AN: Greetings, my beloveds. *smiles in derpy-fashion* Sorry for the wait again, but this chapter was honestly being a little shit to me. I went down to the lib over the weekend to post it, and even though it's been written for well over a month and edited, looking at it in the FF editor I realized it was very slow. And boring. And my eyelids were drooping as I spellchecked.

Not good.

Anyway, long story short, I trashed that and revamped the whole thing. I feel like this one moves along much more smoothly, etc. and to make up for this last wait hopefully the next chap will be posted sooner. (Yaayy!) Unfortunately, this version 2.0 is lemonless (yes, yes the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is disappointed, too) while the former version had some *hem, hem* You-Know-What action.

Tom Riddle just bitch slapped me.

But you know, he's hot so he can.

And I'm kinky so…

*eyebrow wriggle* KK, on with the chapter, amigos! Go, GO!

"Professor, may I have a word?" Tom Riddle asked, cordial as ever. He had finally found Dumbledore, who of course turned out to be meaninglessly pacing in the Transfiguration classroom - although what for, he hadn't the faintest idea.

The older man looked up at the interruption in his promenade, surprised, and turned slowly, his powder blue robes swinging and nose straight as a dented cricket bat. Tom wondered how he'd broken it. Did someone smash his face in?

The notion gave him a sense of satisfaction.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle. What is it?" Dumbledore said, seemingly polite.

But he watched him with suspicious blue eyes.

Tom couldn't bring himself to try to charm the man. Dumbledore never seemed to buy into his flattery anyway, so he neither brought up the battle against Grindelwald, nor the missing DADA professor and instead cut right to the chase.

Unfortunately, this made Dumbledore all the more skeptical.

"Professor, I am sure you're aware Christmas break is coming up," he began. "I've celebrated it here since I first came to Hogwarts. All my friends always leave on vacation and I…" He hesitated, as if unsure how to go on although every word he'd said thus far had been carefully planned, every grimace fabricated. "I was hoping that this year I could perhaps stay with Hermione Granger's family during the holidays."

"Hermione Granger?"

Tom hid his dislike swiftly at the sudden sharpness in Dumbledore's tone. He hated surprises – and this had not been the response he anticipated. "Yes, I am courting her, sir." When Dumbledore's frown deepened at this he felt a twinge of irritation, but reined it in. He must not falter. There was time to analyze later. "She is very special to me," he added, staring at his folded hands with a little bashful smile – although out of the corner of his dark eye he watched Dumbledore raptly to see if his words held any sway over the Transfiguration professor.

"Miss Granger is a special witch indeed," Dumbledore eventually said and Tom knew he had not convinced him of his innocence. His mind worked fast, searching for a new tactic, but the professor plunged right on before he could try. "I hope you do not mind my prying into your business, Mr. Riddle," he continued, "but what exactly do you hope to achieve over vacation at Miss Granger's residence?"

"I would like to meet her family and make a good impression," he replied.

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded. "And I am sure they'd be delighted in meeting you. However, it is mandatory you stay on the school grounds for all terms since you have permission from neither a parent nor a guardian, as you well know, Mr. Riddle. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I'm sure Miss Granger will understand. She's a sensible young lady." Case closed, he plucked a lemon drop out of the crystal bowl on his desk and popped it before offering one to Tom. "Treat?"

His jaw clenched.

Dumbledore was taunting him.

Tom could see it in the old man's eyes, the laughter and amusement, and it wore at his brain as the powerful sea chips away at rock. He thinks he's better than me. He thinks he can stop me. He's wrong, but I'm right. I'm always right-

"No thank you, professor," he said, with a brief smile. Always in control. Always smiling. "Good day, sir."

He turned on his heel and left the classroom. The door clicked shut and Albus Dumbledore watched it tremble on the frame from the swipe of Dark magic that had unintentionally been released on it, speculating.

In those last sixty seconds, Tom Riddle's magic had let loose for just a moment as anger overrode self-composure, and in that instant Dumbledore recognized the powerful energy crackling in the air from the battle between himself and Grindelwald months ago. It had travelled with the Mysterious Cloaked Figure as he first disarmed Dumbledore and then murdered Gellert. It had been getting steadily stronger ever since Hermione Granger came to Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger, who Tom presently courted. Who had something to do with all of this.

Dumbledore's suspicions were confirmed. Tom Riddle was the murderer of Gellert Grindelwald. But the question was: why? And did he kill Lucas Chanté as well? And how did Miss Granger play into this? Where was the Elder Wand?

Dumbledore did not know, but he intended to find out – and put an end to it immediately.

Lines of ink black as mortar cross and web together, forming symbols. No, not symbols – runes. Runes tattooed on the cat's skull, glowing cerulean on Hermione's wrists, running through her head like they'd been waiting there for centuries, coming out her mouth in a stream of thick smoke greyer than the bleak skies.

"Relinquo mihi. Ex cineribus resurgam."

A woman in a chiffon dress turns, long ebony hair in braids and sapphire-blue eyes narrowed as a hungry smile curls her lips.

"Relinquo mihi," she chants. "Ex cineribus resurgam!"

And now Hermione's own eyes glow the aqua blue of those runes – runes tattooed on the cat's skull, glowing cerulean on her wrists, running through her head like they'd been waiting there for centuries, coming out her mouth in a stream of thick smoke greyer than the future.

"Relinquo mihi," she chants, even as the skin on her bones begins to melt and the ground trembles. "Ex cineribus resurgam-"

Hermione jolted awake with a gasp. Tom's jumper stuck to her like a second skin, hot and uncomfortable on top of all the sweat pouring down her back. She was soaked. Shaking. Shaken.

She shoved up her sleeves, checking if the runes smeared across her wrists were still there. Getting nauseous when she found that, indeed, they were. Stumbling out of bed and running to the Head's bathroom as fast as her feet could carry her. Vomiting. Twice.

She washed up at the sinks, blinking sparkly dots out of her vision and rubbing some spearmint toothpaste around her gums. She rinsed her face repeatedly, trying to get rid of the heat simmering like hot lava under her skin. Everything was too loud, too clear, too blurry, too dark, too bright.

She closed her eyes for peace.

Runes. She saw them, stuck on the underside of her eyelids, inescapable.

A reminder of what happened two days ago. Suffocating her.

Yesterday, school had been cancelled when Chanté's body was found. The students were afraid. The Ministry was notified immediately. Sent officials presently guarded the Forbidden Forest to make sure no one got in and nothing got out – but they were too late now, for the DADA professor had been murdered, a centaur killed, and one seventh-year student was now the host for what could potentially be very dangerous essences.

But today was a new day.

Or so Hermione told herself.

It was an opportunity to research, to find out what really happened the night she died, and – above all – to get better. Yesterday, she had been so sick, so tired that she could hardly open her eyes to watch Tom flit about the room, flipping through the lone book they'd scrounged up on essences, trying to figure out the mystery, to figure out what happened, taking the sheets off her when she became so hot it was unbearable and laying down beside her when it seemed the room's temperature had plunged to ten degrees below zero. She still felt weak, but she wouldn't let the feeling last.

She hated being useless.

"Cat?" she whispered to the empty bathroom. The word sounded like a croak. "Cat, come here and tell me what's going on."

Nothing happened.

Hermione rubbed her rolling stomach. It was no use eating anything, because it didn't stay down, and there was hardly any relief to be found in sleeping, because dreams fancied turning into nightmares. It was still another three hours until school started.

She tried calling that mangy cat again.

Without success.

"Hermione, wake up. Breakfast starts in ten minutes."

Hermione found a fully-dressed, impeccable Tom Riddle thrusting the pair of robes she'd worn when they went out to the Forbidden Forest a day ago at her. The house-elves must have washed them, she thought, breathing in the spring scent of laundry detergent and thinking of S.P.E.W. with a guilty twinge.

"Are you going to get ready or just sit there sniffing your stockings all day?" Tom said exasperatedly.

She smiled sleepily. "Well, they do smell quite nice…"

He glared at her.

"Oh, I'm going, I'm going. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Peeping Tom." And she shuffled over to the loo, ignoring it when he threatened to curse her into oblivion if she didn't move faster.

Men.

When they arrived at the Great Hall, the vast room was not filled with its usual, cheerful chatter but whispery and tense, and Hermione felt the hush bearing down on the cafeteria like it was a physical presence. Impossible to disrupt, to mend, to break.

The simple clinking of cutlery seemed obnoxious in this ringing silence.

Headmaster Dippet's paranoia was glaringly evident, she soon realized as she took her usual seat and surveyed the Great Hall. His beady eyes looked up from an untouched plate every other minute to sweep over the hall, past the house tables, to the entrance doors, then back, and ending on a quick glance at Dumbledore. Looking further down the staff table, Hermione saw that in the DADA professor's former chair sat a tall, thin woman whose physique was as reedy as her hair was mousy. A fraction of her face was just giant horned specs.

The substitute.

Talk was sparse while everyone ate. Tom kept his left hand high on her thigh all through the meal, rubbing mindless circles every now and then when their schoolmates whispered gossiping bored him, examining the others' facial expressions, measuring her own, constantly scrutinizing and calculating. It was unnerving.

And comforting too, in an odd sort of way.

Dolohov read the Daily Prophet more attentively than usual, and Rosy and Fabia lamented Professor Chanté's death, saying it was a pity such handsomeness went down the drain like that. Elphy touched up her French manicure using the bottle of nail polish she always carried around in her skirt waistband, only joining the conversation when Witch Weekly came up.

Hermione didn't eat anything in case the food made a reappearance in the middle of Potions.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Hermione," Elphy said ironically, shooting her a glossy smile and waving her nails through the air to dry them. "You had us all worried when we saw you after dinner on Tuesday. I wanted to visit you in the hospital wing yesterday, but of course we all had to go back to our common rooms when they found…well, you know…the body."

Fabia and Rosy agreed.

"It's alright-" She started to say, but stopped when she looked up from her cold hash and found Meredith Smith staring at her. Eerily. The girl didn't look away when caught either, nor did she blink – and for a brief moment, staring into that gaze, Hermione thought she saw a terrible rage surface in the brown orbs and shade their dark irises.

But it was just as swiftly replaced by a trancelike vacancy.

Confused, Fabia and Rosy looked around to see who she was watching and scowled on finding their former Queen Bee looking on, who finally averted her eyes. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"What a freak," Fabia muttered, disturbed. "Doesn't she know to mind her own business?"

"I bet you she upped Chanté," Rosy added conspiratorially. "I hear her groan and make odd noises in her sleep all the time."

"Weirdo."

"More like psycho."

They snickered.

Regulus showed then, with Abraxas at his side and a schoolbag slung over one shoulder. Their clothes were rumpled and hair windblown. They looked to be fresh off the battlefield, Hermione thought wryly.

"Did you hear the news?" said Regulus, sitting down. Abraxas, in turn, took his place a seat down from Elphy, who was on Hermione's left and discontentedly finishing off a measly sprig of asparagus. "There won't be any Hogsmeade trips for the rest of the school year – and Quidditch is cancelled until 'further notice'!"

"No Hogsmeade trips?" Elphy repeated, shocked. "But they can't just do that-"

"They can," Abraxas said grimly, and for once, the Slytheriness didn't snap at him for interrupting. He looked miserable. "No more weekend trips, no games, no nothing. We've been cut off."

"But why?" Fabia said.

"Well, Dippet says those dirty centaurs killed Chanté, but the Ministry thinks there's a murderer running around. After what happened in fifth year they've decided to send someone to intervene, and no one is allowed outside of the castle walls until break when we all leave," Regulus explained. "There are rumors Dippet is going to get the boot as well."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," Dolohov grumbled from the deep depths of twenty pages of newspaper, and Fabia said that she'd heard Dippet had a nervous breakdown after supper yesterday. Hermione glanced at Tom nervously, but he was listening to the conversation and didn't seem to notice.

Or he pretended not to, at least.

"It's not fair we've got to pay for that," Rosy said, crossing her arms and shooting their nervy Headmaster an ice-cold glare. "What about our annual Christmas trip? How will we get presents now? What about shopping?"

"What Christmas trip?" Hermione said, surprised. Elphy explained to her that it was a Slytherin tradition, always done a week or so before everyone left for break and looked forward to all school year. Hermione mulled over this and shot another look at Tom, who arched a brow at her this time. She looked back at Elphy.

Thinking.

"Well... there is one way to get into Hogsmeade," Hermione said slowly.

Abraxas scoffed. "And what could that possibly be? By unicorn? With the aid of Merlin?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "No. By shortcut."

"What shortcut?" Regulus said, stooped. "I've never seen any shortcuts in Hogwarts."

"And how do you know about it? This is your first year here," Fabia interjected skeptically.

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History," she said, although this was a bold-faced lie. The shortcut was actually one of many from the Marauder's Map Fred and George had given Harry in their third year. Tom shot her a curious look. "I could get us into Hogsmeade," she continued, "if you're up for it."

A thrilled smile blossomed on Elphy's glittery lips. "Oh Hermione, that'd be wonder-"

"But only if Tom comes," she added.

All the occupants of the table – the ones who were listening in anyway – froze and turned to Tom Riddle, who still regarded Hermione suspiciously. What did she want him to go to Hogsmeade for? And what was this business about a shortcut? He had read Hogwarts: A History more than once and not one chapter mentioned any loopholes in the school grounds.

"Oh pleasepleasepleasegoTom!" Fabia burst out, interrupting his thoughts. She clasped her hands as if in prayer and not a second later, Rosy and Elphy had joined in, sounding like starving Chihuahuas as they pleaded. The Head Boy looked severely irritated.

"Alright, alright, quit your sniveling," he said, annoyed. "I'll go."

Hermione beamed. Finally, she had come up with a new step for the task – simple, humane, and all on her own.

The bell rang for first period and the students rose all at once, hustling out of the Great Hall and resuming their rowdiness as soon as they were out of the agitated Headmaster's sight. Hermione and Tom walked to Potions, side-by-side, fingers brushing every now and then but never intertwining.

In class, Slughorn - as all the teachers had been instructed - did not publicize Professor Chanté's death and instead acted as though nothing had ever happened, getting on with their lesson like it was just another normal day at Hogwarts. Hermione tried to pretend it was – but thoughts of clomping hooves and Professor Chanté's blood curdling scream were hard to suppress.

Worse, drowsiness was closing in on her already.

She and Tom worked through the class quickly enough, however, and when the period ended she felt nervous. She hadn't been away from Tom since she accepted the essences in the Forbidden Forest, and even being with him all day and night yesterday had not gotten rid of her strange coming and going fatigue or sickness…

Tom stopped them outside of the Herbology classroom and they waited until the Charms professor ambled by, staggering under the cumbersome weight of a stack of scrolls and textbooks, trudging away with muttered oaths and grumblings. Hermione watched the professor go with a frown.

"I'll see you in Transfiguration," Tom said once he was gone. "Do you think you'll be alright alone?"

"Of course I will be." She summoned what she hoped was a convincing smile. "It's only a few periods, Tom."

"I'm counting on that," he said quietly. His magic was already slowly peeling away from hers and she steeled herself, fighting not to scrabble after it. She did, however, press her lips against his. And kept them there.

It made her feel a little better.

He drew away, smirking. "Go to class, Hermione."

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Go."

Quickly, she kissed him – hard – and hurried into the classroom. His laughter was cut off by the door swinging shut.

Hermione sat across Regulus in her usual seat, meeting Augusta's eyes briefly before they both awkwardly looked away in opposite directions. She fidgeted. Her stomach was already cramping from the discomfort of having Tom's magic so far away from hers – but she ignored the uncomfortable sensations and talked to Regulus all through class about trivial, meaningless things - namely, Divinations coursework - while they watered and tended their Man-Eating tulip bulbs.

When Hermione arrived at Transfiguration it was most disappointedly not to find Tom already there, but a half-filled classroom and Dumbledore awaiting her. She felt the professor's eyes follow her as she walked in, but avoided meeting them.

Hermione sat in her seat beside Hayley Abott, who sniffled loudly into a soggy tissue over the deceased Professor Chanté, and by the time Tom finally did enter, she had realized something was wrong with Dumbledore. He was watching her too closely, and when Tom came in, his blue eyes stealthily slipped back and forth between them, even as she made sure not to let her magic rip across the room and combine with its counterpart the way it so desperately wanted to.

Dumbledore was looking for something.

But what?

Class passed by at a torturously slow rate. Hermione felt the ache for Tom's magic deep in her body like hunger pains and, so distracted by her discomfort, didn't even hear Dumbledore teaching the class instructions to Transfigure a lamp into a talking parakeet. Hayley Abott frowned at her through reddened eyes. "Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" she asked, voice nasally and thick with snot.

Hermione breathed in deep and let out a short pained hiss between clenched teeth. "Yes," she ground out. "I'm fine."

Hayley didn't say anything else for the rest of the period.

Moments before the bell rang, students were already halfway out of their seats, heading to the door, chattering and laughing and hurrying. Hermione met Tom's eyes over the bobbing heads and shouts; his own flashed at her–

"Miss Granger, may I have a word?" Dumbledore said kindly.

She looked up, startled, and dropped her head in a fast nod at the professor's expectant gaze. "Of course, professor," she replied, although she was afraid of what Dumbledore might have to say to her.

Had he found them out?

Was he going to ask her about Professor Chanté?

What if he knew about the essences?

What if he knew she was a time traveller?

No, he couldn't know that. That wasn't possible. She had taken all the necessary pracautions.

Hermione shook these paranoid thoughts off and followed the professor to his desk, locking eyes with Tom briefly before he vacated the classroom.

"What was it you needed to see me for, professor?" Hermione asked. She tried not to sound anxious, but she couldn't help wanting to get this intervention over with as soon as possible.

"Miss Granger, I do not mean to pry, for you are a very capable witch and surely able to look after yourself," Dumbledore began, folding his hands before him. His turquoise eyes probed hers. "However, I am worried by your association with Mr. Riddle."

She blinked. Well, that was unexpected.

"I'm sorry?"

He smiled at her confusion. "Mr. Riddle is courting you, correct?"

"Um…yes?" It sounded like a question. She tried again, with more conviction. "Yes. He is."

"Miss Granger, I believe I explained to you earlier that while illusions may appear very…real, fascinating even, that they are in actuality fickle, dangerous things and as a result quite deceptive," he said, referring to the analogy he had used months ago when he first warned her away from Tom. However, now Hermione had very little reason to listen to Dumbledore's odd metaphors at all. Even in her own time, he hadn't turned out to be all too reliable. Why should she listen to him now when doing so before had gotten her nothing but trouble and heartache? And, oh yeah, almost killed?

"Mr. Riddle came to me yesterday, asking to stay with your family during Christmas," Dumbledore continued. "However, your parents have…excuse me…passed away, Miss Granger." He tilted his head. "Now, why would Mr. Riddle ask me this if he knows your family is deceased?"

"I have cousins in Geneva who have invited me to their home for Christmas," she said calmly. "I'm sorry, professor, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't see how any of this pertains to you…?"

Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice was sharp and thunderous as she had never heard it – at least, not directed at her. She winced. "Miss Granger, please do not insult my intelligence by pretending," he said sternly. "I know you and Mr. Riddle have bound your magic. Need I remind you that such an act is highly illegal?"

Hermione gaped at him. "I-"

"A Ministry official will be here after break to investigate Professor Chanté's passing," he said, adjusting his half-moon glasses and peering at her. "I would not want to report something like this, especially when the consequences – the punishment – is so severe. You are young, Miss Granger, but both you and Mr. Riddle would be tried as adults should you be granted a trial. If I were to report this…"

She was stunned. "Professor, are you threatening me?"

"Miss Granger, please." Dumbledore frowned. "I'm only trying to help you."

Hermione was quiet.

"You see, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said softly. "An old friend of mine once tried to persuade me to bind our magic. This friend was…charming, to say the least, and very manipulative. This friend wanted me to bind our power, 'to make us stronger' so he put it – but he really only wanted all of it for himself."

Grindelwald. She didn't have to ask who the friend was. Hermione chewed her lip contemplatively. "I… What happened then, professor?" she finally asked.

"I was lucky enough to get out of the relationship before things could get out of hand."

She blanched.

"It is not too late for you to stop this either, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently. "Perhaps the allure of power, of having double the amount of magic, feels wonderful. Perhaps better than that." He sighed. "I assume that you care for Mr. Riddle very much and that this connection makes you feel closer to him, but please think rationally. What you have done is dangerous. It must come to an end before it is too late."

"'Before it's too late'?" she said, bewildered. "What do you mean, professor?"

"I mean that what you have with Mr. Riddle is not a full magical bond. There must be a final act to connect the both of you permanently." Dumbledore hesitated. "Usually, it is an act of great intimacy and sentiment. It is irreversible."

Hermione blushed as the meaning of an act of great intimacy sank in. Of course, Dumbledore meant sex.

"Miss Granger, Tom Riddle is a dangerous young man," the Transfiguration professor continued to venture, trying to make her see reason, to see past her heart. "He has killed."

She frowned. "The Chamber of Secrets incident was years ago, professor, and there was never any evidence that he-"

"This is true, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted, "but there is evidence that proves Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione froze, his words repeating themselves in her head in a horrible mantra. Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald. Mr. Riddle is the killer of Gellert Grindelwald. MrRiddleisthekillerofGellertGrindelwald-

"What evidence?" she said warily.

"Mr. Riddle's magic is unusually strong, Miss Granger. I recognized it in Germany, where I met Grindelwald for the last time," Dumbledore responded. "And I now realize it has been present for months here on this very castle."

He did? It was? But how? Hermione's brain worked fast, connecting the dots and all too quickly understanding Dumbledore's reasoning. What logic she found horrified her. Of course he would mistaken her magic for Tom's. They had been long connected by the time of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's battle, even if she did not know it herself, and her magic had already begun to possess qualities of his, qualities Dumbledore had misjudged to be Tom Riddle's magic completely.

Oh crap.

"Professor, that can't be right," Hermione said quickly. "Tom was here in the castle that day."

Dumbledore was sympathetic. "Miss Granger, I know you would not want to believe this. I understand it is quite hard to think someone so close to you could do something so terrible-"

"Professor, Tom did not kill Gellert Grindelwald," she said, earnestly. "I don't who the Mysterious Cloaked Figure or whoever is, but it wasn't him. He was here with me that day on the Astronomy Tower. We went there because he couldn't go to Hogsmeade. We had a picnic."

Dumbledore stared at her, obviously surprised, and for an instant... she almost felt bad for lying to him.

Then she was surprised that guilt was hard pressed to come to her at all.

"I'm sorry, professor, but I have to go to lunch." Hermione neared the door and nodded at the future Headmaster cursorily. "Have a good day, professor. Excuse me."

And she left him alone in the classroom, shaking with barely-controlled panic as she speedily strode down the empty corridors. Her thoughts raced. Dumbledore knew about the magical bond, he knew and he thought Tom had murdered Grindelwald. It wouldn't be long until he found out it was her, until he sensed and recognized her magic – but if Hermione was lucky, by then they will have graduated and be far from Hogwarts – or could she pin the blame on someone else? But was there any other person to be framed? No, no that was wrong. She couldn't do that to someone.

And I don't owe Dumbledore anything anymore, she thought.

Hermione found herself standing outside the Headmaster's office.

The Founder's magic was available and ready, but she didn't call on it, instead drawing from the vault of power her and Tom's magic had now become: a darker force just as willing to submit to this task. To convince Dippet to agree, to let Tom leave the castle and go to her nonexistent cousin's home in Switzerland, to think it such a splendid idea that no one - not even Dumbledore - could change his mind.

To crowd logic out of her brain.

To take her down a new path.

To perhaps change everything, forever.

For better.

And just as easily, for worse.

AN: GAH, I know, I know the chapter is short (sorry!). The next chapter will hopefully be posted much sooner (maybe even this weekend?) and is definitely lengthier. This update was mainly the aftermath of a murdered Hogwarts professor, Dumbledore facetime, and mysterious, vague hintings at the results of those freaky essences... (which will be taking a big role very, very soon). XD Also, I have posted a new FF titled Daddy Dearest, which I hope to so persuasively commute you all to.

Yes, it is Tomione.

And M-rated.

And Victorian Era.

And hopefully interesting.

And a little OOC.

But anyway... Please leave a review! The-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is needing some love right now, and the only way he's gonna get it is through your delightful feedback (and, ahem, Hermione's badass BJS). ;)

MUAHMUAHKISSES!