." She sent a particularly pointed look at her husband's flabbergasted best friends.

The Potters' usage of blackmail over the family had much potential. Most of the other couples admitted it was a brilliant (albeit scary and underhanded) idea. They began going over their own compiled secrets on the others to see how they could similarly cash in. That is, all except for one pair.

It didn't escape Ron's and Hermione's notice that the Potters had the most stuff on them (Ginny's delighted hint had made that much clear). They also realised that the Potters had been requesting Vows from the others to not tell their own secrets (for a period of two years, citing a bogus security concern) several weeks before pouncing George and Bill. So it was that two thirds of the Golden Trio were horrified to learn that they had astonishingly little blackmail to retaliate with.

That was, until Hermione put her genius to good work.

A few stories in the Prophet later about how Harry and Ginny had an open marriage and were recruiting for a harem, the couple in question raced into the next Sunday Dinner pale and furious (a flock of screeching owls with Howlers and perfumed love letters following behind them). The Potters swore up and down to leave the 'favours-for-babysitting' system as it was if only they'd print a retraction.

Ron and Hermione, pleased as punch, made it clear to the rest of the group that they'd do worse to the next couple who used blackmail to get babysitters.

There hadn't been an incident of 'innovation' since.

That wasn't to say that Sunday dinners at the Burrow had become relaxing. Far from it. So it wasn't a shock that the current meet up in late October went downhill before they'd eaten a bite…

"BABYSITTER, HALLOWEEN!" Ron hollered, cutting through the opening greetings and causing the living room to turn to him. Most of the couples were already present, though Molly was sorting through the potluck dishes in the kitchen, and Arthur was out back showing his new telescope to many of his grandkids. Andromeda had just returned after shooing off Teddy and Victoire from 'enhancing' the Victoria Sponge. "WE'RE GIVING TWO FAVOURS!"

"WHAT? NO!" Ginny shrieked, having hurled into the room (dragging a startled Harry with her, who'd been chuckling at and repairing the polka dotted sponge cake) in hearing Ron's loud pronouncement. Baby Albus giggled in her arms. "WE DON'T START UNTIL AFTER DINNER! Besides, it's entirely your fault we have to go. You don't get to cut the line!"

"With so many of us attending the gala," Hermione chimed in, meeting the Potters' stormy looks straight-on. Rosie stuck her tongue out, flopping her feet against her mum's tummy, "we thought it best to start early. Also, we're hardly cutting the queue."

"TWO FAVOURS!" It was Harry's turn to shout, Ginny furiously nodding along with him. "Two favours for Saturday to whoever—"

"Ron said it first," George said cheerily, happy to add to the chaos. He flopped back in the love seat, arm wrapped around his wife. "Angie and I are free. When do you want to drop off Rose?"

"Six'd be great, thanks," Ron grinned.

"FIVE FAVOURS!" Audrey screamed from her's and Percy's perch on the couch, unconcerned when both Potters stared furiously at her.

"We're next!" Ginny hollered indignantly, still standing in the crowded room.

"We're offering more," Percy retorted, returning to address the others. "On top of that, our kids are well-behaved."

"Our kids are…" Harry began to protest, before finding himself at a loss for words, "Al's great! And Jamie hasn't conjured a dragon in a week."

"Two weeks!" Ginny chimed in, sensing the room was getting away from them.

"Five favours, eh?" Bill turned to Fleur, then shrugged and nodded to a delighted Audrey. "We didn't want to go to the gala anyway. Six PM too?"

"I hate all of you," Ginny glimmered. "I really, really do."

"COME ON, FIVE FAVOURS!" Harry exclaimed, seeing their options rapidly shrinking.

"I was thinking of a relaxing night myself," Andromeda hummed, causing both Potters to gape at her.

"For you?" George said gallantly. "No favours needed, Andy. It'd be a pleasure to take young Teddy."

"Oh Merlin," Andromeda sighed at his eager response, well aware that she was going to regret this. "No convincing him to be a guinea pig for one of your potions."

"Hah, like he'd need convincing," George waved off. "You sure he isn't a secret Weasley? Gets into more trouble than this lot combined. And that's without him trying! Though, to be fair, Vicky might be the mastermind."

"What did you say about my daughter?" Bill raised an eyebrow.

"That she iz a nefarious genius," Fleur patted her husband's shoulder, legs folded over his armchair's seat. She glanced back out at the room, waving a dismissive hand. "Go on, on with ze argument."

"Come on!" Ginny leapt back in, lifting up her drooling baby as though he would help her case. "One babysitter, that's all we need!"

"Huh," Charlie eyed Harry speculatively. He was slouched by the window seat, having been laughing at his siblings' and in-laws' misfortune while celebrating his bachelorhood. More than one couple had gotten close to punching him, what with his snide reminders of his nomadic lifestyle every time he visited (when not roaming from dragon reservation, to tropical beach, to the Vegas Strip). "You know, I need a favour done—"

"NO!" The Potters shouted en unison.

"What! I'm being nice."

"I don't trust you with favours," Harry held up his hands and backed away a step, "not after the salamander firework incident." The group gave a shudder, all except George and Charlie (who were faintly nostalgic at the pleasant reminder).

"And I don't trust you with my kids!" Ginny said firmly, ignoring Charlie's mock gasp. "Come on, you lot. One babysitter who isn't a pyro!"

"OI, I resemble that comment!" Charlie hollered back, smirk not having left his face.

"Y'know," Angelina said to George, "we could babysit more kids."

"Indeed we could. Though I'm not sure we qualify with this anti-pyro sentiment." George sent the Potters a cheeky grin. "Still, only five favours for your hellions on such a busy night? Tsk, tsk. Unless you want to get a random babysitter, who could sell a tell-all to Witch Weekly…"

"What do you want," Ginny cut to the chase. "We aren't upping the bloody favours."

"Oh, no no. We weren't thinking of that. In fact," Angelina's amused look shifted into one of consideration, than of seriousness. She looked at Harry, "the matter I've been asking about…?"

"No," Harry cut her off, firm but apologetic. He sent a small glance at a confused Ron. "I'm sorry, but no. Like I've told you before, it isn't something I can talk about."

George had by now gotten a look of realisation as well and was frowning at his wife. Everyone else blinked at them, not knowing what was going on.

Ginny hesitantly spoke up, taken aback by the sudden tension. "Harry, if they—"

"It's about work," Harry didn't look away from Angelina, whose lips were furrowing. "Doesn't matter now, as they know I can't bloody well tell them."

"What about work?" Hermione frowned. Harry and Angelina didn't glance at her.

"Yeah, I got that," Angelina said thinly, bringing whatever it was to an end. "Fine. Fine, Potter. We'll babysit on Halloween. Drop them off at six as well."

"Angie—"

"It's fine, George. Everything's fine," Angelina almost matched Harry's earlier tone of glossing it away. With a shake of her head she sniffed the air, forcing on a smile. "And I think I smell dinner! If the babysitting nonsense is over with, how about we head in."

Though an auspicious start, the off-balanced couples haphazardly made their way to the dining room. Kids were picked up or dropped off on the way, where most of the older children were happy to overfill their plates with food and scamper to the living room (led by Teddy and Vicky, who were both trying to avoid their guardians after the sponge incident, and were keen to build a pillow fortress for dinner). It would have been difficult to cram the kids into the dining room anyway. Expanding spells could only do so much with this many people and high chairs, and it was too chilly to eat outside.

So it was that after the older kids had scampered off, the babies were splattering their mushed up food, and the adults had sorted out silverware and seating (with a near miss of Molly near hexing George for enchanting the forks to whiz about, and where Audrey gave a shriek and a fall when her chair ended up being more metaphorical than tangible), everyone could finally settle down to eat.

That is, eat and talk over each other. Around the table conversations were being flung around simultaneously, with the participants juggling and switching between them. Still, central discussion did form. In one corner, Andromeda, Ginny, and Angelina were bonding over bringing up troublemakers.

"Oh no, Roxanne is the one who takes the cake," Angelina had returned to a good cheer (with the help of a touch of white wine). "Freddie likes trouble well enough, but Roxy's the one who goes searching for it. Course, the two are inseparable, so it amounts to the same amount of chaos."

"Teddy claims he stumbles into it, but the tyke is see through," Andromeda sympathised. "Hair turns bright yellow whenever he's lying! Just like his mum, that way. Haven't told him about his tell, naturally. Victoire's figured it out, but the bright dear has the good sense to keep it quiet."

"Naturally." Ginny nodded firmly. "Teddy shakes his head a bit too when lying. Luckily for us, Jamie's picked up that habit. Not a shock, seeing as he takes Teddy's every word as gospel."

Angelina fully agreed. "You won't catch me telling Freddie he wrinkles his nose with white lies. I think Roxy's catching on, though, and is bound to tell him. Too smart by half. George's proud as punch about all of this, of course."

"Harry as well," Ginny pinched her nose. "He laughs at the craziness every time. His standards for what constitutes as normal is right mad. Oh, a hinkypuff followed Jamie home? That's practically ordinary! Oh, a grindylow too? Better put it in the upstairs bathroom! Sorry, it's a she? My mistake."

"I think that's the problem with Teddy. Having little sense of normalcy, I mean," Andromeda commiserated. "Being around people who laugh at his mischief makes an impression. Opposite of my upbringing, I dare say! Though, he has gotten better lately. I think Harry sat him down to explain the difference between a good-hearted joke and one that can have consequences."

"Good on him," Angelina admitted, her annoyance at Harry still prickling. Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it, visibly deciding that now was a bad time to ask. "George's been talking about doing the same thing. He doesn't want the twins picking up bad habits from his stories of 'old capers'."

Andromeda nodded miserably. "Exactly. Though Circe knows how I'm supposed to tell Teddy about his parents without mentioning my daughter's love of leaping into the fray, or the sheer calamity that the Marauders left in their wake!"

"Don't even get me started on Harry," Ginny grumbled good-naturedly. "He seems oblivious to it, too! All thanks to his insane life. I'm close to pulling Jamie out of the room whenever he, Ron, and Hermione get to talking about old times. If I catch Jamie making up another plan to break into Gringotts, 'just like his daddy'…"

"Or a plan to fly a car to Hogwarts." Angelina gave a deep sigh, rubbing her forehead. "Roxie already has plans to enchant a kayak in her first year. A kayak!"

"It's a dragon for Jamie," Ginny said, feeling her pain. "Like that's a surprise! I blame Charlie for that one."

"Teddy's set on a motorcycle." Andromeda frowned to herself. "Though that might be my fault. One too many stories of his father's and Sirius Black's escapades, I believe."

"To them turning eleven, flying the coop, and raising hell at Hogwarts." Angelina raised her glass in a toast. With a chuckle, the other women followed suit.

On the other side of the table, the conversation was more fiery:

"—one little exception," Charlie was all but pleading, with George nodding eagerly over his shoulder. Both were eating lasagna on autopilot, gazes directed at their resolute brother-in-law. "A tiny one, I swear!"

Harry was looking around for anyway to escape the conversation. "For the last time: you aren't smuggling a dragon egg through Heathrow. Stop making me repeat that."

"Bringing," Charlie corrected. "Bringing a dragon egg through Heathrow."

"Nope! Not happening. Or, if you're dim enough to try it, I'm not aiding and abetting." Harry paused, considering his words. "Least not for a good reason—which you don't have!"

"You're overthinking this," Charlie pressed. "International dragon transportation isn't a big deal. You even did it when you were eleven! This time, I could have a legitimate permit."

Harry gave a long sigh. "If there even are permits, I'm not the one who gives them out. Also, really? You're bringing up Norberta? Though, on that note, I've always meant to ask. What sort of mad friends do you have that they'd fly to Scotland in the dead of night and take a baby dragon from a few kids?"

"The most awesome sort of friends," Charlie replied smugly. "You're still welcome for that, by the way. Also, you're you. You can write a permit for anything, don't bloody well deny it."

"No dragon smuggling!"

"One little egg! It's only an Iron Belly—"

"Hermione!"

"Not now, Harry," Hermione waved off before returning to her own conversation. "I agree, I do. But I can see why people would be less…enamoured with pies these days."

"Pish posh," Molly huffed, neatly cutting the pasta and pesto. "That's no excuse for the harsh judging! Docking points from my blueberry pie because it 'reminds them of the Sweeney kidnappings' is ridiculous. Making a mockery of the horrid crimes, as well as of the baking competition! 'This is the year for cakes,' they had the nerve to tell me. Only after the fact, too!"

"Which is nonsense," Hermione nodded along, but her mother-in-law was already continuing.

"If it was a meat pie or pasty, yes, I could perhaps see the point. But it was blueberry! Not a speck of meat in the thing. Did they think it tasted like that? Arthur, did it taste like anything other than fruit and pastry?"

"Of course not, dear," he replied, not turning from his chat with Percy about the mechanics of the London Tube and the possibilities of adding trampolines to cut down on waiting times.

Meanwhile, Bill, Fleur, and Audrey were lambasting politics.

"Good riddance, I say," Audrey spun about a spoonful of mashed potato, narrowly missing her husband with an enthusiastic wave. "I feel bad for Fudge, course. Though it couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke! Makes the voting choice easier, but I don't see why we can't get a decent batch of politicians."

Fleur's fork paused at her mouth. "Ze best people to lead are zey ooo do not seek it." She took a bite, smiling at the warm lasagna.

"Awful, that. All corrupt or power-hungry." Bill frowned. "Don't know what's wrong with Kingsley these days. He was brilliant for years."

"Political pressure, dear. The country is twitchy with ze sprees. In theory, it was smart to focus on ze end of ze war's anniversary. He only overdid it a touch."

"Meaning he turned it into a debacle," Audrey pointed out. "Great way to alienate all the war heroes at once! Right brilliant idea."

"Oh, not all of them. The pissed off ones are just more vocal," Bill sniggered, sending a pointed glance at Harry—who was still arguing over Charlie's and George's pleas to give a dragon asylum. "I blame that bloke, what's his name, Reginald Ripley. Planner of the memorials, you know? Kept adding more and more things to it before, Bam! It was all over the papers and Kingsley couldn't take any of it back."

"Doesn't mean I want to vote for him," Audrey said. "One candidate. All I'm asking for is one candidate who can't be bought by the highest bidder."

"Or another flip-flopping and corrupt Fudge." Was Fleur's addition. "It's a matter of time before ze pop out from the wings."

"Fair enough. Like you said, all the good blokes wouldn't want the job." Bill paused, brightened, and twisted to holler down the table. "OI, HARRY! FANCY RUNNING FOR MINISTER?"

"NOT ON YOUR LIFE!" Harry didn't miss a beat before turning back to George. "For the last time: if you're going to sneak in dragon scales, don't bloody well tell me! Plausible deniability, ever heard of it?"

Molly frowned at their conversation, overhearing in the short silence about Bill's and Harry's shouts. Her voice became dangerous. "What sort of scales?"

"Not scales, don't worry mum," Charlie waved off over George's continuing protest to Harry's stubbornness. "Just a small dragon asylum—"

"I'm not giving you a permit!"

"There's that, then." Bill had dimmed at Harry's negative answer to entering politics. He considered for another moment. "HERMIONE?"

"DON'T EVEN ASK!" Was the witch's quick reply, before she too caught up to the ensuing argument. "What's this about dragons? HARRY, IF YOU'RE SMUGGLING A DRAGON INTO THE COUNTRY—"

"COURSE I'M NOT!"

"—WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE, I'M NOT BREAKING YOU OUT OF GAOL!"

Harry opened his mouth to shout back, before processing Hermione's exact words. "…what now?"

Ron guffawed, having been happy to stay out of the conversations and play patty cake with Rosie in her high chair. "Like you're surprised."

"Alrighty then," Audrey mused as the rest of the table erupted into madness. "Though it's a shame. It'd be hilarious to see their campaign."

Ron couldn't help but agree, now properly watching as Harry and Hermione dissolved into a loud argument about their past dragon escapades and prison/bank break-ins. Both missed the dangerously scarlet tinge on Molly's cheeks at the sheer length of the list, though it wasn't long before she leapt into the fray. This—alongside Charlie's protests of their 'mistreatment' of the Gringotts' dragon, Percy's faint shock, and George's and Ginny's mutters that they missed out on all the fun—meant it was some time before things quieted down enough for dessert.

Though, Ron found himself wishing that the explosive argument had continued even longer. Because in the chaos he missed that Angelina (usually the one most likely to jump across the table to strangle her opponent) had fallen silent. Even more worryingly? As the pudding was demolished and arguments continued to be shouted through full mouth, she paid far more attention to sneaking glances at Ron then to her dessert.

The moment a wand was whisking the bowls away, she'd pushed her chair back and raced towards Ron, her sudden movement startling the rest of the family (even though Arthur was struggling to keep his wife back from tying up Charlie and George and locking them in a safe, impenetrable room for an undisclosed length of time).

"Need to steal Ron," Angelina said, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling the startled man up and away while she did so, calling out behind her shoulder at the blinking family. "'bout Quidditch stuff and—whoosh, there we go."

"Oh-kay." Ron glanced from the slamming kitchen door to Angelina. He opened and closed his mouth, still processing that he'd just been dragged from the living room. "We're in here because…? No, wait. I don't give out permits for travelling dragons, nor does Harry. I haven't the faintest what—"

"We haven't asked. I've been biting my lip and stomping on George's foot, because I'm well aware it's best to let you lot get on with business without us nagging you," Angelina kept a steady gaze on him, ignoring his confusion. "But I can't stand it anymore! It's been months and Lottie's a friend. I'm so worried about her and," her quick breath slowed, "please. Please Ron, can you tell me anything about her case? Something real? Something substantial?"

Ron stared at her, again thrown completely off-balanced. Though, if he was honest with himself, he was actually surprised she or George hadn't cracked long before this and demanded to know everything about the case. Merlin knew it wouldn't be the first time friends or family had questioned him about the missing people. As he thought over his answer, he realised that this must've been the tension between Harry and Angelina before dinner. Had she been asking him about the Sweeney kidnappings? It made sense: she knew she wouldn't get anything out of Hermione, while Harry was more willing to break the rules. In the face of both of them refusing she'd come to him: a Senior Auror who'd something of a maverick.

"This is going to sound like I'm blowing you off," Ron said slowly, not wanting to talk about this and not wanting to release any information, "but I really can't tell you much. Not because of some confidentiality thing! We just…most of what we're working off of is guesswork at best."

"Don't give me that," Angelina said, hand on the table and leaning towards him impatiently. "Don't gloss over this. No one's coming out and saying it, but cases are usually marked cold long before this! What's going on?"

"What's going on," Ron somewhat relented, "is that this is a spree. Normally, yeah, we'd have labelled Fawc—Lottie 'missing and presumed dead'. That's because when someone vanishes and there's no reasonable lead within about a month, there isn't much hope. Not that they're necessarily dead, mind you, but the alternatives aren't much better." He let out a low exhale. "But like I said, this is something different. The Sweenies are still taking people and the usual rules don't apply."

She stared at him for a long moment. Her words, when she answered, were soft and shaky. "You think Lottie's dead."

"What? That's not what I—"

"You think they're all dead," Angelina didn't stop. Or couldn't stop. "That we're never going to find them—"

"Angie!" Ron cut in, determined but still with a gentle tone. "I don't think they're all dead, okay? I think…I think the situation's bad, and I really don't want to give you false hope."

She nibbled her lip, eyes narrowing a touch. "You know something else. Something that hasn't been released to the public."

"Course I do, I'm leading the investigation," Ron tried to dismiss. But as she kept staring at him he partly relented. "There's, there's some evidence that Fa—that Lottie was hexed before she was taken. It might've, Merlin. I don't want to tell you exactly what, but she was given a potion or cursed with something that wasn't, err, pleasant."

Angelina gave him a long, stricken look. Her expression had paled, shaking hand still clenched onto the table. "What sort of thing was it? What happened to her?"

"I could only give you my guess, like I said. But you really don't want to know even the scarce details that have come up."

Angelina glared at him, her paleness turning a flush red. "Excuse me? You mean Lottie's in the hands of these criminals and was in pain. Tortured even! And I 'don't want to know what happened'? You have a lot of fucking nerve!"

"Angie, I—"

"Don't 'Angie' me! Fine, you're stuck, I get it. There's no clues and the Aurors can't do bloody well anything to find her. I don't like it, but I understand. But how dare you keep silent! Do you know how much I'd love to even have the closure of knowing she's truly gone? You've been so tight-lipped about this, then you honestly wonder why the press is panicking? It isn't master arithmancy, you daft git! So how about you get your head out of your arse and tell me something real!"

"Don't act like I don't care!" Anger and frustration pushed through Ron's words, the grim reality of the past months catching up with him. "I'm not trying to keep anything secret, except that it's an ongoing investigation. Know what that means? It means that releasing every detail to the papers or the families is a horrible idea! It could let the Sweenies know what we're up to, or it could raise the public into a hysteria! It isn't something I like to do. It's bad enough having to think of what the hell I'll tell their families when real leads do materialise. But I knew some of the victims as well! I cared about them! Parvati and—"

"Knew?"

"What?"

"You just said you 'knew' and 'cared' about them." Angelina's eyes widened and a quiver was in her voice. Her hand slackened, falling off the table. "Oh, oh god. You think they're all dead."

"Don't be stup—"

"You used the past tense!"

"It was just a word! I meant I knew them before the—"

"Past tense!" Angelina's hands were at her mouth, eyes watering. "No, no no no…"

"I don't think they're all dead," Ron said more calmly, kicking himself for upsetting Angelina and for letting his true feelings on the matter slip. "Please don't read into it."

"You think some of them are dead. Or all of them! It doesn't take an Auror to connect the dots!" She turned away, wiping her eyes as she stalked back to the dining room. As Ron heard her greet George's worried tone with a falsely bright voice, he felt about two inches tall. He wondered how much their shouts had echoed in the other room.

"Look around, look around
At how lucky we are to be alive right now!
You will make your mark,
Close your eyes and dream. We can go!
When the night gets dark, take a break!"
—Eliza and Angelica, Hamilton

A/N: Another huge thank you to cpalmer647 ( 647), Gracie Pearl, and sheltie26 (who helped edit this chapter); Just William, Maiden of the Heavens, and thefirstservant (who showed interest in betaing); and DarkPhoenix, Mists, and Gambitized (who gave me wonderful ideas for the story summary). You are all incredibly wonderful and I hope my ridiculous rudeness hasn't ruined this story for you.

Like I wrote at the top, the next chapter should be posted within 24 hours.