Synopsis: AU. In a world where Sybil Trelawney is never born, the prophecy remains, but goes unheard. How different will Harry Potter's life be growing up in a world where Voldemort won? How long until a brilliant young man is noticed by the ever more brilliant Dark Lord?
Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Grainger, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Luna Lovegood.

AN: So I'm back, and I've edited this whole story for grammar, and some minor parts of the plot. I hope you enjoy this; I'm feeling quite rusty at writing these days. Still, let me know what you think.


Chapter 14

Draco Malfoy woke up that morning with a sense of purpose. It was an important day in many respects; the sort of day where just about anything could happen. He dressed carefully in his second-best robes, the calming light filtering through the lake into the dungeon windows soothing him. By the time he had showered, dressed and left the dungeons, he had a quiet air of determination about his shoulders.

Striding towards the Slytherin table - named such only for it's colours these days, given inter-house mixing at breakfast was very common – he caught sight of her hair before he registered the first target of his determination. Less bushy and wild than it had been in her early years of Hogwarts, Hermione Black was nonetheless still quite recognisable by her curly mane of brunette locks. Today it fell to her lower back; this was unusual, given she most often tied it up and away from her face. Today, of course, was not just an ordinary day for any of them. Many students across the Great Hall looked a little more groomed than usual; the day's events prompting far more hair-care related spells and the odd acne-related glamour than one would usually find in a school. Sparing no time to allow himself to fret, he walked directly to where the witch was enjoying a light breakfast of croissants and grapefruit, and sat across from her. She looked up from the book she had been reading, her face a picture of quiet surprise.

"Miss Black," he begun, his voice steadier than he felt. "I have a proposition for you."

The proposition was part of a plan he had been going over in his mind for weeks now, ever since his Father had announced his intention for the two of them to be betrothed. He paid no attention to the beating of his heart, and pushed on. It was, he did say so himself, a well made plan after all.

Hermione shut her book, offering him her full attention. "Oh?"

"I propose," he continued, pausing for dramatic effect. He'd spent weeks perfecting what he was about to say, until he had it perfectly memorised. "That you and I should help each other. You are the brightest witch of our age, and I want my AMGS' to be as impressive as possible, upon graduation. My offer in exchange, would be teaching you everything about pure-blood society and etiquette; everything I know, and that knowledge is considerable. As the Black heir, this knowledge will be invaluable to you, and for all my Aunt's many talents, I doubt she has the patience to impart this sort of thing on you."

Hermione could hardly conceal her shock, it was written all over her face. After a moment, she gathered her wits and began to ask questions.

"You're already in the top five in our year group, Draco, I hardly think you require tutoring," she began, although it was far from an outright refusal. She merely look puzzled.

"I believe one can never be overeducated, Hermione." Saying her name felt strange in his mouth, but sweet. "And as I said, you are brilliant."

Her cheeks darkened a little, and he struggled not to flash a delighted smile at this. She continued.

"And how exactly do you propose to teach me pure-blood etiquette? What sort of things do I have to learn?" Her tone was interested, as he had predicted. His future bride was not one to accept being ignorant on just about any subject. Except perhaps Quidditch.

"We'd start out simple," he answered easily. "Correct addresses, gifting, formal protocol," he took a breath before he continued. "Then we'd move onto more complex matters; dinners and brunches, dancing, courting." The fact he managed to say the last without blushing, turning pale and going green all at once, was a testament to his acting skills. This witch had always been able to turn him to some sort of unpoised half-blood jelly.

"Courting?" she asked, before swallowing and nodding. "I suppose I will be expected to… court, at some point. I think you're right, Draco, this could be very useful. When do you suppose we should start?"

"I think we should meet for dinner to discuss it in depth, perhaps in a couple of days, when all the excitement of today has passed," he suggested. Everything was going according to plan.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and then after a long moment; "Alright. Agreed."

Not giving himself any time to ruin the trick he had just pulled off, Draco nodded politely to the witch, stood, and moved quickly away to the Gryffindor table. He had successfully tricked his future wife into a series of dates. Onto the next matter of this odd day.


Harry sat at the Gryffindor table glumly pushing scrambled eggs around his plate. He had no appetite today, less so even than in the days previous. His stomach felt tight and his mouth felt dry. Today was the qualifying round for the International Duelling Competition, and in just a few short hours, he'd be going against hundreds of other competent witches and wizards in the hopes of getting through to the next round. His whole body felt sensitive as his nerves played havoc on his system. With a sigh, he pushed the plate away.

Dean, who had been watching Harry carefully, put a hand on his shoulder and grasped it firmly.

"It's going to be fine, mate," he said with confident enthusiasm. "You're brilliant."

"And even if you don't-" came the encouraging tones of Ron. "You're only sixteen! It's not like anyone will think less of you for it."

Whilst he knew the two of them were trying to be helpful, it took all his control not to snap at them. They didn't know the full story, of course. They didn't have the Dark Lord's expectations weighing heavily on their shoulders. They didn't know that all he could think about when he should have been practising his duelling, were the red eyes of the Dark Lord, and often the red hair of Michael, who he'd been unable to explain his disappearance to. The mere thought of his muggle lover made his chest tighten with sorrow. It wasn't that he had loved him, although maybe he would have come to; it was that he'd come to care for him. He knew how often the young man had been abandoned and neglected in his life; he wasn't an orphan, but he may as well have been. The thought of him thinking Harry had left him in the same way filled him with grief. He didn't want his lover – a man he had never quite thought of as his boyfriend – to suffer. The two wizards also didn't know what it was like to go through all this without the support of two of his best friends. It had been over a fortnight, and Draco and Blaise were yet to speak to him. Hermione had come to him after a few days, scolded him some more and cried a bit – something that almost wrenched the heart right out of him – but had forgiven him. Draco and Blaise were still giving him the cold shoulder, no matter how many times he tried to apologise.

Harry had begun to stand up, intending to find somewhere quiet to prepare himself for the challenges today would bring, when he was stopped short by the level gaze of Draco Malfoy. The young wizard stood at his side, by the Gryffindor table, with an expression that hadn't quite decided if it wanted to be a glare yet. Harry blinked rapidly, surprised.

"Um. Hello, Draco," he said, simply. He kept his face studiously blank and open.

"I would like to begin by reiterating that you behaved like an idiot-" began Draco, his tone firm.

"Yes," Harry agreed, quickly.

"-And that you are entirely too reckless; foolhardy, and often ridiculous."

"I agree."

"-And that in future you will not endeavour to lie to your closest friends. We've stuck by you long enough to deserve the truth, Harry."

Harry merely nodded eagerly at this, trying to adopt an appropriately chastised expression. He couldn't help the faint bubbling of hope in his chest, however. He didn't even care that this interaction was going on in full view of other students, who were peering over in undisguised interest.

Blaise, who had entered the Great Hall just minutes before had paused in his journey to the table to watch this interaction, only a foot from it. His face was carefully expressionless, but intense.

"Furthermore, whilst I acknowledge that you are talented; a magical genius, in fact," he glowered as Harry's expression brightened a little, and Harry quickly concealed the spark of pride. "I would like you to promise that you will never again indulge in practices that could very well end your life."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. He threw a worried look at Blaise, who's eyes hardened considerably. "I..."

"He can't do it," interrupted Blaise, his eyes as dark as his skin in his anger. "This will always be who he is."

Harry shook his head, mournfully. "Not really. I just- I can't say for certain. I don't know what the years could bring," he sighed. "There are situations; things that could happen – things I'd risk my life for. I don't want to lie to you," he levelled a profoundly serious look at Blaise. "Either of you."

"And you'd risk it for power?!" exploded Blaise, uncaring that his voice carried through the hall. That the Professors had begun to watch. That the dark eyes of Severus Snape and Regulus Black were watching the interaction carefully.

"No," he said firmly, his voice hard. "No, but I'd risk it for you. For him," he gestured to Draco. "For my friends."

There was a quiet then, it may have lasted only seconds but it felt like an eternity before Blaise spoke again, his eyes shiny. The only thing preventing tears being his considerable pride.

"Do you have any idea," he began, his voice softer. Almost fragile. "What it was like to wonder if you were ever going to wake up?"

Harry's eyes closed briefly, and he swallowed heavily. "I am sorry. Please. Forgive me?"

Another tense moment. Draco looked to Blaise, Blaise to Harry, and then the tension dissipated as Blaise gave the smallest of nods. Draco spoke first, his expression warmer, visibly relieved.

"You're not going to represent my family in that," he gestured to Harry's robes. "Come on, we need to get you ready."

As the boys turned to leave the Great Hall, already in animated discussion about the competition and technique, and everything they had missed out on in the last couple of weeks, a Slytherin witch delicately wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve.

"Boys," said Hermione Black in exasperation, the smile not leaving her face for quite some time.


It was a crowd of several thousand. Impressive, when you considered the British Wizarding population numbered less than one-hundred thousand; witches and wizards controlled their population far more than their muggle counterparts, and they had lost over a fifth of their ranks to the Wizarding war. All in all, one in twenty of all the witches and wizards in Britain had turned up to the British qualifiers for the International Duelling Competition. It was always one of the biggest social events of the year, and anyone who was anyone or ever aspired to be, was present.

This crowd was far from a sombre one.. It seemed to Harry, as he stood on the Quidditch pitch that had been re-designated for the day into a duelling ground (no other sort of stadium would take the sheer capacity of people), that every member of the crowd must be shouting in order to create the almighty roar that filled the space. He yearned to cast a silencing spell, but their wands had been confiscated upon entering the duelling area; they'd be tested and re-tested for illegal spells, and it prevented contestants getting into dirty tricks before their duels had begun.

There were perhaps three or four hundred witches and wizards on the ground; most wore a wristband of swirling blue light, marking them as a contestant. A few others were donning red that marked them as the event's staff. Such staff were buzzing around answering and asking questions; they looked frustrated and tired; Harry kept his many questions to himself. Instead, he eyed the crowd, trying to estimate his competition.

Everyone present was older than him, most by many years. There were few that were very old, but those that were looked less than frail; powerful witches and wizards lived longer after all, and one should never assume that a magical person advanced in years was weaker for said years. The average age looked to be late twenties to early forties, and that group were particularly disdainful when they caught sight of Harry. He'd been briefly featured in the Prophet a few days prior; the youngest entrant in many years. A few might respect him for having the sheer testicular fortitude to be here, but he could see from the derision on the majority of faces that they thought him merely a boastful child; too foolish to know he was outranked. Perhaps they were right.

The most frightening sight in the crowd were the ones who wore the black robes and skull symbol that marked the Death Eaters. There weren't many, but he caught sight of a few in the crowd. They were unfailingly calm, collected and radiating power. Not all Death Eaters were powerful, but the ones who would come and willingly represent their Lord in this way would do so because they knew they would not embarrass him. After all, who would dare fail the Dark Lord?
With an expression mixed somewhere between hope and fear, Harry glanced up at the top box, located central in the stadium, in which the best seats were. If the Dark Lord were here at the event, then he'd be up there. It was too far away from him to make out the figures in the box, but he knew that Draco would be there with his Father; Hermione with her adoptive Mother, Bellatrix. Blaise was also there at Draco's behest. He wished he could see them; feel their encouragement. Of course, he knew they were rooting for him, which was all that really mattered.

"You're the kid," came a female voice from behind. Harry whirled round and was greeted to the sight of a pretty young woman. She couldn't be far into her twenties, which made her one of the younger contestants. What marked her out besides that, was the fact she had bright blue hair,and a face that seemed somehow familiar. She smiled at him. "I read about you in the prophet," she added.

He nodded and smiled in return, if hesitantly. "I prefer Harry, to be honest."

She smiled again, this time an embarrassed one. "Sorry, I have a tendency to be a bit blunt, Harry. My name is Nymphadora, but my friends call me Dora."

He offered a hand, and she shook it. "So what do you think to all this then? It's my first time. I didn't expect it to be so..." she trailed off. "Well, you know."

Harry nodded, and lacking anything further to say, added "It's my first time too."

Dora grinned. "Well unless last time you came holding your Mother's skirts, I would hope so," she laughed. Harry scowled playfully.

"Who are you here with?" he asked after a moment, noticing her scanning the crowds above.

"Oh, just my Mum. I bet she's hating the noise though," she answered worriedly, then added as if he'd asked, "she doesn't get out a lot."

He nodded again, unsure of what else to say. Before they could say anything further however, a high pitched tone filled the pitch. Then another, signalling there was about to be an announcement.

"Contestants," began an officious voice, magically amplified to fill the stadium. "Move to your assigned colours, and take out your calling cards. When your number is called, you will have two minutes to get to your assigned duelling station before your match begins. DO NOT be late."

Harry pulled out his card; a small piece of paper that indicated his name, contestant number and colour. Nymphadora did the same.

"I've got yellow," she offered.

"Blue," he replied.

She nodded and smiled brightly again, "Well then, Harry the kid, good luck!"

With that, she joined the slow moving flow of human traffic towards her assigned colour. After one deep breath to collect himself, Harry did the same.

There were ten colours in total. As Harry moved to his assigned colour, which had magically appeared on his calling card since the last time he'd checked it, the glowing band of light around his wrist shifted to a darker blue. He looked around as the coloured wrist-bands across the stadium changed, so the bands of light matched their stations. Ten circles of light around the stadium marked the designated waiting areas. Around the larger circles were many smaller circles; the areas in which the duels themselves would take place. The competition was organised as follows: contestants would duel only others in their colour. When the competition began, they would do ten duels, being randomly assigned opponents from within their colour. For every match won, the contestant would score a point. For every match lost, the contestant would lose a point. At the end of ten matches, the contestants with the highest five scores in each category would be taken forward to the British championships. An event even more eagerly anticipated than this one.

Harry moved to his assigned area and waited. To his surprise, he was filled with a bubbling excitement at the prospect of the duels. The nervous energy seemed to be emboldening him, and he looked up at the large screens at all four corners of the pitch. Displayed on each were ten columns, highlighted by their colour. In roughly thirty-five to forty rows were the names of the contestants, each currently with a zero next to their name. At the top of the board were the words 'Round 0' in large lettering. Around the stadium, viewers would be watching their programs, where the scores were magically transferred in real time. Richer viewers would have their own screens, able to zoom in on the action in a specific colour category. The amount of gold and thought that had gone into merely the qualifiers for the IDC was a wonder to behold.

Their wands were being redistributed by a harried looking woman in red, and Harry was relieved to see that it was indeed his wand that had been safely delivered back to him. He watched with quiet interest as she had a whispered word with one of the other contestants; he began to argue, but she obviously said something that quieted him quickly, and the man walked off dejectedly. He noted that less than a minute later, a name on the board was greyed out and an X appeared where the score had been. There was a handful like this across the board by the time all the wands had been safely returned. It would appear that some people had been disqualified. He had little time to think on this before the officious voice once again boomed out.

"Contestants, make your way to your designated duelling area. Round one will begin in two minutes. I repeat, round one will begin in two minutes. See your calling card for details, and have your wands at the ready."

After checking and finding he was in 'Blue 4', he looked around and quickly found his pod. A moment after he entered, a fair haired witch in her late thirties joined him. She smiled smugly when she saw him, obviously believing he'd be an easy first round. They stood the required distance from each other, and the volume of the crowd decreased slightly as safety wards formed around them.

"Don't worry, dear," said the woman, cheerfully. "I won't be too hard on you!" It set his teeth on edge, but he smiled politely back at her.

They waited, and waited, and then the countdown begun. "10, 9, 8, 7...3, 2, 1. Begin!"

There had been a few small outcries before the countdown had reached one, and Harry was sure if he looked up, he'd see a few more greyed out names. He didn't look up, however, as his focus was all on the duel. The woman smiled almost tenderly at him as she lifted her wand.

It came as quite a surprise to the witch when she was ennervated several minutes later. She had little memory of being stunned, but then, she hadn't expected the young boy to be so fast. Harry had merely stupified her, nothing impressive; the woman, lulled by his youthful exterior had not even thought to use a shield charm. More fool her.

Harry grinned as he saw the number one appear next to his name, indicating he had scored a point. The round ended several minutes later, and they were instructed to return to the central ring. The way to win a match was simple; you merely had to disarm, knock out, or otherwise incapacitate your opponent. You weren't allowed to kill, but there were few other restrictions. If within the five minute time frame neither managed to best the other, then it was declared a draw and no points were given.

The second match was called and Harry moved to Blue 9. This time he was against a man looking to be in his early fifties. He scowled at Harry, and Harry scowled right back. He doubted playing the child would work in this match. Indeed, it didn't.
The moment the match began, the man cast a series of spells in quick succession, and non verbally. Harry only just managed to raise a shield charm, and even then it was sloppy. It almost collapsed under the barrage of stunners before Harry could even reinforce it. Thinking on his feet, Harry dropped the shield and dropped to the floor simultaneously. The wizard had to cease his constant fire of stupifies to put up his own shield when Harry fired a particularly nasty stinging hex his way. The man managed it, avoiding the hex, but the man's defence was little more impressive than his had been. With a particularly powerful expelliarmus, Harry shattered the shield and subsequently got the man's wand. If it were possible for someone to be killed by a glare, Harry would be very dead. Fortunately, it was not, and the end of the round was called quickly. Harry's grin only got wider and wilder as his name got a two next to it and shot up the blue leaderboard.

Two more duels passed in a similar way. He bested a wizard who may have only entered as a joke, given Harry had him bound and disarmed in less than ten seconds; Harry suspected he might even be drunk. He then had a good four minute bout with a talented witch in her twenties, who was disarmed only by a particularly clever and dirty trick Harry did in which he feigned fatigue to make her think she was close to winning, before surprising her with a tickling jinx. He all but swaggered into the fifth match; believing that perhaps this competition was going to be easier than he thought. Until he saw the robes of his next opponent. Black robes marked by a skull; a very attractive witch in her late twenties grinned at him as he entered the ring. He blanched. A Death Eater.


The VIP box was abuzz with activity. It's capacity was quite large, having enough room to sit around fifty people. It didn't usually get within a fifth of that, however, the rich preferring to enjoy the free-flowing champagne, personal screens, and excellent house-elf service by themselves. Even in the years before, the box had never been this packed with people. In large part, it was because of an unusually high amount of Death Eater entrants this year. There were always a few, but on the ground today there were at least ten medium-to-high ranking death eaters. Many fellow Death Eaters had then come to watch their comrades (whether to see their successes or failures was left unsaid). Certainly Bellatrix, Lucius, Professor Crouch and Professor Snape were flicking their personal screens from Death Eater match to Death Eater match. Occasionally Lucius and Crouch would glance over at the screen that Hermione, Draco and Blaise were gathered around; eagerly watching Harry compete.

"That last one was close," said Hermione, letting out a breath she had obviously been holding as Harry won the fourth match.

"He's doing well," said Blaise with a nod. "Isn't getting too showy."

"I wish he'd be a bit more showy," grumbled Draco. Only two of the three matches had been remotely interesting so far. Harry was so obviously better than his opponents, and found himself joint first thus far with six other competitors. "At least he looks good in our house colours."

Draco had insisted that Harry wear his best duelling-robes, adorned now with the Malfoy crest and their colours of silver and green.

There was a collective gasp from the three as Harry moved to the duelling area for his fifth match. Lucius, who had glanced over to the screen at the sound, quickly waved his wand and changed his own screen to Blue 6. Raising an eyebrow, the rest of the Death Eaters present did the same.

"Come now," began Severus in irritation, his screen yet to be changed. "That match will surely be over in moments. Potter can't win against Selwyn."

Lucius smirked. "I think you underestimate the child, Severus. Harry is quite the accomplished duellist."

Severus snorted indelicately and waved his wand over his own screen. "I do not underestimate Verona Selwyn."

The Dark Lord, who had been deep in conversation with some sort of foreign ambassador at the back of the box, waved the woman into silence. Quietly, he returned to the front of the box; his position being the very front row where he alone sat. It was left unseated regardless of whether he was at an event or not. He took a seat on his row, and wandlessly changed his personal screen to Blue 6. It would be interesting to see how the boy fared against one of his best duellists.


The first thing Harry did was throw up the strongest possible shield charm that he could. The second thing he did was try to think of a plan. He was suddenly very aware of how stunted his technique was by being unable to kill, or try to kill. The best of his repertoire was deadly; from fiend-fyre to wasting curses. He'd even invented a spell that effected the bodies ability to coagulate blood without the victims awareness; a simple diffindo would then be enough to kill. It wasn't like he'd ever used these techniques in battle, but his self-confidence in duels was largely based on them. He knew very little about how to take a strong opponent down without killing them.

A spell hit his shield, and was absorbed. Then another, and another. The witch before him; all blonde hair and hazel eyes, grinned, delighted. It wasn't a mocking grin, or the kind of grin one gives because they think they are about to win. Rather, it was the sort of grin one gives when they're rather impressed. Still smiling, she began to walk towards him. He was confused for a moment as she did so, and shot a stunner her way to test her reaction. She threw up a shield easily and fluidly and did not even pause in her stride towards him. He realised then that she intended to walk through his shield. They were not wards, after all, and only protected from spells.

With only a moment to consider, he dropped the shield and ran past her, ducking as she fired a nasty looking hex his way, avoiding it only by a hair's breadth. He turned, and allowed himself to fall back simultaneously, as another spell soared towards his head. Non-verbally, he fired an imperius curse her way. She dodged this, rather than throw up a shield, but her face showed the same smile it had earlier. Imperio was a very difficult spell to do non-verbally. The woman glanced up at the clock on the great screen and her smile became an irritated look. She sighed, and spoke an incantation Harry didn't recognise; the shield around him dissolved, and the expalliarmus hit him before he even had time to fully grasp the situation. Even afterwards he had little idea as to how she'd brought down his guard. His wand hit her hand just two seconds before the clock reached the five minute mark. She had been playing with him.

Harry watched with a sinking feeling of dread as his name moved down the leader-board. With a score of three, he was far from near the bottom; he remained near the top in fact, but not the top five. Barely the top ten. Nevertheless, he nodded to the Death Eater with respect, and to his surprise, she did the same.

For the next four matches, Harry played with a ruthless determination. He had lost to that witch - a worthy opponent - but he'd be damned if he let anyone else best him. One came close, uncomfortably close in fact, managing to catch him with a body-bind. It was only that the wizard was unaware that Harry could perform some basic wandless magic – enough to manage a finite incantatum – that he had managed to catch him by surprise and disarm him. As he went into the central circle and waited for the tenth round, he looked up at the board and growled. He was currently joint sixth. Someone in the top five had to lose the next match. This was far closer than he had hoped, and three competitors had a perfect score of nine thus far.

His last match was somewhat anti-climactic. The witch was a fair dueller, but clearly tired. She had the look of someone who was just wishing for her bed, and Harry made the assumption – that later turned out to be correct – that she was too far down the ranking now to be able to catch up. She put up a good duel, that ran past the three minute mark, before he managed to aim a stinging jinx at her hand, causing her to drop her wand. She gave him a resigned smile at this, and seemed relieved to return to the centre for the last time.
Harry didn't share her weariness. As soon as his match had ended, he looked up to the board eagerly, only to see that all the scores had disappeared. In their place the screen merely said 'Championship competitors', and below the board remain blank in ten colours – with five rows now remaining. He waited, and the two minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly. When the round finally came to a close, and the weary competitors returned to the circle, the officious voice once again began to speak.

"Honourable Witches and Wizards – the results of the British Qualifiers are about to be announced. The results will be announced momentarily." There was a short pause, and Harry remembered to breath.

"From Green..." he announced the winners from green, but Harry paid little attention as he did not recognise any names. Occasionally he'd recognise a surname from someone he vaguely knew from Hogwarts; their cousins or siblings perhaps, even parents – but no one he knew particularly well. He paid little attention as other colours were announced; red and orange being announced next. He noticed little pockets of sound at certain names from the crowd, and thought perhaps they were their families. He recognised the odd familiar name from competitions past, too. Anthon Veil for example, had done very well in the British Championships last year, and his name was announced to fond cheers from the crowd. Harry smiled as much as his nerves could allow when he heard the name Nymphadora McKinnon announced in yellow.

Finally, it was time to announce for blue. The winners were announced in order of rank, and Harry held his breath.
"The order for blue, and those passing to the British Championships are as follows; Verona Selwyn, Rhianne Willow, Nathanial Flint," Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Bartholomew Prince," the announcer probably didn't pause anymore for this name than he did for any of the others, but to Harry it felt like that second dragged more than any other wait had from the moment he decided to enter the IDC. "Harry Potter."

Across the stadium, in the centre of an empty row of seats, a Dark Lord smirked.

Across the stadium, at the very top, packed between countless spectators in the very worst seats, a werewolf cursed.


A/N: It's been a long time, so please do review :)