A/N: SALUT! Can we like, agree that each new update will come with an unwritten acknowledgement of: "I'm-not-dead-and-am-incredibly-sorry"? Because I am extremely sorry and am also very much alive. I'm just slow and filled with excuses that I shouldn't bore you with here. But I am humbled by all of the amazing people who have continued to read and/or review this story, and am absolutely thrilled it's still being enjoyed!

As it's been ages, here's a quick catch up. The Sweenies have been kidnapping people across magical Britain, including Harry Potter! Another group of criminals, the Rippers, are killing magical creatures. But Senior Auror Ron's on the case, along with his new Auror partners Orla and Euan. In addition: Ginny's pregnant, Hermione's pregnant, Minister Shacklebolt's on shaky ground, there's growing fear of a rising Dark Lord, and it's starting to feel like the world's falling apart at the seams. Now it's the Christmas season (Harry was taken at Halloween) and festivity along with babies should be in the air. If only it felt like the holidays.

Finally, Congratulations to MISTS for guessing the story's main twist! If anyone else has guesses jot it down in a message or comment, I'd absolutely love to read them. I also want to give a heartfelt thank you to sheltie26 and the others who have reached out to me with friendship and concern. I'm absolutely fine, I promise! I'm just a chronic procrastinator :)

Ron would say it smelled like chestnuts, except he didn't think chestnuts had a scent. Roasting chestnuts, though, smelled like thick toasty flames which were rich enough to taste from odour alone. He reckoned that was about right: the Christmas Market by the Thames smelled like a delicious open fire.

The park in front of the Tate had been transformed into a picturesque postcard. Miniature log cabins with fake snow atop housed vendors for all-things winter. Strung garlands and mistletoe intertwined the small village, while chocolate and cardamon made him think fondly of a dinner which now seemed too far off. Fairy lights hung everywhere. There were no proper fairies, but he was fond of the glittery muggle devices. He'd gotten some for his dad a few years back, which were now proudly strung up about his shed year-round. Though Ron wasn't looking at any of the lights. His eyes were on something more important.

"I'll have a dozen of each animal." Ron eyed the multicoloured elephants critically, squeezing one. "Extra of this guy." The salesperson stared. "I have a whole army of nieces and nephews."

The teenager shrugged at Ron's explanation and began packing up the toys. "The hols must be an affair at your place," the kid remarked without caring.

Ron full-heartedly agreed. "It's not so bad. There's only like 20-something people in the immediate family. Extended is worse but, well. One of my brothers thought he'd add Kwanzaa and Hanukkah to that mix, got the idea from my in-laws. We've all decided to forget that year ever existed." The teen stared, eyes wide. Ron swished a hand. "My brother likes fire, y'see. Took the 'enough oil to last eight days' seriously. He stored it with the New Year's fireworks and they all sort of…yep. He was unsure about Kwanzaa, so another brother of mine—brother-in-law, crazy bloke—decided they'd probably have fireworks too." He scratched his head. "I'm pretty sure they heard the blast over in Dublin. If not, they definitely heard my mum's shriek."

The teenager sent him another Look. The wizard could see the muggle firmly decide to Not Ask. Ron was reminded that his sense of normal was starkly different from the rest of the known world, and that he probably shouldn't talk about his pyro family in public.

Drumming his fingers against the wooden stall, he glanced around at the rest of the Christmas Market as he waited for the toys to be packed. While everyone else was buying duplicated presents in Diagon, he was getting unique gifts in muggle London. A genius, he was. So what if he'd mixed up a tenner with a pound at the judgmental chestnut stand? Currencies were tricky. But he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was nearly half-way done with x-mas shopping!

The salesperson had stopped packing to again eye him askance. The wizard wondered if the sheer victory had shown on his face. Or maybe the kid was now worried about concealed fireworks. "Gov, how're you carrying all this? Have a car around?"

"I'm good. I have a bag." Said bag was a fraction of the size needed for all the toys. Ron knew it, the sales assistant knew it. "Here's a, uh, a fifty. That enough?"

The boy took the note, watching wordlessly as Ron dropped animal after animal into the bag, making a show of stuffing them in. He silently handed back some pounds and a 50 pence as the wizard finished.

"Wicked." Ron flicked the oddly shaped coin up. He had a fondness for how it looked and wasn't sure why. He generally assumed his dad was at fault. "I always liked these coins."

"How, how did you…"

"Very squishable toys. Thanks mate." Ron turned from the puzzled kid, a happy note in his step as he strolled down with the bag swinging at his side. He felt brighter than he had in awhile—walking by the river, enjoying the clear blue skies and frosty air, with the ridiculous amount of shopping almost done.

Stalls bustled with people and yipping dogs as he passed, keeping a lookout for things he still had to get to. Exotic plants for Neville, peppermint-anything for Percy (the one exception to his brother's lack of a sweet tooth), pumpkin spice-anything for Angelina and Audrey, and a wild haggis for Seamus and Dean (at least one of them would have a laugh). He admitted that the last possible present needed some work, but he liked the principle of the thing.

Christmas carols filled the air from the AJ system. AP? Some acronym, at any rate. He'd ask Hermione later. It was playing 'Joy To The World', he knew that much, and maybe it was the verbose melody that added a spring to his step. It was hard to be depressed when surrounded by charred sausages and fragile glass snowflakes. There was a bloke sitting by the Thames, hands swathed in thick gloves, a typewriter in front of him. 'Poet For Hire', proclaimed the taped sign. Ron thought he'd mention it to Hermione; she loved that sort of thing.

"OOF, pardon!"

Ron registered the eeped apology before he knew someone had run into him. Stumbling and swinging back, he just caught his step as he steadied the old man from falling. "Whoa, hold on there. You alright?"

"Yes yes, thank you young man." The salt-and-pepper haired man straightened, giving Ron an appreciative smile. He pulled his hand from a pocket and patted down his suit. "Apologies, my mind and feet wandered!"

"It's fine, I stopped suddenly as well."

"Have yourself a good day. Oh and," the man gestured as he turned away, "your bag's open a smidge. Be careful with that."

Ron glanced down, seeing that the bag was indeed open. As none of his purchases seemed to have fallen out he shrugged and properly closed it.

Umbrellas were a frequent casualty in London. Perhaps the most frequent casualty…which was impressive, considering the city in question. The rain wasn't the problem, it was the accompanying wind that gushed and cracked all fabric and thin metal in sight.

Wizards were not strangers to this issue. A water-repelling charm existed, but that wasn't nearly as fun. So they carried umbrellas around as well which tended to have different magical 'enhancements'. Umbrellas resembling circus tents, ones that grew horns, and styles that switched colour willy-nilly were a few of the many offerings. Unfortunately, wizards tended to have more imagination than common sense. So indestructible charms were few and far in-between, and magical umbrellas crunched and broke in London's wind as often as their muggle counterparts.

"Oh my gosh, oh no, no no no!" Orla fought against her traitor umbrella escaping into the wind. Euan (recovered from his sickly bout, still slightly scaly) cackled at her…up until his colour-changing umbrella flung itself inside out and dragged the yelping man down the street.

Ron watched this with a raised eyebrow. He didn't have any umbrella. Hermione had long since grown tired of the Weasley antics of one-upping each other (either Charlie's fire-breathing umbrella or Harry's yodelling model had been the last straw). She'd gone from house to house, firmly (terrifyingly) insisting that water-resistant charms be put on all outer clothing which would extend over the person. As she didn't trust any of them, she'd also confiscated the ill-begotten creations for good measure. "For my peace of mind!", was her justification. There had been a few 'illegal' models since then, but Ron could be wise on occasion and chose his battles carefully.

So now, with a water-repellent charm neatly in place, he could enjoy his coworkers' frustration in comfort. He wondered if Hermione had added a warming charm too. He'd have to thank her.

"NO! Bad umbrella, BAD!"

As much as it saddened him, Ron knew it was time to rope in the situation. Two spells later and the umbrellas meekly returned to their relieved owners, rather worse for wear. "MINIONS! Aren't we investigating a disappearance?"

Euan looked sheepish as he stumbled back to his feet. Orla caught her breath, glaring at her umbrella rather than at Trafalgar Square around them. "Stupid umbrella, stupid rain…"

"Are you a witch or not, Quirke?" Ron said. "Now then. How did Sebastian Oliveby vanish in broad daylight from one of the most watched places on Earth?"

With muggle Britain filled-to-bursting with surveillance, and with Westminster as its crowning jewel, Trafalgar Square ought to be a fortress. Then again, so should the Wizengamot chambers.

"Ten CCTV cameras were pointed at the bloke." Ron gestured in the direction, striding over to where the victim had last been seen. He'd been gazing up at the lion. "But Poof!, gone. The four magical detectors also noticed squat. There were no spells done within this area, which is rare enough. So what are the possibilities?"

"Invisibility cloak?"

"The cameras were interfered with?"

"Trapdoor?"

"Or maybe the detec…trapdoor?" Orla turned to Euan with a huff. "You can't be serious."

"Into the sewers," Euan cottoned onto the idea with a grin. "There's a whole underground maze there. Maybe he was squirreled away into the Tube!"

"There's no trapdoor," said Orla. "No manhole cover in sight!"

Ron tuned their igniting argument out, glancing about from the position where Oliveby had last been captured on film. Had the muggle cameras been messed with? There was no delay or loop: everyone on the screen but Oliveby had continued about on their day. The magical detectors were more interesting. Trafalgar Square was popular with muggles and wizards alike. For there to be absolutely no magic in the area for an hour was unlikely.

No, that wasn't right. It wasn't just unlikely. The magical security on the museums hadn't so much as twitched! Art-loving witches and wizards liked the National Portrait Gallery as much as their muggle counterparts, but they had zero impulse control. Spells were used for every little thing. Yet for this one hour there'd been no conjuring, no hexing. Nobody walking by with so much as a water-repelling or warming charm. So the detectors had been messed with. Which meant there was something magical the Sweenies had wanted to hide.

Ron drew a hand around, imagining walking this pavement at a normal pace like Oliveby had been. The bloke had passed the Nelson Monument with no problem, had rounded the corner of the fountains, then disappeared. An invisibility cloak wouldn't have shown up on a magical detection scan. A disillusionment, on the other hand…

He strode closer to the fountain, feeling the water droplets flick off him. "Orla." The bickering fluttered off at the name. "Head back to Headquarters, will you? Look through the muggle CCTV."

"Look for what?"

"For any sign of wizards during that blank hour." Ron stared at the towering lion statue in the distance, forehead creasing. "Any spell, any charm, it doesn't matter. Especially look at the few minutes before and after Oliveby's disappearance. See if the water splashing out of the fountain gets blocked by something that it shouldn't be. I doubt it'd show up but, meh."

Euan made a triumphant noise. "You're thinking invisibility cloak?"

"Disillusionment charm." Ron rested his hands on the stone edge of the fountain, the rain and droplets sliding off and creating a small puddle around him. "On Oliveby and the wanker who snuck up on him. It was drizzling this morning too, wasn't it? Look for any gaps of the rain that shouldn't be there and follow the gap back. I want to see where this Sweeney came from."

Orla brightened at the lead, tugging at her umbrella as she set off. "Right so, boss! I'll give a shout if I find anything."

"Thanks." Her footsteps dimmed and the rain continued to pour down. Ron closed his eyes, knowing he was missing something. Something obvious. "Abercrombie, can you be sarcastic?"

"Err, what?"

He swiped at his mouth, frustration building in his chest. "An old partner of mine was a sarcastic tosser. I was thinking it'd help me concentrate."

"Oh." Euan sounded lost. The older wizard felt a beat of guilt and reopened his eyes.

"Don't worry about it." Ron cast around for something, anything else. "The magic detectors weren't working like they were supposed to. Could you check on that? They're in the National Portrait Gallery over there."

"Sounds good." He now seemed relieved. The older wizard faced him with a forced smile.

"Brilliant. Let me know if you need a hand."

As Euan walked off, umbrella somewhat cooperative, Ron let his smile slide off. He'd remembered why he hated having partners.

'You aren't giving them a chance.'

"Shaddup." Ron swiped at the thought, mumbling under his breath. "I'm being pleasant."

'You're being a hermit.'

"Lone wolf, thank you very much."

'Hah! Load of rubbish, that.'

Ron smiled tightly to himself, turning back to the fountain. It was grey today. The kind of grey where London blended together in one smooth tone: the clouds, the skyline, the water. A slightly lighter grey betrayed the sun's hiding place. The only thing breaking up the monotony was the people racing about, in black coats and black jeans and black umbrellas. They were like mourners. Mourners in a hurry.

'You're getting morbid,' a small voice looped in his mind.

"Shaddup."

"Take some time off. I'm honestly begging you."

"Why are you kneeling? You silly man, you aren't proposing. Get up."

"That's right, I'm grovelling. I will give you back rubs, foot rubs, belly rubs! Just go on maternity leave."

"I'm not a dog. Please stand up, this is getting embarrassing."

"I'm not standing until you agree. You're sick and stressed, which is awful for you and the baby!"

"I'm not an invalid!"

"No one's calling you that, don't be barmy. But I WILL KEEP SHOUTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE OFFICE—"

"Shut up!"

"—UNTIL MY WIFE'S SO MORTIFIED SHE AGREES TO MATERNITY LEAVE! HEAR THAT EVERYONE?"

"RON!"

"IN FACT, I'LL START SHOUTING INTIMATE DETAILS OF HOW THE BABY WAS MADE."

"RONALD!"

Ginny became more cheerful as her due date neared. She confided in her brother that she couldn't imagine Harry would ever miss the birth of their child. Since Ron didn't disagree, he shrugged.

Her resolve in this held up straight to the delivery room. Even then, she was sure her husband would make a dramatic entrance at the last minute. It was very much like him, after all. There was an odd silence in the waiting room, since the gathered Weasleys kept glancing out into the hallway, half expecting a wayward Wizarding Saviour to come hurdling through the doors.

The eleventh hour passed. Harry never bounded through St. Mungo's. He didn't hear Lily's first shrill cries.

Ginny put on a brave face. Not even a brave face, a delighted one. But whenever her children couldn't see, she'd glance around with a lost expression. Because though her hospital room was overflowing with family, she kept searching for someone.

"Fresh outta the oven!" Hagrid thumped down the plate of rock cakes. Neither Hagrid or his cooking had changed over the years. There were a few more laugh lines as well as questionable gravel in the cakes, but sinking into the huge armchair brought Ron straight back to earlier times. He even recognised the smell and he could almost close his eyes and hear his teenaged friends, Hermione admonishing him and Harry for discreetly tossing the hard desserts to the yipping Fang.

Hagrid patted Ron's shoulder, nearly making him buckle and bringing him out of his thoughts. "But that's not why yeh're here, now is it."

Ron straightened back up and felt sheepish, recalling how long it'd been since he'd visited. "It's been ages, mate. M'sorry about that. Work's been mental and…" he gave a sigh. "Insert whatever excuse you want here. Sorry."

Hagrid scoffed, taking a seat with a plop!, making it dent to the ground. There was a barking and Fang raced out from under the seat, staring in betrayal at his owner. "Never yeh mind that. The world's mad these days, of course yeh're buried under work." He smiled at him sadly. "Right proud of you and Hermione. A couple of misfits, but now! Huntin' down those Sweenies, leading the Ministry, and all with a baby on the way. Right proud, I am."

Ron felt another pit drop in his stomach. "I should've made more time."

"Yer here now. Eat up! Yeh're skin and bones these days, never woulda thought."

The wizard picked up a rock cake. Fang was lounging in a corner with his tongue rolled out: too far away to throw the dessert. He picked at the cake before setting it down in favour of tea. "Sure you aren't imitating my mum?"

"Molly's a smart one. Listen to her." Hagrid waggled a rock cake at him before biting into it. "How's yer family? Hermione, little Rosie?"

"They're fine. All good." He'd thought about bringing Rose along. She'd have been thrilled to visit her 'Unca Rubeus' and jump from each enormous pumpkin in the garden to the next. But with a trip to Hogwarts she'd have insisted on seeing all of her other 'Aunties and Uncas'. Seeing Hagrid was one thing. Awkward small talk with Neville, McGonagall's concerned gaze, or any confrontation with the students was another. He drank his tea. "You should come over soon, they'd all love to see you. Rose nearly adopted Fang last time! You're welcome anytime, you know that."

"Course, course." Hagrid had finished off the cake and was looking at Ron perceptively. "How're yeh doing?"

"I'm fine."

Hagrid scoffed. "Sure. How're yeh doing?"

He swallowed, taking another sip of tea. "I'm dealing."

Hagrid nodded. "Best any of us can do. I'm guessin' there's no news on Harry?"

Ron set down his glass, collecting his breath and switching gears. "I wanted to ask you about something else." He slid over the question, answering and not-answering it. "You know Hermione's due date is nearing?"

A different worry slid over Hagrid's face. "They're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah she and the baby are fine." Ron's voice was close to sounding like normal. He put on a grin. "We're keeping the gender a surprise but we've come up with a name for whichever way. That's why I'm here. If he's a boy, we want to name him Hugo Rubeus Weasley."

Hagrid grinned right back. "S'a nice name. What'll it be for a…for a…" he trailed off as his brow crunched. "Say that again?"

"Hugo Rubeus," a true smile appeared as Ron talked about his child. "Only with your blessing, obviously. But you mean the world to Hermione and me, and we wanted to honour—OOF!"

The wizard was nearly pulled off the armchair from Hagrid's hug. He hadn't even seen the half-giant leap from his seat, but he certainly noticed his ribs cracking. "RON!"

"Bit lighter there? Please?" Ron wheezed out, patting Hagrid's shoulder as he was all-but spun around. "So I'm guessing the name's okay with you. Unless you're trying to strangle me…"

"A LITTLE BABY! RON!"

"…oh boy."

"You dragged me away from an ultrasound." Ron entered the warehouse, miffed and trodding to one of his—assistants? Partners? To Euan, at any rate. "Not 'you' you. But Bones isn't here and I don't want to hunt down McLaggen, so you're the unlucky sod who has to deal with my mood. Where's Quirke? She ought to share in your misery."

Euan was standing between two large containers on concrete littered with dirt. "She's back working on the magical detector thing. We hit a dead end. But then we got this case, which is all about—"

"I read the file, no worries." Ron stepped forward, gesturing for Euan to follow. "A break-in with thirty statues smashed up at this warehouse."

"Thirty-two, sir. All identical."

"Which only got brought to the Aurors because there was a different break-in and one statue was smashed, but this was already in a private residence." Ron frowned. "They also bashed the bloke's head in who was unlucky enough to be the owner."

"Peter Twimbley's the victim," Euan voiced up. "Motivations are being run and…sir? You do know the crime scene is at Twimbley's house. Why're we here?"

"To catch the murderer." Ron turned around to face his partner. "This seem familiar to you?"

"Should it?"

"Not a Conan Doyle fan, I'm guessing." A blank stare. "Sherlock Holmes' writer? I'm not a big reader, but I have a soft spot for short stories. Blame my incredibly stubborn and bookwormy wife." He strode forward. "Foreman's office looks like it's this way."

"Sherlock Holmes?" "That's why I took a while to get here, I had to see if any newly released criminals were violent thieves. Azkaban had one that fit the bill: Rudolf Oval. He was sent in for allegedly stealing a Crown Jewel—plus three necklaces and two tiaras. They never found the things." Ron gestured about. "Oval worked here as a mason worker before he got locked up. I'm guessing he's also a huge narcissist. So I asked to meet here rather than at Twimbley's."

"I'm not getting it."

"Oval might be narcissistic enough to think no one'd notice he was reinventing a classic, fictional crime. Savvy? He wasn't expecting his partner to rat him out, though. So instead of laying low for a few months before grabbing the jewels, he lost track of them while in Azkaban." Ron rolled his eyes. "We ought to thank the Sweenies for the lead. My mind wouldn't have been on fictional crimes if not for those songs going through my head. 'Piece of Priest', gah. If Dmitri sings that one more time I'm hanging garlic cloves around his office."

Euan opened his mouth before closing it. "I'm not going to understand this, am I."

"And THIS," Ron emphasised, "is where it helps to be a bookworm!" He paused. "Or be married to one. Here's the gist. Oval hid the jewels in one of the statues he was making. He got sent away, the statues got shipped off, he lost track of where the jewelry was hidden, and now we've got to find the right statue before that bugger kills someone else. So we need the list of everyone who bought one."

There was a small silence as they approached the door.

"Sir?" Euan tried after a few moments. "I can't tell if you're good at your job, brilliant at bsing, or unbelievably lucky."

"All three, Abercrombie! How d'you think we won the war?" Ron gave a rueful smile. "Sheer dumb luck and genius in bales. We were also plucky. Very plucky."

"Right, sir."

The main thing Ron noticed about his new niece was how tiny she was, even by baby standards. In Lily's defence, he didn't think she looked as odd and lumpy as most newborns. Hermione and his mum kept cooing over her being a mini-Ginny, but he couldn't see it. Sure, she had a tuft of red hair. But he didn't get how anyone could, yet, spot a resemblance to either parent.

Still, Lily was cute. She was a wiggly, tiny shrimp of a person, but she didn't cry when she was passed to Ron. She even stopped squirming and moved into her Uncle's gentle hold.

"Do you play chess?"

Euan and Orla stopped stock-still when they entered Ron's office with piles of folders. The older wizard was there, a chess board open in front of him. The pieces were eyeing them suspiciously.

"Chess," he repeated with a glimmer, waving at the two seats opposite him. They plopped down the folders before sitting, all three knowing there wasn't much (if any) new information of note. "What'd you say?"

"I haven't played in years," Orla said, bewildered.

Euan was even more confused. "Err, sure. But team chess?"

"You both remember the rules?" They nodded and he held his hands in front of him, clenched into fists. "That's all that matters. Pick one."

After exchanging a glance Orla tapped a hand, revealing a white pawn.

"Ya see," Ron set the pawns down as they hesitantly surveyed the board, "chess is brilliant. The game's constantly changing, you can go down near infinite paths, and each one of those can screw you. Overthink, you lose. Underthink, you lose. Make one too many red herrings? You trip yourself up and lose. You know all these fancy tricks and titles of gambits? LOSE!"

"There a way to win?" Euan scratched his head. "I'm being serious here. I don't know chess."

"Yes Abercrombie, you can also win. Thanks for bringing that up." Ron pointed a pawn at him. "This is a game about fitting in luck and instincts with your strategy, before flinging your arms up and praying for the best. It's brilliant!"

"…it's also not a team game." Orla was decisively out of place.

"Au contraire," Ron waggled a finger, replacing the fidgeting pawn on the board. "I'm adding in another variable. A handicap on you lot, if you want to call it that. It makes things interesting."

"A handicap? I don't know chess!"

"You'll learn, shush. It's only a handicap. A jump into the deep end." Ron waved off. "I'm also giving you two twice the thinking power against me. Invaluable, that. And while we're playing us three are going to solve the Sweeney spree."

The other two paled.

"I really don't think…"

"I'm not sure I know what that piece does—" their words stumbled into each other.

"The Sweenies!" Ron hollered over them. "You move first, no pressure. Why the three new victims?"

They gave each other another bewildered look. Orla smudged a centre pawn forward two spaces. "They're having a laugh?"

"A laugh at us?" He mirrored their move. "How so?"

"Because of the ties to Hea—Mr. Potter."

"Which are?"

The two were still sticking to moving their pawns, as Orla had patted Euan's hand away when he tried to coast their queen out into the centre. "Tremaine knew him directly. All three of them work with charities and disadvantaged kids, like orphans."

"So what?" Ron took the time to castle, his knights prominent on the board. "There's plenty of orphans. No reason that's a connection to Harry."

Euan shifted. "There's not many 'symbols of the light' who were orphans turned philantropists—"

SLAM!

"Whoever it is," Ron didn't look up from the board as the door slammed open, "we're playing chess. It can wait."

"Excuse me?" came a strained, icy tone. Ron jerked about, properly looking up.

"Heh, sorry Hermione." He tried to read her odd expression. "But this isn't a great time. What's up?"

"Because of CHESS?" Hermione had an arm wrapped around her chest, expression growing more furious by the moment. Euan and Orla shifted away to be out of the line of fire. "This 'isn't a good time' because of BLOODY CHESS? MY WATER BROKE! I'M HAVING OUR CHILD! I'M NOT WAITING!"

There was a beat of silence before everyone panicked. Ron was mildly glad he wasn't the one who shrieked in utter terror (that was Euan, when it looked like Hermione would hex him). Though as he rushed to hospital (thinking of Hermione cursing at his side, thinking of the baby bag he'd quickly grabbed up, thinking of the family he ought to be calling, thinking of when to collect Rosie, thinking of baby names, thinking of the baby, thinking of how Holy Merlin they were having another baby) him outright panicking was a close thing.

After it all, there was a lull.

After Hermione had turned the tutting receptionist into a duck, after she nearly followed through with the Healers, after she'd been 'mildly' sedated, after he'd called up all the family (after he'd called up his mum and mum-in-law and let those two scream the news from the rooftop—Jane Granger just screamed it in his ear in person, as the Grangers had instantly taken the emergency portkey), after he'd instructed the babysitter to bring Rose to St. Mungo's, after the contractions were really going, after Hagrid raced in with a roar (only to steal Rose from Ron for a good half an hour of cooing), after all of the jam-packed family had appeared and were properly going nuts, after George had set off a celebratory firework in the waiting room, after more than a few memory charms and notice-me-nots were required to keep them from being kicked out, after the sedation wore off and Hermione properly went insane, after Jane convinced her daughter that turning Healers into animals was a horrible idea, after another sedation (much to everyone's relief), and after his dad had reminded a panicky Ron that—yes, being a father really was worth it.

After the birth, after the cooing, after Hugo was passed around to everyone, after Hermione was more awake than groggy, and after everyone had slowly filtered out as it became the early morning. After That, it was fairly silent.

The hospital room was a sanitary white that Ron had never previously liked, but now was fairly fond of. Hermione had swept her hair into a ponytail and was fighting back yawns. Rose was snoring. All four of them were squished in the bed and it was pretty much perfect.

Ron and Hermione were arguing, naturally. Bickering, as they always did. Because though Ron of course loved his wife, she'd been holding Hugo for nine months straight. He should damn well get a turn.

"I 'held him'?" Hermione was curled up against him, Rose curled up next to/on top of her. "I was pregnant, he was squashing my internal organs! I'd rather like a chance to comfortably hold our son in my arms."

"My turn!" Ron snuggled Hugo to him, speaking into his small chest. A tiny, adorable chest, and sweet Circe did he love babies. Especially handsome little potatoes of babies, which his son absolutely was. Singular potato, that is. Hugo was drooling and it was one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. "He's all squishy."

"Don't squish the baby."

"Wouldn't dream of it. But have you felt his belly? His cutey wittle tummy, and Hermione! Hermione, look! He laughs when I tickle his belly."

"He can't laugh yet, dear." Hermione turned so she was using Ron's shoulder as a pillow.

"Of course he can laugh! Weasley genes."

"You can't use that as an answer to everything."

"Who's my perfect little baby? Yes!" Ron cooed over his drooling son. "The most adorable baby in the whole world, you are. Tied with Rosie, obviously, but you're still squishy."

Hermione rubbed at a headache. "It's wonderful that you're bonding. But, in case you've forgotten, Hugo does have a mum. Who's nearly asleep."

"The most handsome potato of a baby!"

She stared at the two before pulling the slumbering Rose closer with a yawn. "Wake me when I can hold my newborn, hmm? No squishing the baby."

Ron was still talking to Hugo as Hermione closed her eyes. "Like I'd squish you. …okay, maybe a little. Don't tell your mum, 'kay mate? Ooo, you're smiling at me. That's a smile!"

"It's gas," Hermione mumbled sleepily, leaning into a snoring Rose who was muttering about 'ca'chin' bu'erflies'.

"Definitely a smile. A proper grin…yes! He's laughing again!"

Things moved forward, except for one place where the clock had stopped.

It was musky, a cavern-like tomb dug out of no one knew where. In this place of Who Knows Where, there were two Who Knows Who, and many What Are They.

Yet, in the midst of it all, a child was growing up.

The area didn't look like a ten year old's bedroom. It didn't resemble a bedroom at all, apart from the lumpy bed that the young girl was laying in. Her blonde hair was splayed over the pillows and she swatted at the birds that drifted around her. They weren't 'birds' in the traditional sense: origami creations or tightly-bound fluttering feathers coursed through the air, ranging from miniature cranes to long, flapping hippogriff tail feathers. The drifting was aimless but she liked it, smiling at her circling creations and sparking any dimming ones with a small crinkle of magic. She was cute when she smiled: dimples appeared and it was easier to ignore how the clothes clung to her. A colourful peacock feather was woven into her hair.

The birds were the only things decorating the bare room, with no window for light and a steel-barred door with five magical locks. She sat up as these locks twisted, biting her lip as a horde of curious birds soared at the door as it opened. They flew around a wizard as he entered; flapping past salt and pepper hair, ringing about his crinkled mouth, cradling the unnecessary cane as it was placed against the wall. He petted a sparkly pink crane, before crushing its wings and tossing the shaking thing into a corner.

The young girl quickly whistled, causing most of the careening objects to return to her: resting in her hair or tickling the blankets. She coughed, smoothing the back of penguin feathers as her gaze cast downward. "Sorry, sir."

"Not to worry." The old man waltzed into the bedroom and sat on the quilt covering the girl, patting her knee amiably as he had done the crane. She squirmed. "I've been attacked by far worse."

A flush rose in her cheeks, words quickening. "I've been practising, I swear! These, they're a hobby in my free time. They aren't impacting my lessons!"

"Hush, child. Hush. You aren't in trouble. On the contrary," the man pulled out a stuffed animal from an inner pocket (far larger on the inside), handing it to the startled girl, "I believe a certain little miss deserves a reward for her hard work. Merry early Christmas, my dear."

It was the first time since he'd entered that she truly resembled a ten year old. Her shoulders relaxed as she hugged the gold and black toy elephant to her chest. "Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas."

He smiled pleasantly. "A nice toy, isn't it? I got it from a market next to the Thames."

Her brow clenched, worry marring her happiness. "London? That's dangerous!"

"Quite. But necessary." He patted her knee once again, though harder, making her flinch and tug the elephant closer. The hippogriff feathers on her head fluttered before settling back in place. "You don't think I have my lessers doing all the leg work, do you? I can still walk. I am not yet an invalid."

Head was ducked further down, blonde strands veiling her features. "Of course, sorry."

"Sit up straight when I'm talking to you."

"I'm sorry, sir." Spine was straightened. She didn't meet his eyes. A creep of amusement spread over his face.

"Better. Now, rather than lecturing me about dangers, don't you have a more pertinent question?"

A flush remained on her cheeks. "Why were you in London?"

"To get you a stuffed elephant, clearly." He leaned forward, resting his hands and pressing roughly on her knees. "Stupidity doesn't become you, little miss. Think before you speak. Why do you think I was in London?"

"To recreate your success." He frowned at this memorised, go-to answer. She licked her lips, taking her time before forming new words. "To understand the enemy?"

He leaned back, releasing the pressure on her knees as he observed her. "So your brain has come out of hiding. It's time to earn that toy. The British Minister of Magic is…?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," she said at once, the blush decreasing as her speech took on a thoroughly memorised air (sounding twice her age). "He fought against the Dark Lord in both wars and was instrumental in the aftermath's hideous reforms. Blood traitor. With a chip on his shoulder, he's a wild card as likely to act like an Auror as a politician. He's ambitious but has morals and cannot be bought."

"Weaknesses?"

"A sister, niece, and nephew in Jamaica."

"Hermione Granger," was the man's next drawl, eyeing her sharply. "Skip the details: give me the pertinent weaknesses."

"Her parents, child, and husband." The girl stalled. The wizard was still staring at her, waiting for more. "Her in-laws too, the whole Weasley family." A continuing stare. "Her friends? Potter's gone, so I, I don't…"

The man sat back with a disappointed air. "You must learn creativity, little miss. These people know that they and their loved ones are targets! They're expecting to be attacked and know how to face grief and loss. Those clear weaknesses are not what I'm interested in." He tapped a finger against the blanket, amusement returning. "Take Minister Shacklebolt. Yes, we could kill his family. But he has plans in place to make that difficult. We are searching, my dear, for the weaknesses THAT AREN'T BLATANTLY OBVIOUS!"

She flinched away at his raised voice, hair falling back over her face.

"SIT UP!"

"Sorry sir."

"Now then," he settled down, a gentle smile weaving into existence. The girl shook, "his weaknesses. What is the worst that could be done to a man who lives and dies by his reputation, who is careful to leave no doubt as to his glistening ethics? We threaten Shacklebolt's legacy. He can't counteract rumours whispered throughout the populace. It's dreadfully hard to shake off the stink of being a Grindelwald supporter—especially as the man did once dabble in those theories before discarding them as morally reprehensible. The truth, little miss." He drew out the words as though lingering on a delightful taste. "The truth stretched to a thin wire is a most powerful thing. Minister Shacklebolt fears having all that he's worked for disapparate, for the history books to be rewritten with him on the wrong side." He drew silent for a moment. "Tell me Hermione Granger's weaknesses."

The girl took a deep breath, eyes closing. "She needs to be right. If everyone thinks she's a liar and all her past stuff is questioned? She'd be turned upside down and it'd be all wibbly-wobbly!"

"Hermione Granger's weaknesses."

She gave a small meep, paling at having given the wrong answer. It was a few seconds before she opened her mouth. "Granger hates not knowing. Yeah! She needs to know everything, doesn't she? That's why Potter can't ever be found. It'd kill her to never know what's happened to him."

He patted her knee again. "Now that wasn't so difficult. Why was I in London?"

"You were following Granger!" She was positive of this, the questioning making sense. The old man didn't twitch. "Shacklebolt?"

"Why would I bother? I already know how to break them both." His grip only strengthened. She bit her lip, fighting back a hurt noise. "Think of the major players. I was indeed following one of them. He was buying gifts for his child and relatives. I thought it a splendid idea, hence your silly toy. Who was it?"

Tears formed in her eyes, his hand gripping her skin and squeezing muscle and bone. "I, I don't—Susan Bones!" but she rapidly backtracked. "No, stupid, sorry. She doesn't have kids and you said 'he'. It, it," her gaze brightened with relief, connecting the dots, "Ronald Weasley?"

The pressure released. His hand unclenched, patting the now bruised knee. "Very good. Why?"

"I don't—he isn't important." She scrambled for an answer, holding back a sob. "Only good as leverage. He's only known as Potter's friend! I guess some Aurors sorta like him, but Bones hates him."

A small silence formed as he inspected her. "Look at the whole forest. What are we after?"

She knew this, the words having been rammed into her head since Halloween: "To recreate your success."

"Who is trying to stop us?"

"The British government. The narrow-minded populace who don't yet understand."

"How will we overcome these obstacles?"

"We take whoever—Weasley?" the pieces connected, leaving her stunned. "Why'd you want to take him? He's dumb! Selfish, too, nothing like Potter. He won't recreate your success."

The wizard gave a laugh, looking at her like a shark does a tuna. "Oh child. My idiotic, naive child. Back to thinking everything can be solved by ripping off some heads. No, I won't touch Senior Auror Weasley. You don't give him enough credit: he has quite the following among the Aurors. He's a very popular, charismatic man."

"He's stupid!"

"So what do we do with fools?" he responded. "We follow them, make sure they truly are fools, and design our plans thusly. Earn your elephant. Why is Ronald Weasley interesting?"

She clutched the toy and blanket to her, gaze downcast and ready for punishment. "I don't know sir."

He moved forward and grabbed her chin, jerking her up in a harsh clench. "Where do we want fools?"

"I, I don't know."

"WHERE?"

"I don't know!"

His grip tightened, a sneer crossing his lips. "Not earning your keep, I see."

"I'm sorry!"

"We want fools to be in charge, stupid girl." He released her as she gasped back a cry. "You don't interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake, you encourage it!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

His wand whipped out, to point at the shaking girl now hunched over her knees. With a single word the elephant burst into flames, littering her shivering hands with curled black ashes. He eyed her, disappointment stretched across his features. "Your mother is rolling in her grave, to have such a pathetic excuse for a daughter."

The girl hugged her knees tighter, blonde hair and hot tears falling. Taking a small item from his coat pocket he enlarged it to its proper size. With a swish and flick, a ghastly skull was levitated right in front of her. When she turned her bleary gaze up she shrieked at the sight. "I have a different toy. Yorick will follow you, bouncing and tumbling night and day. Let it be a lesson as to what happens to idiot, weak children who disappoint their betters! Merry Christmas, little miss."

He stood, scoffing at her soft crying. Another spell and the human skull was snapping at her nose, causing another scream as she and the blankets tumbled off the bed. The horde of birds fluttered around her, not knowing what to do.

"Nothing like Bella," Rodolphus Lestrange muttered, leaving the bedroom. Delphi sobbed and protected her head from the relentlessly attacking skull.

"Rudolf Oval was caught in the raid!" said the cheerful dolphin Patronus. When it had appeared Ron had panicked, but Orla's voice had remained soft enough to not disturb his resting son. "He's now in a Ministry holding cell awaiting trial. We're still hunting down the remaining statues for the jewels." Her tone now gained a note of hesitance. "We couldn't figure out the magic detectors in Trafalgar. They were definitely interfered with, but it could have been any number of spells. I'm sorry. But don't focus on that! I hope you're having a wonderful time with your family. Congratulations to you and the Director! All of us in the office are thrilled and wish you the best."

The Patronus swished away after pawing Ron's hand, taking the light in the room with it. The wizard sat by the nursery window, not noticing the dusty moon. He hummed, looking back down at his son. The baby was swaddled in a blanket, Hermione was getting some much needed rest in the other room, and Ron was sick and tired of having 'deep thoughts'. What happened to being able to easily laugh?

"I have a brother." Ron spoke as Hugo sucked from a bottle, both drink and babe held securely in his arms. He wasn't sure what he was saying. "I have a lot of brothers, but one's the best of the lot. When you meet Harry you'll love him. He has a nasty habit of being the favourite uncle to all the kids: spoils them all rotten." He adjusted the bottle when the small boy began to fuss. Hugo settled back down. Maybe he was missing the dolphin. "Your Uncle Harry said this thing a few times that I never got. But then your sister was born and, wow. It turns out he wasn't as stupid as I'd thought."

He gazed down at the pudgy face and sleepy blinks, knowing he could stare forever. Chocolate brown eyes, freckles near invisible on his cocoa skin, and a sprinkling of hair that could be any colour. He kissed his son's forehead. "Harry said that we were doing it for our kids. That winning the war wasn't for us, it was for the children. For Rosie, for you." The wizard took a deep breath as he almost-but-not-quite saw a jagged scar on his son's smooth skin. He blinked, phantom image receding. "When you grow older you'll learn about what I did. I hope you'll understand why I did it. But I was a teenager, Hugo. None of us should have been in that war."

Ron held him even closer as the baby stopped drinking and drifted off. Voice turned into a murmur. "Nothing will touch you, I won't let it. You'll never, ever have to fight."

"See?" Harry whispered.
"I can't see anything."
"Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them. . . ."
"I can only see you."
"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."
—Harry and Ron in front of the Mirror of Erised, "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone"

A/N: FURTHER "CURSED CHILD" SPOILERS! Yep, Rodolphus Lestrange is behind the disappearances. I'm diverging from Cursed Child canon as I'm having him rather than the Rowles raise Bellatrix's daughter. In fact, all of the differences in this fanfic can be pinpointed to the divergence that Rodolphus Lestrange was never captured post-Final Battle: Ron never left the Aurors (or Harry's side) because there was still a major Death Eater at large, a huge crime wave set in due to Lestrange, and Delphi wasn't sent to the Rowles because her 'stepdad' could raise her. I should mention that I don't buy that Delphi's Voldemort's kid. This and Delphi's lack of interest in time-travel will eventually be explained.

The question you should be asking: which success is Lestrange bent on recreating?

ALSO, I am a horrible person who always reads reviews and PMs (THANK YOU!) but waits to respond to them until I'm about ready to post the next chapter. This time the wait between updates was particularly atrocious, so I'll be replying to everyone here rather than on private messages like usual:

Mists: CONGRATULATIONS! I don't want to say too much here, but you're the first person who's written to me who's figured out the mystery! Ron definitely has to connect a few of the dots. As for Harry…well, you can see why I've been hesitant saying whether he's dead or not. After all, there are far worst things than death. By the by, I'd like to give you some sort of prize for having figured it out, but I'm a bit at a loss! Let me know if you have any ideas :D

Dr. Poltergeist: Thank you sososo much! I'm thrilled you enjoyed so many of my stories. As for what chapter I'll bring back Harry in? Well, it unfortunately depends on if he's still breathing or not. I at least do promise that his fate will be revealed whichever way.

hillstar: It's always great to meet more "Cursed Child" fans! There are dozens of us, dozens! If you ever want to chat about it, you're always welcome. Whichever way, a bunch of those plot elements will definitely be entering my fics.

Cukeygirl: Haha, I couldn't resist the jab at 'alternative facts'! It seems like a lot of people liked this. I also miss Harry, I swear. He's one of my favorite characters. Unfortunately, I'm one of those awful writers who likes to 'murder thy darlings'. So…yeah, he's missed Lily's birth :(

notsing: Thank you once again! I love Luna and wish I'd put her in this fic more. I totally understand your view on "Cursed Child", no worries! The script is certainly flawed, I wouldn't argue otherwise. And I COMPLETELY agree with you on Ron: he's my favourite character, and this play butchered both him and the other Weasleys! It was also far too sympathetic towards Draco, though I do love Scorpius. I feel like this was a massive flaw in "Harry Potter" overall—the bigots were all given second chances, but if the heroes took a single misstep they were dismissed. Harry wasn't 'allowed' to be angsty in the fifth book, Ron was viewed as stupid because he was a regular teenager, and if any of the kids made a single mistake they were branded for life (quite literally, like with Marietta Edgecomb). It boggles me how Snape and Malfoy can be so easily forgiven in contrast! I should mention, I don't mind R/Hr. I hear what you're saying about their ill match, but I feel like they actually bring out the best in each other. Hermione pushes Ron to be more ambitious and Ron reminds Hermione to just relax and laugh (one of his few lines in "CC" that I loved was Ron's insistence that he was the most chill of the Golden Trio).

areyousatisfied: I know, I'm so sorry! I'm rubbish at updates. I'm just glad you're still liking the story.

silmarien85: Thank you so much, I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

JeanAndBilius: Aww, thank you! I'm thrilled you like the mix of comedy and tragedy. Also, I'm not sure if I've mentioned, but I love your username!

Maiden of the Heavens: Hi again! I know, I'm horrible with updates :( I'm starting to just include a small summary at the top so that hopefully people can catch up. As for if I've had the utter nerve to kill off Harry…let's just say that he's definitely not on a vacation.

nirdoodle: Hello again! Yep, I was glad to get Ron back on the case, though he is missing a few pivotal clues. I'm glad you liked how Ron was 'communicating' with Harry through Patronuses: I wasn't sure if it was too cheesy! Unfortunately, even apart from my horrendously slow updates, it will be a few chapters before this story's plot truly comes together.

TroyWeb: I'm so glad you liked Orla's character! I figured Ron couldn't really complain about an Auror partner if he found them truly funny. And yep, I couldn't resist poking fun at the baby names. They're just so easy to chortle at! I'm also relieved you liked the Patronus messages: as I mentioned to someone else, I was nervous about adding that in and having it seem too sentimental.

displayheartcode: I'm thrilled so many people like Orla's personality! I thought it'd be fun to add in a 'whimsical' character, as you said. And thank you—I had a blast writing the article snippets and would love to do more in the future. I am considering writing a longer story with just them, but that's all theoretical. I'm sorry about Ginny! I know, I'm just torturing the poor woman. I would say things will get better soon but…well. It definitely has similarities to Fred, and I'll actually talk about that in a later chapter (let's just say that the Resurrection Stone may make an appearance). But oh, I love the image of a captured Harry just sniggering at all of the Patronus russell terriers! You know, if Harry's alive.

HappyTerrier: I definitely am going overboard on tragedy in this story. Unfortunately, y'all haven't seen nothing yet. I was very amused by McLaggen as well! I would have loved to have continued his character, but I was actually drawing a blank as to how to continue his storyline. He was just…a bit too one-dimensional? But definitely a fun character.

polkorz: Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter!

Lise Steiner: Thank you! I'm delighted you liked Ron in this chapter.

sheltie26: Oh my gosh, thank you! As for your question if Kingsley wouldn't have just gotten the Minister position since no one else was on the ballot: hmm, you're totally right. You know, I think I was picturing that there were an additional few third party candidates who didn't hope to get a majority. Why Kingsley was upset was because of the low numbers of voters who turned out, as well as the constant attacks in the press that he had something to do with Fudge's and Harry's disappearance.

Lady Hermione Margaery Holmes (to your review as well as PM): Sweet Merlin, thank you! I'm honoured that you thought this was one of the best HP fanfics you've read, and I hope that future updates (however slow) can live up to that. I'm with you, the more crime genre fanfics the better! Good catch with the Turpin character (you noticed that one of the Aurors shares the name of a Sweeney Todd character). But I admit, it's an innocent coincidence. Lisa Turpin is a Ravenclaw in the original HP canon, who I decided to make one of the lead Aurors. Now, in Sweeney Todd, Judge Turpin is one of the main antagonists and I made an allusion to him during the gala when Harry was kidnapped. I'd originally written in a conversation where Senior Auror Lisa Turpin was perturbed that her last name was being linked to it, but I cut it out for space. So think of it like the whole 'Mark Evans' debacle where the fandom became convinced that Rowling was writing in a relative of Lily Evans née Potter.

abcd-hp: Hiya again! Yep, I think you're spot on about the Next Generation's ages (thank you for being so forgiving of me messing it up). The kids will take a step back in the fic for awhile, or at least until I can get my head around what children of different ages act like!

optimistic girl94: I'm thrilled that this story brought you at least a little bit back into this fandom! I'm a huge fan of Ron's and Harry's friendship too, so we'll get along great :D I'm glad you liked the description, I always find it challenging to get the correct balance between that, the dialogue, and the plot itself. Thank you also for the highest compliment I can imagine: I'm so happy that my writing style reminds you of Rowling's! I don't deserve that praise, but I'll gleefully take it.

darkpheonix31: Thank you for the incredibly thoughtful review! I'm so glad you think I was able to do Ron's character justice. I do regret that I didn't write in more scenes of Ron and Harry being friends rather than just showing them 'good-naturedly' bickering. Your take on Susan Bones as Head Auror was PRECISELY what I had in mind. I wanted to show that without Harry as a stabilizing force, a lot of things began to fall apart. I also absolutely agree with you that Harry and Ginny at times acted OOC. I suppose I liked the idea that, as Harry grew up, he embraced his Slytherin side more and became okay with 'innocent' extortion :) As for Ginny deciding on the name Lily Luna when Harry explicitly didn't want it—yeah, I definitely wasn't sure about that part. I eventually decided to write it in because, 1. I thought it'd be interesting that Harry wasn't the 'name hog', 2. I wanted some tension in the Potter's relationship, and 3. That Ginny only went through with it because, on some level, she thought Harry would come back 'merely' to put things to rights. As for the overall mystery, I'm afraid we're still aways from the ending (especially taking my atrocious update waits into account). But it will all eventually come together, I swear. I have the entire outline and the majority of the chapters written.

Guest: Oh no, I'm sorry I've made you wait on updates so long! I solemnly swear this story will be finished, it might just take me awhile.

DarkPhoenixxx: Thank you so much again! It's always amazing to hear that the suspense is coming across well. I hope you're still here to see the updates!

Guest 2: I know, I'm utter rubbish at updating! I promise I'll try my hardest to be better!

Fawkes909: Thank you so much!

Anon: Oh no, I'm sorry you thought this was complete! I hope it will be someday :(

Quihi: Haha, I hope the mystery is eventually figured out too! Nope, I'm joking: I promise there is a complete conclusion that I've already written.

Guest 3 (and 4?): Okay so, I have a mixed response. Thank you so much, and I'm thrilled you've enjoyed 'Hallowed Time Twists'! I had a blast writing it, but whenever I look back at it I wince at my horrid early writing style. So for the past year I've been working on a complete rewrite of it (basically a new story) which adds in elements of "Cursed Child". Once I get closer to finishing it I promise I'll start posting up chapters!

LiteratureLives: Thank you for reading, I'm thrilled you enjoyed it! Unfortunately, it'll still be awhile before I get to the conclusion :( Though I promise it will come someday!

Eleanor: Hi Eleanor, thank you so much for your wonderful review! I do still read these reviews, and I can't begin to say how much I appreciate all of you for taking the time to write them. I'm also thrilled you're enjoying this story! I always find it tricky to write balanced relationships (whether they're romantic or platonic) so it's a relief to hear that people enjoy them. And thank you for the stunning compliment that you feel like you're reading a novel! I'm so glad you were pulled in by the plot. I do still have plans to finish this story though, if this ever changed, I promise you that I'll release my (already) completed outline of the finished story, as well as the completed final chapters. Though I hope I'll be able to write in the gap! I'm incredibly touched by your message and am simply delighted that this story means so much to you. I feel absolutely the same way about other writers on this site: I will forever be grateful to so many of them for giving me fanfics that I treasure.

I also want to thank Pistolier and lizzzsunshine for their reviews! As their's were fairly recent, I answered them privately (as they were most likely to remember what they'd written :D ). Here's hoping that my next update will be up soon—I'm hoping to get out at least one or two more before Christmas.