Erroris of Vestri Mores

By Shadow Ballad

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or situations related to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. The only character I own is Theodore Gershwin, and I guess the plot is mine too. I am just playing with the wonderful puppet theatre Rowling has left behind;) Take note; the disclaimer and warning appear in Chapter One only.

Warning: AU past OoTP; non-HPB compliant; sixth year fic, and Sirius is alive. Little to no romance; may hint at HP/GW, HG/RW. MM/SS friendship for sure, a little HG/SS tolerance/mentorship included as well. No slash or sexual situations; rated T for slight language and violence. Rating may go up eventually; I don't know yet.

A/N: I am not British, so if I get vocabulary/syntax/something incorrectly, please correct me! And now…on to the fic!

Chapter One: Questioned Loyalty

Ah, the first day of term. What had been an almost pleasant summer was now to be ruined by the return of those little buggers. A shame, really, he thought, staring blankly at the trinkets and various knickknacks around Dumbledore's office as the Headmaster offered lemon drops. The dark man automatically refused the old wizard's offer of sweets; it got a bit old after about the tenth time around.

"Chocolate Frog, then?" asked Dumbledore, holding out a box of candy, his blue eyes twinkling in that maddening way of his.

"No thank you, sir," Severus Snape replied, vaguely wondering what part of that statement Dumbledore didn't understand. He'd only been telling the man "no" to his incessant offerings of sweets for fifteen years!

"Cockroach Cluster, perhaps?"

Severus met this offer with a dark scowl. "Really, Albus; if you insist on offering me sweets, at least offer something edible." He impatiently puffed a strand of jet black hair out of his face, wondering when Dumbledore would get to the point; after all, he had potions to brew for Poppy and a classroom to ready before the monsters arrived later that evening.

Dumbledore just smiled his maddening little grin and popped the sweet into his mouth, causing Severus to grimace in distaste. After chewing for what seemed like an eternity – Merlin, the man could be so bloody annoying! –, the Headmaster folded his hands on his desk and gazed at Severus appraisingly.

"I'm sure this year will be much better than last," he said suddenly, shaking the Potions Master so abruptly from thoughts of how to protect his dungeons from the likes of Neville Longbottom that he blinked once before replying.

"Ah, yes indeed, sir. Happily, that Umbridge woman is no longer with us…I highly congratulate the centaurs on their, ah, fortuitous course of action," Severus replied, sneering at the very memory of the overgrown toad of a woman and her abominable pink cardigan.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he stared back at Snape down his very crooked nose. "I was referring to Occlumency lessons with Mr. Potter," he said in what Severus thought was meant to be an off-hand tone, but greatly lacking in subtlety. Honestly, Gryffindors had no tact at all.

"When I ended them last year, I ended them permanently," Severus said, putting up an expressionless mask to hide his wave of severe anger. If it was anything he was not looking forward to this year, it was having the Potter brat prancing around Hogwarts like he owned the place!

"I was hoping that you would resume them, Severus," the Headmaster said quietly in a voice that brooked no nonsense or contradiction. The Potions Master allowed his lip to curl in his patented sneer, ready to say exactly what Dumbledore could do with that idea when there came a tentative knock on the door.

Quirking a dark, slender eyebrow at the Headmaster, Severus watched as Dumbledore called for the knocker to enter his office. Immediately another wave of displeasure rose like bile in Severus's throat as the man who had entreated entry stepped nervously inside. His watery blue eyes reminded the Potions Master forcefully of that rat Pettigrew, and his messy, mousy brown hair gave Severus the unexplainable desire to shave the man bald and kick him forcefully from the room.

"Ah yes, good afternoon, Theodore," Dumbledore said warmly, shaking the intruder's hand as if he had known him for years. "I don't suppose you've been introduced to the school's Potions Master, hmm? Severus, Theodore Gershwin; Theodore, Severus Snape," added the Headmaster with a come-hither glance at Severus. Resisting the urge to Floo back to his private chambers instead, the black clad man rose to shake hands with Gershwin, who gave him a nervous little smile. He returned it with his best sneer, banishing his colleague's cheery manner instantaneously.

"I'm sure you both will get along quite well," Dumbledore stated, beaming at the two men as though they were the best of friends.

Bollocks, thought Severus as Gershwin hesitantly lowered himself into a chair near the moody Potions Master. Not as long as you don't trust me enough to give me the job I am the best qualified to teach!

"Don't mind Severus; you'll get used to him in time," the Headmaster said consolingly to Gershwin, who had been nervously eyeing him for a few moments. Severus snorted and shot a venomous glance at the new Defence teacher, daring him to even try. The other man seemed to sense his hostility as he quickly jerked his eyes away from the man in black and nervously tapped his fingers on the edge of his armchair. "Lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered the dish of sweets to Gershwin, who thanked him and popped one into his mouth.

Having had quite enough of his time wasted so thoroughly, Severus stood and rearranged his frock coat before turning to Dumbledore. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but I have some potions brewing in the dungeons that I must attend to." Barely waiting for the older wizard's nod of consent, Severus excited the peculiar little office in a dramatic swirl of dark robes.

Exactly what was Albus up to, hiring a jumpy little prick like that? Severus thought, pouring a Drought of Peace into flasks for Madam Pomfrey's store in the hospital wing. The man practically leapt ten feet in the air if you so much as glanced at him! Granted, the looks Severus had been throwing him would have scared the willies out of a first-year Hufflepuff, but that notwithstanding, the man was a wuss!

Silvery vapour hung in the air as Severus jabbed the cork into the last flask a little more violently than necessary. He collected the flasks of Drought of Peace and settled them onto his desk for labelling and had just turned to his third cauldron (this one smelled like rotten eggs) when there came a tentative knock on his door.

"Enter," Severus replied coldly as the door swung open to reveal Theodore Gershwin, who looked quite nervous. Fleetingly wondering if the man had the expression Charmed permanently on his face, the Potions Master spared him an icy glare before dipping his quill in the inkpot on his desk and proceeding to label the flasks in his precise, flowing script.

Gershwin, seemingly impervious to being ignored, suddenly said in a raspy voice, "So…these are the dungeons." He rocked back and forth on his feet, waiting for Severus to take up the thread of conversation.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious; I would never have guessed it myself," Severus snapped, immediately irked at the man's lack of realizing when he wasn't wanted.

"Bit dreary, isn't it?"

Severus grunted noncommittally and continued labelling the flasks as Gershwin explored the classroom and his office.

"Merlin, is that a grindylow you've got back there?" The dark man lifted his head to see his unwanted guest gazing in fascination at the many things floating in jars lining his office.

"Get out of there!" he barked waspishly, becoming even angrier as Gershwin decided to ignore him and peruse the specimen closer by removing it from its place on the shelf. Growling wordlessly Severus snatched his wand from inside his robes and practically flew to where the Defence teacher was admiring the pickled grindylow.

"Put the bloody jar back on the bloody shelf!" With a twitch of his wand, the jar flew from Gershwin's hands and rejoined its fellows back in its proper place. "Out! Get out now!" he demanded hotly, grabbing the intruder's shoulder and swinging him round forcefully to meet his gaze.

He was not the least bit prepared to come face-to-face with Gershwin's wand pointing smartly at his neck.

Instead of the annoying, kindly nervous man he met in Dumbledore's office, the man before him wore a snarl that could rival his own, and his eyes were now harder than steel.

"Not very accommodating, are you," the new Gershwin sneered in the same raspy voice as before. Only this time, it was absolutely devoid of kindness. "I must say, if you greet every new teacher this way, you must have quite the list of enemies, hmm?" He used his wand to brush a strand of raven hair away from Severus's cheek, causing the dark man to shudder inwardly.

A humourless smirk played on the edges of the other's mouth. "You would do well to consider what you say. Just because I got the job you wanted is no reason to forgo common courtesies." Severus flinched, briefly wondering how the man knew about his wish to teach DADA before hastily strengthening the shields on his mind and stepping away from the wand point.

"If you would be so kind as to leave?" he said forcefully through clenched teeth, adding, "as I have important work to complete before this evening?"

Gershwin merely graced him with a calculating frown before returning his wand to a pocket inside his well-cut brown robes. Severus jerked a long, pale finger in the direction of the exit, locking eyes with the intruder and willing him to leave with every ounce of his strength.

The other lifted his chin, perhaps appraising the Potions Master, before slipping back into the kind demeanour once again. "Forgive me, Severus," he said with not even a trace of mockery, offering a little bow as he did so.

"That's Professor Snape to you," Severus growled, reinforcing his wish for the man to leave by jerking his hand once more in the door's direction.

"Good day, then," Gershwin said amiably, for all the world as if he had never attacked or threatened the Potions Master in his own dungeons. He needlessly dusted off his robes and gave Severus a nervous smile that didn't quite reach his eyes before stepping out into the hallway beyond, leaving the slender man alone in brooding silence.

The thousands of floating candles cast their soft glow throughout the entire Great Hall as the Sorting Hat finished its song and was met with tumultuous applause. As Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, called "Aberforthe, Samuel!" to be Sorted, Harry Potter couldn't help but feel that he had finally come home after an excruciatingly long holiday.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat, and the table to Harry's left erupted in shouts of pleasure as the new first year joined his House. "Anderson, George!" was next.

"Did you hear that, Ron? That boy, he has the same name as your brother!" Hermione Granger whispered to the red-haired boy sitting next to Harry.

The Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" before Ron could answer, and it was a few seconds until he could manage to speak above the noise their table was making to greet the first new edition.

"Yeah, I heard," he replied while clapping for George Anderson. "I'll have to tell him next time we visit their joke shop." Hermione pursed her lips at this; apparently she agreed with Mrs. Weasley that a joke shop wasn't a proper occupation for the twins. But they had fun and made good money, and goodness knew everyone could do with some laughs after that fiasco at the Ministry.

Despite the memories his friends' words brought, Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a whole mug of butterbeer: warm and happy. "Pity that he couldn't be hear to see the kid, really," Ron continued as "Brandon, Layne!" became a new Slytherin. "He'd have so much fun, what with having someone with the same name in the Common Room and all. I can just imagine all the jokes he'd play on him…"

"And it would be our duty as prefects to stop it," Hermione interrupted firmly, casting a slightly disapproving glance at Ron. "Picking on first years isn't good fun, contrary to popular opinion."

Ron gazed helplessly at her, and then turned beseechingly to Harry. "Oh come off it! It would be fun to watch them go at it, right, Harry?"

Harry, not wanting to involve himself in an argument their first day back, merely shrugged and clapped as a new Hufflepuff named "Derrick, Marie!" took her seat at her new House table. "I wonder who the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher is this year," he said instead, changing the subject before Ron and Hermione could further anger themselves. Duly distracted, his two friends followed his gaze to the Head Table where the Hogwarts Staff sat watching the Sorting, many sporting bored expressions on their faces.

Next to Snape, Harry's least favourite teacher of them all, sat a nervous-looking fellow with a mess of mousy brown hair hanging in his eyes. Harry couldn't blame the man, really; Snape seemed extra livid tonight for some reason. He barely clapped three times for the new students before resuming his usual sneer, sitting ramrod straight in his seat and thoroughly ignoring the new teacher sitting next to him. The Boy Who Lived couldn't help but wonder what kind of teacher he'd be like; last year's teacher had been a complete disaster. Thankfully, the centaurs had solved that particular problem quite well.

"I wonder what this bloke's going to be like," Ron mused aloud as he too gazed at the new teacher.

"Ron! You really shouldn't call him that!" Hermione scolded as a new Gryffindor joined their ranks. "You've no idea what he's like!"

"Couldn't be worse than that Umbridge woman," Ron said flippantly with a wave of his hand.

"No one could be worse than her," said Harry grimly as a new Ravenclaw took her seat. The scars on the back of his hand began to burn as if the mere mention of the teacher who gave them to him caused them to ache. Unconsciously Harry ran his left hand over the right in an attempt to sooth the pain.

"Well, Lockhart wasn't all that great either," Ron pointed out. "I mean, Cornish pixies? Come on!"

"I just wish Lupin was back," sighed the Boy Who Lived. "He was the best teacher we ever had, hands down." This thought brought images of the werewolf to Harry's mind as more new students found their places. His mind began to drift, wondering what Lupin was doing now; whether he was on Order business or safely hiding in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, with Sirius.

Sirius. His godfather. He hadn't been well ever since the top secret Order mission to rescue him from behind the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had barely spoken two words with the Animagus after that, but had promptly noticed that the haunted look in his godfather's eyes was more pronounced after his harrowing experience.

A sudden pain in his side brought Harry back to the present, and as he jerked back into reality, he felt another poke in his ribs. "Ow! Quit it!" he exclaimed, trying to slap off whoever was jabbing him.

"Sorry, but you sort of, well, spaced out," said Hermione unrepentantly. "Dumbledore's about to make his speech; I thought you'd like to hear it." Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward his friend as the Headmaster, decked in robes of deep violet and decorated with silver moons, stood to address the students.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" he exclaimed happily, which was met with thunderous applause and a few whistles. "I just have a few words to say before we tuck in to our succulent feast. First, I would like to welcome a new teacher to our staff: Professor Theodore Gershwin, who will be your new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher!" The new teacher nervously stood up to polite applause, but didn't remain standing too long. Harry wondered if he was as jumpy as he seemed, or if it was just a case of first-night nerves. "I would also like to let new students know that the forest at the edge of the grounds is off limits. A few of our returning students should take note as well," he added, and Harry could have sworn those blue eyes twinkled at him. "Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has kindly asked me to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes, and that the list of forbidden objects has been updated. For the full list, please visit Mr. Filch's office. And now, tuck in!"

At the Headmaster's last words the golden plates filled with delicious food from the kitchens below, accompanied by flagons of pumpkin juice. Suddenly ravenous, Harry tipped pork chops onto his plate and took a huge swig of pumpkin juice. It was even better than he remembered it; the house elves must have really outdone themselves tonight. That, or a summer of practically starving at the Dursley's reinforced his appreciation for fine food.

Beside him Hermione was chatting animatedly about all the subjects she was taking during Sixth Year. "I can hardly wait for my schedule; oh, I do hope I have Arithmancy sometime tomorrow! I can't wait to learn all the material Professor Vector told us that sixth years get to study, it sounds so exciting!"

"I just can't believe I passed my Potions O.W.L," said Neville Longbottom with a touch of pride in his voice. Everyone knew Potions was his worst subject because he was terrified of Professor Snape, and Snape only made it worse by constantly bullying him. "But I got an "O" in Herbology! My grandmother was so proud, she didn't know I had it in me!"

On and on the Gryffindors talked, the discussion turning to Quidditch, the wizarding world's favourite sport. Ron told anyone who would listen how well the Chudley Cannons, his favourite team, were doing this year. "I reckon they have a chance at the Quidditch Cup this year!" he said excitedly to Seamus Finnegan, who shook his head violently and started talking about the team he wanted to win. Harry ate in silence, enjoying the friendly chatter and helping himself to an extra large treacle tart when the dessert course came round.

Finally the tinkle of forks against plates died down and the food faded from the tables. Students from all four Houses sighed contentedly, many yawning and sleepily wondering when Dumbledore would dismiss them to their dorms. Harry was feeling quite drowsy himself when the Headmaster bade them all good night, and he gratefully followed the rest of his House to Gryffindor Tower.

The portrait of the Fat Lady hung in front of the entrance to Gryffindor common room; tonight, she seemed to have had a bit too much to drink. "Hic – password?" she asked with a sloppy grin on her face, waving her half-full glass around and splashing herself with a bit of the wine it contained.

"Unicorn horn," said Hermione promptly. The Fat Lady giggled and took another sip of her drink.

"That's – hic! – the one!" she replied, swinging open and allowing the Gryffindors to enter.

This, too, was just as Harry remembered it; plump armchairs in front of the fireplace and plenty of space to do homework. He looked rather longingly at his favourite armchair, but a jaw-cracking yawn changed his mind, and he headed up the staircase to the sixth year boys' dormitory. "'Night, Ron," he called to his friend, who waved and rolled his eyes at the first years. It was his duty as a prefect to make sure the new students were up to date on everything they needed to know.

Happy that he didn't have that responsibility, Harry made his way into the dormitory he shared with Dean Thomas, Neville, Ron and Seamus. He found his trunk next to his bed and promptly changed into his pyjamas, then plopped unceremoniously onto his four-poster bed and leaned heavily back into the pillows. It felt so good to be back at Hogwarts.

After removing his glasses and placing them carefully on the nightstand, Harry drew the curtains around his bed closed and snuggled into the comfortable bedding, trying to think about the next day but falling asleep before he could get past breakfast.

Gershwin was decidedly odd, and that Severus Snape knew for a fact. After their little chat in the dungeons earlier in the day, the man had avoided him like the plague. When their paths happened to cross, he would give him a nervous smile and a cheerful greeting before going his own way. No more threats or snarls from the man since that morning.

If Severus didn't know better, he'd say that the man was afflicted with what Muggles called Multiple Personality Disorder.

As he strode purposefully toward his private chambers in the dungeons, snarling at every student who was unfortunate to fall in his path, he wondered if whether bending over cauldrons and inhaling their smoke all day for the past fortnight had caused him to imagine the entire scene. He might have believed it, if the vision of the man's sharp circular face contorted in a snarl too like his own wasn't fixed prominently in his head at the moment. No, he had most certainly not imagined it.

With an impatient wave of his wand, Severus dissolved the wards around his chambers and strode inside, letting the door close behind his retreating back. If he had bothered to look behind him, he would have noted a face appear in the line between door and frame.

Severus's chambers were decorated in green and black. A comfortable black leather sofa sat in front of a huge stone fireplace, which wasn't lit and hardly ever was. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase dominated the wall left of the sofa, lined with tomes covering subjects from advanced Potion making to jinxes and hexes.

Another wave of his wand lit the torches in the brackets along the wall, causing merry flames to cast dark shadows in favourable places around the room. Severus, preoccupied with returning his cloak to his wardrobe, disappeared into his bedroom and didn't see the figure of Theodore Gershwin slip quietly into his chambers and settle himself into a corner, obscured by the shadows.

Ignorant of his guest, Severus returned from his bedroom, kneading his temples at the thought of teaching first years immediately after breakfast the next morning. He stopped short of the sofa, noticing that the door had not closed after his entrance a few minutes prior. Emitting a grunt of annoyance, the Potions Master strode toward the offending door and slammed it shut, hard enough to rattle the torches along the walls.

With a sigh he lowered himself onto the sofa, kicking out of his black boots, propping his stockinged feet on the coffee table in front of him, and leaning back into the comfortable leather, enjoying what he was sure was the last moment of peace he would have that year. His black eyes strayed to the parchment beside his feet, and he couldn't help but emit another small sigh at the words it contained.

"Between teaching, attending both sides' meetings and spying, I'll be lucky to survive in one sane piece," he said to himself with a low laugh devoid of humour. Casually Severus lifted the parchment from the table in one elegant hand, and then in a burst of rebellion, chucked it into the fireplace. "Incendio!" he shouted, causing flames to leap up and lick greedily at the letter. For some strange reason he derived great pleasure from watching the bit of parchment slowly burn to ashes, and never glanced away from the fireplace until it was completely burned up.

As Severus watched the fire, Gershwin stealthily crept from his hiding place only to be faced with the dilemma of somehow opening the door without the Potions Master noticing. Slipping his wand from his pocket, he whispered an incantation and levitated a heavy book from its place on the shelf. Before Severus could notice the tome floating beside him, Gershwin ended the spell and the book hit the stone floor with a loud, resounding THUMP!

The dark man started as the loud noise echoed throughout his chamber, eyes scanning the room wildly to see what had made the noise and coming to rest on the empty slot in his bookshelf. Frowning, he looked beside the couch and saw his copy of One Thousand Curses and Counter Curses for the Advanced Wizard lying beside him on the floor.

"How the bloody hell did that get on the floor?" he raged to himself, rising from the sofa to replace the book in its proper nook alongside its fellows. Gershwin seized this opportunity to race to the door, open it with his wand, and steal into the dark corridors beyond, melting into the shadows like a ghost.

Mystified at the strange occurrence, Severus turned from replacing the book to find his door open once again. His patience already stretched to its limits, Severus frowned darkly and paced angrily toward the door, flinging it open and peering into the corridor.

"Who's out there?" he shouted, immediately feeling rather foolish, as the corridor seemed to be deserted. His scowl only deepened when no culprit appeared, and he was about to write the entire incident off when an ink pellet came sailing out of nowhere to hit the frame next to his right hand.

"PEEVES!" Severus snarled, whipping out his wand and trying to hex the annoying poltergeist as he swooped past the Potions Master's chambers, cackling and pelting more ink pellets as he zoomed down the hallway.

Feeling thoroughly disgusted by the night's turn of events, Severus slammed the door so hard that one of the torches fell from its bracket and immediately extinguished itself. Kicking the piece of wood moodily out of his way, Severus launched himself into his bedroom and onto his bed, not even bothering to don his nightshirt as he waited for sleep to overtake him.

Gershwin knelt beside the fireplace, head bowed reverently before the wizard whose head floated disconcertingly amongst the flames. "That is all I have to report, Wormtail," he said in his raspy voice. "Tell our Lord everything, and leave nothing out, please." Inwardly he cringed at having to abase himself so before such slime as Wormtail, but endured it anyway.

Wormtail nodded and his head disappeared from the fireplace. Gershwin wondered what the Dark Lord would make of his report; after all, Snape's musings could mean two different things. Wishing he could give his report in person, and attempting to decipher exactly what Snape had meant earlier, he was completely unprepared for the head that popped into the fireplace.

"M-my Lord!" he stammered, quickly prostrating himself on the floor before the face of Lord Voldemort. "I was not expecting the honour of speaking to you myself!" Shocked by his master's sudden appearance, he could find nothing else to say and clamped down on his jaw to keep from blathering on like a fool.

"That is quite alright, Theodore," Voldemort replied in a cold, unnaturally high-pitched voice. "Wormtail has just finished informing me of your report."

"T-that is good, my Lord," Gershwin mumbled into the carpet. He risked a glance into the fireplace to see red slits in a pure white face gazing back at him and quickly lowered his gaze once again. "Forgive me, my Lord, but is it not dangerous for you to speak to me using the fireplace? What if – "

" – Dumbledore discovers me?" interrupted Voldemort. Gershwin nodded silently. The Dark Lord clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "My dear Theodore, do you think me so stupid?" Gershwin's face drained of all colour.

"N-no, of course not – "

"Crucio!"

It was a full minute before the Dark Lord ended the curse. Gershwin panted heavily from the pain and sweated from keeping his screams to a minimum so as not to wake anyone potentially dangerous. "No one questions Lord Voldemort, Theodore," Voldemort said in a quiet voice that made the man before him shudder.

"N-never again, my Lord…"

Completely ignoring Gershwin, Voldemort said, "It seems as though Severus may indeed be the spy among the Death Eaters." A long, spidery finger caressed his lips thoughtfully. "Alas, he was important to us, bringing us information on Dumbledore and his senile plots…not to mention I thought him one of my most faithful followers…Theodore!"

Jerking from suddenly being addressed, Gershwin resisted the urge to curl up into a defensive ball and instead raised his eyes a fraction of a centimetre so he could see Voldemort in his peripheral vision. "Yes, my Lord?" he rasped.

"I don't want to believe Severus is indeed the traitor without further concrete evidence. However, he seems to be…lax…in his efforts as of late. Therefore, I want you to devise four punishments to bring him back to his senses. They will test where his true loyalties lie. My only stipulation is that he lives through them all to see the error of his ways. Other than that, let your imagination guide you…" Voldemort trailed off, a sinister grin upon his horrible countenance.

"And what if Snape is found wanting, my Lord?" Gershwin risked asking in a small voice. The grin spread wider on the Dark Lord's face.

"If that occurs, you shall bring him to me for punishment. Death is too good for traitors, Theodore; he'll suffer and beg me for death, ruing the day he ever thought of betraying Lord Voldemort." With this said, Voldemort's head disappeared with a small pop, leaving Gershwin alone in his chambers, trembling.

A/N: Sorry this was such a long chapter, but I wanted to set the mood for the rest of the story right off the bat. Please review, it motivates me to write more and improves my writing along the way. If you feel you must flame, please be polite about it! 

As long as at least one person is interested in seeing this continually updated, I'll post as often as possible. If not, well, I'll just continue writing it for myself.

Thanks for reading!