(Rated T for mentions of child abuse)
(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Doing it just for fun.)
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Chapter 3: A Most Peculiar Boy
Severus Snape did not like the panicked lurch he felt in his chest when Potter's green eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp. But a quick check told him that the boy was alive. He'd merely fainted. The man straightened and frowned down at the child on the bed, and shook his head in confusion. Harry Potter was quite a peculiar boy. He hadn't expected Potter's spawn to be so odd, and he certainly never expected him to be polite, despite his obvious nervousness. The boy was certainly scared of him, the strange man who saved his life, (who wouldn't be?) but he had plenty of pluck for all that. His questions had been most polite and ordinary. The most concerning thing, of course, were the boy's panic attacks.
Snape sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out what had set the child off. The first time, it was because he had taken the bandages off the boy's ribs. He had figured that Potter had panicked at the sight of the gashes. They were truly awful to look at, even for an ex-death eater like himself. Snape felt a twinge of what might have been sympathy when he thought that the child would have to live with such awful scars for the rest of his life. But then the boy fainted after learning that the Professor was a wizard too. Surely it wasn't out of joy that he had fainted. No, the child had looked terrified. And what had he been babbling during his first panic attack? 'Bad,' and 'freak,'…Why would he say such things?
The Professor blinked as the implication hit and he slowly looked back down at the unconscious boy, horror and rage warring within. He knew Petunia had been a petty bully and an idiot when they were children, but would she dare to pick on her nephew the way she used to pick on Snape himself? Would she call an innocent child bad or a freak if he exhibited accidental magic? She'd certainly called him an evil freak when they were young, and even poor Lily had been forced to endure her sister's scorn and name-calling as well. But Petunia was a grown woman now! Surely she would have outgrown such immature and petty things by this time. Wouldn't she?
No, she wouldn't, Snape thought angrily to himself. She was always jealous and spiteful toward those with magic. I wouldn't put it past that woman to take her resentment out on an innocent child, blood relative or not.
The Potions Professor shook his head. He would have a little chat with the boy once he woke up, and get the full story. He tried to avoid using Legilimency on such young children, but if the boy proved cagey, he might have to resort to it to get the answers he needed. Snape got to his feet and swept out of the room, determined to wait until the boy woke up before taking any action against Petunia. He went down to his lab to collect a few more potions, and then to the kitchen where he had left the window open last night for owls, if he happened to get any. The only thing he had gotten was his daily edition of the Daily Prophet. He gave the impatient owl two knuts for the newspaper and shut the window once it was gone.
Potter was still unconscious in the bed, and Snape arranged the potions on the nightstand. He transfigured the cot back into a chair and moved it out of his way. He finished his diagnostic scans and snatched the parchment out of the air. He nodded at the results, rather pleased despite himself. The boy was bouncing back far more swiftly than he thought possible. After three days of intense pain, insanely high fever, and general unconsciousness, Harry was healing rather quickly. He would be weak, feverish, and achy until his first transformation into a wolf next full moon, but after that, he should go back to normal. Or at least, whatever was normal for a werewolf while in their human form. He had precious few books on the subject, and he decided that he would write to the Magical Creatures Department as soon as possible to request more information. His excuse would be that he was seeking a way to improve the Wolfsbane potion, and really, why shouldn't he? He was a Master of Potions the like of which hadn't even been seen in a hundred years or more. His work was famous among the European wizards and he was even gaining recognition in America and other places. He was a genius, the youngest Potions Master in over five centuries, and if any potion needed some tweaking, it was the Wolfsbane. It was relatively new, and although it allowed the Werewolf to keep their human mind while transformed, it did precious little to alleviate the agony of the transformation itself. When Severus thought of the tiny child lying there on his bed going through such a hellish ordeal every month for the rest of his life, he felt a righteous fury rise up inside him. No child should go through torture like that. Once he found out who did this to the boy, he was going to kill them. He was going to hunt down the Werewolf responsible and he was going to end their lives as only a former death eater like himself could. He probably had a silver knife in his lab somewhere.
He sighed and set the parchment down. The boy could use another fever reducer and a pain potion, and then if he didn't feel up to eating, he needed to drink some water for certain and also take a nutrient potion. He closed up the boy's shirt and covered him again with the quilt, remembering the boy's blushing and embarrassment as he tried to keep his body covered for modesty. It wasn't all that odd. Severus recalled that he himself also had a great desire for modesty, but he wasn't all that bothered by others anymore. He was head of Slytherin house at Hogwarts and had seen more than his share of unclothed boys when halting trouble in the showers or in the dorms while they were dressing. He wasn't embarrassed by it any longer, but Potter didn't know that. He counted the potions on the nightstand and decided that the boy probably would not need a stomach soother at the moment, before raising his wand.
With a deft movement, he flicked it at the boy's pale face. "Reenervate," he muttered.
The boy stirred and blinked. His brilliantly green eyes were not yet flecked with gold, the signature hallmark of a human werewolf, but that would happen after the child became a wolf for the first time. He wasn't looking forward to that. If he could get Wolfsbane potion into the boy beforehand, (hopefully avoiding an infection of his own) he would do his best to comfort the boy/wolf through the horrible pain that would accompany his first transformation.
The boy blinked at the ceiling for another handful of seconds before he turned and saw the man standing over him. The boy's whole body stiffened slightly and he squinted a bit. Snape noticed that the boy did that when he tried to focus, and he was reminded forcefully of a time when he had knocked James Potter's glasses off during a fight and the insufferable brat had squinted at him before throwing a jinx in his direction. Harry probably needed glasses, but Severus Snape was no eye doctor. He would have to see if Poppy could take care of it; after he killed Dumbledore twice over for neglecting to properly protect the boy and abandoning him with Petunia, of course.
"How are you feeling?" Snape asked, forcing himself to sound gentle and soothing. It would do no good to frighten the boy, especially now.
"Wha …?" The child's voice rasped badly, and then he broke into a coughing fit. Snape summoned a glass and filled it with an aguamenti. Once Harry's coughing died down, he slipped a hand under the boy's head and helped him to take a few drinks.
"Not too quickly," Snape murmured. To his surprise, the boy was remarkably obedient, and sipped the water slowly. "That's it; excellent." He put the glass back and gently let the child's head fall back onto the pillow.
"I'm sorry, sir," the boy whispered, blinking owlishly. "I mean Professor," he quickly corrected himself. His voice still sounded rough and Snape realized that he had forgotten a throat-soother among his pile of potions. "What happened, Professor?"
"You fainted," the Professor informed the boy in a neutral tone. It would do no good if the boy thought he was in trouble for fainting. "You were … rather upset, I think," Snape paused. "Do you remember why?"
"No sir," the boy murmured. His eyes wandered from Snape's face. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing for everything," Severus snapped, and then he sighed and rubbed his face as he noticed the child's obvious flinch. Harry started to tremble and shut his eyes tightly, cringing away from the Professor. "I …" Snape gritted his teeth. Compliments and apologies were not his strong suit, but he had to reassure the terrified boy before another panic attack came on. "I can see that you are merely trying to be respectful," he said carefully. "But please understand that I find it irritating to hear 'sorry' over and over when I can find no good reason for you to be saying it. Understand?"
The boy nodded and opened his eyes. He blinked hard, as if fighting tears. "Yes sir," he murmured. "I'm sorry, sir … Oh!"
The child looked so alarmed by his slipup that Snape was tempted to laugh. Instead, he shook his head, allowing only the slightest twitch of his lips to betray his amusement. "It's alright, Potter … I mean. Harry." The Potions Professor cleared his throat nervously. How did he get himself into this mess? Children were not his area of expertise at all. What was he supposed to do now? Stroke the child's hair while telling him 'there, there'?! "It was not your fault that you fainted," he said instead. "Nor is it your fault that you cannot remember why you fainted in the first place. But I need to ask you a question, and I would appreciate it if you tell me the truth, alright?" He paused and gazed earnestly into the boy's bright green eyes, driving home his seriousness. "I promise you, I will not be upset with you no matter what the answer is, so long as it is the truth. But if you lie to me, I will not be happy; understand?"
"Yes, Professor," the boy whispered. He immediately looked away, and Snape felt a small alarm going off in his mind. For the boy to attempt to hide already was not a good sign. Maybe he did remember why he had fainted and was scared.
"Please look at me, Harry," Professor Snape said gently.
Sometimes he surprised even himself with how nice he could be. There were a few of his Slytherins that he had been forced to be gentler with, like Hagrid's wild pets. They were hurting children who were wary of this tall, intimidating stranger with a mesmerizing voice and an ugly scowl. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed beside the boy and fixed him with his most intense stare. The child warily returned his gaze. His face looked a little worried, but not terribly frightened. Severus was startled to realize that the boy's expression was one of trust. After so short a time, this little boy trusted him. It was a startling revelation, but it was a question to be explored another time.
"I must ask you, child, why you were calling yourself a 'freak' earlier. Can you tell me that?" The Professor kept his tone quiet, but firm, and he hoped that the boy would not be too stubborn.
The boy flinched at the question, but he didn't answer. His eyes wandered away and his face settled into a stubborn expression. It wasn't that he simply wasn't answering, the boy didn't want to answer.
"Harry," Snape said in a firmer voice. "Remember what I said: I will not be upset with you no matter what the answer is. I simply want the truth."
Harry lay there, worrying his lip with his teeth and darting his eyes back and forth as he internally fought with himself. Snape waited patiently for the boy to work up the courage to speak, knowing how (potentially) abused children were slow to trust and even slower to open up about what bothered them. When Harry finally spoke, his voice was so soft that Snape nearly missed it.
"I'm a freak," he whispered faintly. His green eyes brimmed with tears and he blinked hard. They rolled down the child's cheeks and wet the pillow. Snape pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and casually wiped the boy's face.
Using every bit of his Occlumency training to keep his righteous fury from exploding on the boy, to whom he had promised that he would not be upset, he kept his voice calm and light as he asked his next question. "Who says you're a freak?"
"Everybody," Harry muttered. He pulled one hand from under the quilt and wiped his nose on his wrist. Snape impatiently shoved the boy's hand out of the way and wiped his nose for him. Wiping one's nose on a clean sleeve was just a disgusting habit, and one he always seemed to find in young, highly emotional children. The boy looked so bewildered by the gesture that the appalled Potions Master wondered if anyone had ever wiped the boy's face for him before.
"Tell me about these 'everybody' you speak of," Snape urged in a soft voice. "Surely not everyone calls you a freak. I don't, for example. I would never call you a … a freak. But tell me who does call you that."
The boy darted a disbelieving glance at him and pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, gathering strength for his reply. "Aunt Petunia," he whispered dully. Snape clenched his fists and his jaw, but kept quiet. "Uncle Vernon," the boy went on, reciting a dull litany of all those in his life who had labeled him a freak. "Dudley, Piers, Simon, Mr. Grunning, Ms. Trunchbull …"
"I see," Snape muttered when the boy's list trailed off. He reached out and caught Potter's next tears with the hankie before they hit the pillow, to give his clenched hands something to do. "Why do you suppose they call you a freak?" he asked quietly, masking the fury that was building in his chest.
"'Cause I am one," Harry mumbled, not meeting the Professor's gaze.
"Why would you be one?" Snape demanded, hardly able to control his rage any longer. "Simply because you can do magic?" The boy flinched violently at his tone and started to tremble.
Severus Snape grabbed the shaking boy gently by the shoulders. "Look at me, Potter," he growled, staring down into the boy's emerald eyes, hardly able to mask his anger any longer. "You can do magic. I know you can, and so can I. Your Aunt Petunia is a petty, jealous woman and a bully to boot. You. Are not. A freak. Do you understand? If you are a freak, then so am I. You know," he paused. Was he actually going to tell the Potter brat something like this? Did Potter's spawn really need more reasons to grow arrogant and big-headed? But again, Severus allowed his heart to rule rather than his head. "Your Aunt, and likely those other people, called you a freak because they disliked you, or were jealous of you. It is not the truth, and I never want to hear that word out of your mouth again, understand?" He stared into the boy's green eyes. Harry looked so desperate to believe him, and Snape made sure he sounded as convincing as possible.
The child's big eyes brimmed with tears again, and he let out a quiet sob before he began to nod. He nodded and cried and kept nodding until Snape, (he wasn't sure what came over him) bent over and wrapped his arms gently around the weeping little boy. To his surprise, it felt right. The warm, trembling little body cocooned in his arms stiffened at first, but then the child wrapped his arms around Snape's shoulders and hugged him tightly. They stayed like that for a while, and Severus ignored the kink in his back that was forming from such an awkward angle, and forced himself to stay here as long as Potter needed him. When the boy began to calm down, Snape gently disentangled himself from the small arms and grabbed one of the potions from the bedside table. It would clear the stuffiness from the boy's head and help with any headache he might be having.
"Alright; do you feel better now, Pot—Harry?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow at the sniffling child. He gave the boy the handkerchief he was still holding and was gratified that the boy knew how to use one rather neatly.
"Yes sir, thank you," Harry whispered huskily. He held out the damp hankie and his face warmed with a blush, which was rather cute; not that Snape would ever allow such a word into his vocabulary. "Thanks for this, Professor," Potter murmured shyly.
"You can keep it," Severus snorted, appalled at the idea of touching the damp, sticky thing ever again in his life. "I've a hundred more like it."
The boy looked so shocked and delighted by the gift that Severus just felt angrier. What kind of life had the child lived that such simple things surprised him so much? The boy neatly folded the wet hankie and held it lightly in his fingers, beaming up at him with such a grateful and delighted smile that Snape almost smiled back. Almost.
"Now," Severus raised his hand to interrupt the child's gushing thanks. "Before you go and thank me yet again, I have several things I need you to drink. We call them potions, but you can think of them as … medicine. This first one will clear your stuffy head and help alleviate some of the soreness you feel in your bones."
Potter nodded and obediently drank the whole potion without complaining. He only shuddered slightly at the taste, and Snape felt irrationally pleased that the boy didn't gag and whine like so many brats that he had dosed in his years as a teacher. He scolded himself for his moment of … whatever it was. It was stupid to be proud of Potter's brat, even if at present he was feeling a bit sorry for the helpless child. It would pass once the boy was better and able to get into mischief.
"Now here's one for that fever you still have," Snape picked up the pinkish fever reducer. He knew for a fact how badly this one tasted, but the boy gulped it down without a sound. However, he did shudder again, and his eyes watered as he struggled against his gag reflex. Severus grabbed the glass of water from earlier and silently let the boy drain it.
"Thank you, Professor," the boy gasped when he finished the water. "That one was … nasty."
"Most of them are, at that," the Professor agreed mildly as he took back the glass and picked up the bottle of pale blue liquid. "Another one: this potion will help with the pain, and I promise it doesn't taste quite as bad as the fever reducer."
After the boy downed that one, and a nutrient potion, he drank another full glass of water. His voice sounded better, so Snape did not bother going back to his lab for the throat-soother.
"Do you think you can sleep for a bit?" the Professor asked, checking his pocketwatch. He needed to shower and change, and then he needed to be at the monthly staff meeting today by eight a.m. If Dumbledore didn't bring up the missing Potter boy sometime today, he would probably hex the headmaster, no lie. If the old fool still didn't realize that his Golden Boy had been attacked and nearly killed, he would deserve whatever Snape hit him with. Wasn't Dumbledore suppose to be Potter's magical guardian, or something like that?
Severus glanced up as the boy spoke in reply to his question, but he seemed very hesitant. "I think so, Professor, but …" The boy blushed deeply and glanced around the room a bit desperately. "I need …"
Snape frowned at the boy, uncomprehending, until Potter squirmed a bit and his face grew even redder. Ah, Severus smirked, the brat needed to attend to nature's call. He wondered if it was wise to let Harry up yet. If he supported the child to the bathroom, it should be fine. He was likely not in much pain because of the potions, but on the other hand, he had been unconscious and healing for the past several days. The boy would probably collapse under his own weight. He sighed and performed the elimination spell. Potter's eyes grew round and he relaxed when the pressure on his bladder disappeared.
"I took care of it," the Professor smirked at the boy's dumbfounded expression. "I'd prefer it if you rested for at least another day before you try to get on your feet. Now sleep, if you can. I must get ready for work."
"You … you'll leave me alone here, sir?" the boy stammered, looking so nervous and helpless that Snape rolled his eyes.
"I'll give you a potion to keep you in a deep sleep while I'm gone," he sighed at the devastated look on Potter's face. "You'll be perfectly fine," Snape assured the child. "But I cannot leave you alone, and awake all day long. As I'm certain you guessed, I am a professor, and I have classes to teach. But I will wake you up when I return. We'll see about getting some broth into you, instead of those nutrient potions. Does that sound agreeable?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. "Yes Professor," he murmured. "Th-thank you, sir … y-you know …for taking care of me. And … for … well, for everything."
"Go to sleep, Potter," the Potions Professor sighed. "I'll come give you the sleeping draught before I leave." He swept out of the room without a backward glance. He had already coddled the boy enough for one day, he thought. But somehow, he was becoming irrationally obsessed with the child's wellbeing. He would have to make sure that he hadn't accidentally dosed himself with a befuddlement potion.
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"And that concludes the agenda until the end of the school year," Professor Dumbledore announced. As always, he sounded far too jolly and his eyes were in full twinkle-mode. Snape fumed silently in his chair, but managed not to look more disagreeable than normal.
"Are there any more issues we neglected?" the jolly headmaster asked, looking around at the gathered Professors. "Anything you would like to add? Any questions? Notes for the next meeting?" When no responses greeted his questions, the old man clapped his hands and beamed at them all. "Well then, I suppose our meeting is adjourned! You must all get to your classes, and I have work of my own." The professors gathered their scrolls and quills and left the staff room. Flitwick, McGonegall, and Quirrell in particular were hurrying, since their morning classes had been delayed. Why the Headmaster had this particular meeting on a school day rather than a weekend was a mystery best left to the centaurs to unravel.
As Snape was gathering his things and planning out his first move against the Dumbledore the idiot, the old man in question suddenly raised his voice above the clatter of chairs and rumble of voices as the meeting dispersed. "Ah, Minerva and Severus? If you would be so kind as to stay for a moment, I would like a word."
"It best be quick, Albus," Minerva said crisply, glaring at him through her spectacles. "I have a class due to start in ten minutes."
Snape shrank his notes and stuffed them in his pocket before he crossed his arms belligerently. He felt much better and more alert after having slept for sixteen hours straight; and of course knowing that the boy in his care was going to live was a very encouraging thing. What he had learned from the child this morning was disturbing and angering, though. He was ready for a fight.
Once the door shut on Aura Sinistra, Dumbledore folded his hands and fixed Snape with a kindly smile. "I heard you were out of sorts yesterday, Severus. How are you, dear boy? Did you see Poppy?"
"I merely needed rest," Severus Snape replied coolly. "But thank you so much for your concern," he added, deliberately heavy on the sarcasm.
"Well, that's good to hear," Albus beamed, his eyes twinkling like mad. "But perhaps you should go see Madam Pomfrey just to be certain you aren't coming down with something …"
"No, I do not," Professor Snape replied, just as coolly as before. "It may have escaped your notice, Headmaster, but I received my medi-wizard certification last year. I am more than qualified to treat myself."
"Well, you know what they say about the cobbler's children never getting shoes," Dumbledore commented, spreading his hands disarmingly.
"No, I don't," Snape retorted. "But rather than enlightening me on such a fascinating subject, why don't you get to the point of keeping us behind when we have classes to attend to. I doubt you held Minerva and me here just to discuss my health."
"Of course, of course;" Albus murmured. He smoothed down his long white beard before he folded his hands again, and Snape noticed that the twinkle was gone from the old man's eyes. He looked tired, and worried. "I'm afraid I have some rather dreadful news." He paused dramatically and Severus rolled his eyes at Minerva, who looked just as annoyed as he felt. "Harry Potter has gone missing."
"WHAT?!" Minerva yelped, or screeched. Either way, Snape winced. That woman could be so loud when she was upset. "Albus!" the Transfiguration Professor shouted, slamming her hands on the staff table. "What are you talking about? How could Potter simply 'go missing'? What about the blood wards? The tracking charms? The protections? How could he have gone missing? When did it happen?"
"Slow down, Minerva, please," the headmaster pleaded, looking so sorrowful and so properly patient that Snape wanted to laugh. If only they knew… "I appreciate all of your concerns, but rest assured, I already have people on the ground, investigating. Apparently, Mr. Potter walked two blocks to the local park on Friday night to fetch his cousin for supper. The cousin returned, but not Potter. The next morning, when the boy still had not turned up, Petunia placed a call with the muggle police. I heard about this on Saturday afternoon and immediately went down to the Dursleys' home in person to hear what had happened."
"And?" McGonegall demanded. She folded her arms and arched her eyebrows. "Are you certain they told you the truth? I told you they were the worst sort of people, muggles or no!"
"I know, Minerva, I know, but rest assured, it is unlikely that the boy simply ran away. The young cousin informed me that he was with two other boys when a large dog cornered them. Stray dogs are common enough in muggle neighbourhoods that it didn't cause much of a stir. The children seemed to have got away all right, but young master Dursley had no idea where his cousin had gone. He was certain that Potter was right behind him when he ran for home."
"Liar," Snape snorted quietly to himself. He was fuming with rage, and he had no idea who he hated more at this moment: the Dursleys, the werewolf, or Dumbledore. The Dursleys were stupid and hateful, the werewolf was a savage monster, and Dumbledore was a naïve and blind old fool.
The old man looked at his Potions Professor over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "Excuse me, Severus, but you were not there. I assure you that the Dursley boy told me the truth, as he experienced it."
"Fine," Severus Snape sneered, obviously disbelieving.
He couldn't wait to drop the bombshell on Dumbledore's lap, but he would wait. Oh yes, he would wait and bide his time. Maybe give the old man a few days to stew and worry and fret over his golden boy. Maybe Snape could offer to do some investigating and use the opportunity to visit the Dursleys. Oh, he would enjoy that. He needed some straight answers and Dumbledore wasn't about to give them. Speaking of the old manipulator, Severus realized that he had been lost in his own head and tuned out the conversation still ongoing in front of him.
"I have Fletcher checking with various underworld contacts, and Moody is running over everything with a fine-toothed comb," Dumbledore was assuring his distraught Transfiguration teacher. "I've enlisted the Aurors, and the muggle police are searching as well. We'll find him, never fear."
"But why can't we track him?" Minerva McGonegall demanded angrily. "I thought you put tracing charms on the boy as a baby!"
"I did, but they have disappeared somehow," the headmaster sighed. "Only some very powerful magic could have overridden the spells I placed on that boy, so unless it's a case of extreme accidental magic, we are looking at an abduction of the worst kind."
Minerva made a soft sound of distress and pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting tears. Severus was tempted to laugh in both their faces. Gryffindor fools, both of them. It was obvious to him, of course, that the werewolf infection was more than powerful enough to cancel previous charms and spells cast on the victim. But the old fool never thought outside the box. He relied on Snape and his Slytherin creativity for that.
"Someone powerful in dark magic has kidnapped the boy-who-lived, and rest assured, the world will be torn apart until we find him," Dumbledore said firmly. "Severus, I would like to enlist your aid in piecing together what happened. Do you think you could pay a visit to the Dursleys this evening and employ that Slytherin mind of yours? It is imperative that we trace the boy's steps from the moment he stepped outside of his home's wards, to when he was snatched."
"What makes you so certain he was snatched?" Severus drawled, occluding fiercely as he met the old man's innocent blue eyes. "There are no witnesses, no evidence … One might think you made him disappear on purpose."
Albus and Minerva gasped at Snape's accusation.
"I'm only pointing out how the ministry might spin it," the Professor shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not saying I believe you truly know what happened. In fact, I know for a fact that you have no idea what happened. You are so baffled that you have no choice but to turn to me, your ex-death eater spy and Syltherin mastermind."
"Please, Severus," Albus said quietly. "You promised you would protect the boy. For Lily."
"Oh never fear, old man," Snape sneered his most vicious sneer. "I'm keeping my word."
He turned and marched out of the room, unable to bear the inane conversation any longer. How dare the old man bring Lily in like that! But when he looked at what he had gained from this meeting, he realized that he should be grateful. Now, at least, he had his excuse to visit the Dursleys, and hopefully get a mental image of what Potter's werewolf looked like. Stray dog indeed! He didn't think any child could be so stupid. But then, if it was Petunia's brat, maybe that level of stupidity was possible. He would just have to wait and see tonight.
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Next up: Severus Snape visits the Dursleys and Harry wakes up again. It's going to be a lovely chapter. See y'all on Tuesday! Thanks for all your wonderful reviews!