Diagon Alley, London, July 26th, 1991

"Welcome," said McGonagall, "to Diagon Alley." A closed smile left her as she declared the greeting.

Behind them, the archway started collecting its bricks back into a solid, uniform wall. A pile of cauldrons outside the nearest shop caught his eyes as it reflected the morning.

"Do not concern yourself for the moment, Mr. Potter." McGonagall sounded similar to his aunt when Dudley didn't brush his teeth. "You will receive a cauldron, preferably pewter, after we withdraw money from your vault."

Harry was disinterested because most of this was available at Hexagon Alley.

"Come along now." McGonagall went ahead, Dudley and his aunt in pursuit.

Harry overheard a quarrel between two men in a shaded corner of the Alley. "Edgar, are you crazy?" The first voice was very focused on the pithiness of whatever situation they were in. Harry wanted to move on, but it would be foolish to deny his curiosity.

"For my wife and the sake of my family, yes." The second male voice was annoyed with the first one. "It's harmless… possibly…." Mystery solved. They were discussing some kind of weapon or tool they were querying the moral validity of inconspicuously. Harry slipped away. He picked up his pace to a brisk walk, tagging behind his aunt as they made their way deeper.

A plump woman outside an apothecary shook her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…." His aunt looked like she was in heaven. With a moment passing, she bore into his gaze, then pointed out a shop with magical gardening tools and floral arrangements, dressing the entrance like a wedding arbour. She nodded for him to go ahead of her with McGonagall.

"That one... I need it!" Petunia reached a hand out for Dudley, who reluctantly followed.

Many boys about Harry's age had their faces squashed against a window with broomsticks. A boy with a shock of brown hair noticed his fascination with blue eyes, beckoning Harry with a wave of his open hand. "You, come check this out."

"Look," He said as Harry skirted next to him, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—" Harry was going to respond before McGonagall had pulled Harry away. The raven still waved goodbye to his new friend.

Alfred was his old friend now because he was being tetchy by going into Harry's button-up shirt whenever Harry interacted with others.

"Gringotts," said McGonagall.

The two had reached the pearlescent white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was Harmjaw, Harry's favourite goblin.

As they walked up, the white stone stepped toward him. Harmjaw was a head shorter than Harry and had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard, and very long fingers and feet. He also had a very warm personality compared to the other goblins inside the building. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed.

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"I recommend you take these words at face value. Hogwarts does not tolerate theft as well." Severus definitely told McGonagall about how Harry received Alfred. The woman directed a small, penetrating uplift of her lips at him before entering.

He said nothing as he followed her in. The place was indeed magnificent, but it was nothing more than an entrance hall compared to what dwelled underneath. What he was looking for, for now, was the face of his second favourite goblin.

There he was, proud and mighty in his seat.

"Mr. Ragnok, we are here to get Mr. Potter's monetary affairs sorted," McGonagall said, holding up a tiny golden key. Dumbledore had held on to it last year for safekeeping. The goblin seemed to regard them with more than a bit of wariness, but it was a good look.

He liked that. "Hmm." He studied the goblin and was pleased with how it squirmed under his gaze.

Harry may have spooked him a bit when they first met. But that was a story for another time.

The goblin adjusted his spectacles and looked at them closely. "Everything seems in order."

"Professor McGonagall?!" a roaring voice asked from behind them. It was a large man, at least four times the size of uncle Vernon, with beady eyes and long curly dark hair.

"Hagrid? What are you doing here?"

"I've got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the 'You-Know-What' in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

McGonagall's eyes widened, and she nodded. "Let's leave, Harry. Hagrid, you and I'll need to go through how it will work later today."

"Did you say, Harry? As in Harry Potter?!" Hagrid asked in surprise.

"Yes, it's him. I'm surprised you didn't notice right away."

Harry had enough of the bizarre interaction and stepped up. "I'm Harry Potter, sir. Great to meet you!" he said as he trekked up to the man.

"Well, I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I must say you look just like your mother… just not the eyes." The giant man seemed contemplative for a second. "Those aren't James' either."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's entire arm. Waking Alfred from his slumber under Harry's loose clothing.

Ragnok sniffed. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin Harry absolutely adored.

"Yes, sir." He fiddled with his metal-heeled shoes complementing his black pants, never meeting Harry's eyes.

McGonagall and Harry followed Griphook toward the door leading off the hall, leaving Hagrid alone to deal with his business. The goblin was wary of him and stayed closer to McGonagall the entire trip.

Done and sorted with banking, Harry and McGonagall headed out of the bank, Harry's hair in disarray from the mine cart going at hyper-speed.

The following hour, Harry grabbed his books and materials at Flourish and Blotts. He already had the material down to a T. But scanning over specific texts was enjoyable for him when he came with Dumbledore. He didn't waste his time picking up what he needed and paying at the counter.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was next on his list. McGonagall had excused herself on the path to the door, saying that she had some business to take care of before their next stop.

Fabrics, purple—blue and green, dressed the insides of the store. There were mirrors along the ends of the long wall opposite the short aisles of brightly coloured wizard clothing. Turning his gaze to one of the reflecting walls, he saw a blonde boy step onto a stool.

Harry was guided in by a plump woman, presumably Madam Malkin or an assistant beside the boy.

The boy stumbled out of green robes and said, "please fit me for the black and yellow." He must not have noticed Harry at first, but started blushing when he saw Harry stare at him. Harry tried to keep his gaze on the robes, but they were blurring together so badly. He wondered what it felt like to have that on him.

He must not have noticed Harry at first because when he did, Vesuvius erupted over Pompeii from his neck to his ears. The predominantly naked boy was now getting fitted into black robes with yellow trimmings.

"Up you get." Malkin helped Harry up onto the other stool.

"Your parents are having a few friends over for tea this afternoon. Clean up and give them your best," she said as the boy nodded. They knew each other.

"Hogwarts too?" Harry asked.

The boy's neck was flushed as he nodded. "Yes, my name is put down for Hufflepuff—my ancestor is actually the great Helga Hufflepuff herself. I will undoubtedly be given the honour of joining the House of the Loyal." At first, Harry thought this boy was insufferable but realized that he was just passionate about his family.

"I don't know if that's how it works."

"I know what you're trying to say," the honey-eyed blonde said as he shook his head. "There's a sorting, but it won't matter. I'm going to Hufflepuff, anyway."

"How?"

"I told you, it's in my blood."

Harry nodded. "It doesn't sound too bad." As Harry clarified, Madam Malkin returned with a rolled-up mound of string and measurement strings. "Hufflepuff, I mean..."

"Why, it's good to meet another kindred spirit! Zacharias Smith, at your service."

The boy bowed graciously, but it had a bit of a sporty kick that Harry didn't know if he appreciated.

"My name is—"

"My child, why is your chest puffed up like that?" Malkin cut him off at the sight of his chest.

"Oh, this is Alfred." He pulled the sleeping penguin out of his shirt before placing him on a nearby pillow. Malkin had made a face but said nothing.

There was a silence between them. "Alfred is my penguin." Harry tried to answer and get off the hook as quickly as possible.

"I don't know if you're a kindred spirit anymore," Zacharias asked softly after a few seconds. "May I have a moment to collect my thoughts?"

"No, you can't," Harry quipped, smiling, "Harry, Harry Potter." He brought up his hand.

The boy's eyes immediately went to his forehead.

"Where's your scar?"

Wait.

"Never had one," Harry said.

"Really?"

This shouldn't be possible. Harry's charm was supposed to last the whole day. Had this boy just seen through his blood magic?

He changed the topic. "Are you and Madam Malkin related?"

"Oh, uh, yes, she's my aunt," Zacharias said.

"Is that right?" Harry jumbled around, trying to find the right words. "So you're dressing up in those yellow robes because you want to... see if you look good in those colours?" Harry pondered.

"Of course not," Zacharias said. "I've done this many times before. I've practically been in Hufflepuff since the moment I was born."

"That all?"

"And also because Hufflepuff is brilliant, and I'll look the part once I have my new robes fitted."

"Well, that's a bold admission." Harry assumed there were more ugly yellow robes before this that the posh boy hadn't mentioned.

"S'pose you could say that." Zacharias agreed. "I had my dad in the Ministry warning me. Not to get a big head, cause then I'll be put into Ravenclaw."

He made a blah noise as he stepped down again to let Malkin take his robes off. When she was done, Malkin started tape measuring Harry.

"To put it all together, my parents expect me to go directly into Hufflepuff, so I'm dressing up in those robes to see how I'm going to look at school," Zacharias said.

"I see."

The blonde nervously met his gaze, slightly posh in his tone. "It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter. I did not expect to run into you, but I'm glad I did. Would you like to be friends?"

Harry looked at him for a moment.

"I don't think so," Harry said politely.

A second passed.

"What, why?" the blonde sputtered.

"I don't know. You're weird," Harry mumbled. Zacharias was now speechless.

"That's you done, deary. I will have your robes arranged in a moment." Malkin said, walking back to her counter with his measurements.

"Wait, listen to me," Zacharias said again, something like persistence raging behind his eyes.

"Uh, no thanks," Harry said as he picked up Alfred. Standing back up was a mistake, as he was now pinned between the wall and the annoying blonde.

"Why don't you want to be my friend? I have literally descended from the founder of Hogwarts!" Zacharias said with considerably less aggression than Harry thought he would, though the irritated look he gave Harry was bewildering.

"You descended from one of them, and I barely know you. If we talked more at Hogwarts, I'll consider it, but not right now." Harry gave his best Severus impression to the blonde, hoping that he would get out of this situation much quicker.

Zacharias sat down on the stool with a show of confused victory, his face now flushing from their former proximity.

"See you then, I guess."

"I guess you will." Harry went over to Malkin at the register, packing his Hogwarts robes.

This was not unusual to Harry. The seedy, unprecedented obsession men had with him; people with a weaker will than Harry would succumb to his presence. Piers was a prominent example.

This was, however, not related much to blood magic, nor was it artificially created like Amortentia and the likes. Aunt Petunia had connected it to his lineage, apparently one of Nymphs and Dryads.

Harry's closest relation to any magical being was on his mother's side, a half-human woman who was also half of a being called by many names: Sidhe, fae, fairy...

Unseelie.

The ability was in her mother to create real obsession that no other could decipher or replicate. And to that degree, unimaginable loyalty.

Leaving the store, he was greeted by Petunia and Dudley, who now sported a large trunk with most likely different assortments of items they had purchased in their crusade into the Alley. Harry had to admit that Diagon Alley was much more extensive and richer in products than the clutter of buildings that made up Hexagon Alley.

McGonagall had returned and guided them next to the pet shop he'd seen before. The rustic building with large windows stood taller than most other buildings in the Alley.

The gentle sway of the wind clanging against the signpost was thinning as they neared the slanted emporium, another befuddlement of architecture if there ever was one.

He was surprised to see the brown-haired boy again around the corner. As they neared, he saw the boy talking with a tall man with longer tied-up dark hair and a gaunt face. They looked to be father and son. The pair had frowns on their faces.

After a bit of calculating concern, he walked, unsure of what he would say to them.

"Hello?"

The boy looked up. His eyes were soft and blue, and he had a spot of freckles over his nose that contrasted darkly against his sallow skin. Harry gestured to his unusual new companion with a bit of wariness and gave the boy a shy smile. Alfred had somehow snuck back inside his clothes.

"Oh, you! We met before at the quidditch shop!" The boy said, his deep blue eyes staring at him kindly.

"Oh, is this the one you were blabbing about the entire time?"

"Yes, father," the boy said with embarrassment.

"I'm Theodore Nott," he said.

Grabbing Harry's hand, Theodore shook it with a sporadic grip.

"Harry James Potter, nice to meet you," Harry said while Nott's father stared wide-eyed. He felt sick, grappling with the boy's shoulder to gain balance.

"Ah, I knew your father." The man said. "Of course, you're lucky enough to meet him, son." He ruffled his son's head like he knew something they didn't. Apparently, so did the rest of the adults because they shared a glance after Nott's handshaking mannerisms.

"Let's go see the animals. I'll show you around," Theodore said, grabbing Harry by the elbow towards the owls. The boy made a hopping motion from his excitement, and his pants started slipping. He could hear the palm of someone's hand hitting their face.

"Hey, wait—" Taking his hand back, Harry pointed to the other boy's pants. "Pants."

"Sorry," He sputtered. "They do that sometimes," Theodore said with a bright red face.

"It's… okay."

"Come on." The boy said, dragging his pants back up.

Harry giggled in fright. This was worse than Severus's first interaction with him and that Smith boy combined.

Feathers, chirps, woofs and hoots followed them as they made their way around the store. Harry paused when they were near where McGonagall showed Dudley some creatures and Petunia and Nott's father were discussing things. Harry thought that the man would be a bit of a bigot when he first assessed him, but as the saying goes, never judge a book by its cover.

"So why were you all sad for a moment back there?" Harry asked.

"It's nothing, just that... I brought up some awful memories."

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you remember them." Harry nudged Nott a bit. The boy cheered up with no hesitation. Perhaps the memories weren't too bad.

"Things will get better now," Nott said.

"Like financially?" Harry said with a quirked smile. "I'm sure there's a spell to conjure a belt somewhere."

"Ha, yeah, no… it's something else," Theodore replied.

"If there isn't, maybe I'll just invent one."

Maybe Nott wasn't that bad.

After a lot of persuasion from Harry, McGonagall relented and let Harry bring Alfred to Hogwarts, Harry's excuse being that Nott overheard one of his friends say that their cousin's brother was going to bring a tarantula to school.

Harry was honestly quite shocked at the fact it even worked. Apparently, McGonagall had been expecting it from him. Dumbledore had likely passed the veto.

They made their way over to a shabby store with gold peeling off the sign on the door. The two Notts also joined them in this last spot to get their wands. A wand of his own… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to, even though he could cast most spells without it. The gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

A rattling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a relatively tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair which Dudley promptly landed on. Petunia and McGonagall stood off to the side, and Nott stood beside him, taking in the sheer depth. His father was examining the walls as well. Thousands of narrow boxes piled up to the ceiling. Harry could feel the gravity of magic here, and he couldn't discern it anywhere else in the Alley.

"Good afternoon," said a voice. Theodore jumped. Dudley must have jumped, too, because of the loud crunching noise. When Harry turned around, he saw that the spindly chair was now in splinters. An old man stood before them, his wide, pale eyes aware of them but slightly staring off from their exact positions.

"Hello," said Harry.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your father's eyes... and your mother's face. It seems only yesterday she was in here, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Those silvery eyes were creepy, but Harry didn't mind.

He turned away quickly from Harry. "Ah, Tiberius Nott, Ash and Dragon heartstring, fourteen inches... pliable, suited for a wizard who is selfless but not lost in arrogance." His silvery eyes turned to the rest of them as well.

"Minerva McGonagall, my father hand-crafted your wand, Fir and much like Mr. Nott here, Dragon-heartstring, nine and a half quarters... unyielding. Incredible in the hands of one seeking to unearth the truths of the art of Transfiguration."

"Mr. Potter, your father, favoured a delicate Black Walnut. Ten and three-quarters. Stiff as bones. A little more power, excellent for Transfiguration as well. Well, I say your father favoured it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

"James had a mahogany wand," McGonagall said.

"Semantics." Ollivander had gotten so close to Harry that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"You have hideous eyes," Harry whispered.

"And that's where—" Ollivander's breath hitched when he traced Harry's blank forehead with a long, white finger. "Beautifully done."

Aunt Petunia coughed into her hands.

"Well, now—Mr. Potter. And, of course, Mr. Nott. Let me see." He pulled two long tape measures with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which are your wand arms?"

"Er—well, I'm right-handed," said Nott. His father gave him an amused grin as the boy spoke.

"I can do both," Harry told the man. Petunia was helping Dudley get a splinter out of his thigh. Ouch. McGonagall had already repaired the chair and made it more fortified as she was now sitting on it patiently.

"Hold out your arms. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are identical, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are alike. And, of course, you will never get such excellent results with another wizard's wand."

"That will do," he said, and the tape measures crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave. And Mr. Nott try the same for this, Cherry wood and unicorn tail-hair."

The wand spewed into a bout of snow, and the flakes stuck onto the ceiling, forming an upside-down iceberg like a stalagmite. Theodore's wand, once waved, started creating a flock of irate birds that attacked him.

McGonagall saved his life that day.

"Tricky customers, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not, an unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

With a swivel of the wand, a dark stream of red lighting spiralled out of his wand and against the wall. Harry had never tasted that spell before, but it so deliciously enclosed his every nerve that he wanted to cast again, only to feel the manic hysteria.

McGonagall spoke first. "That was…"

"The Cruciatus Curse," Nott. Sr said. Aunt Petunia and McGonagall weren't speaking, simply gawking at the display.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Harry said, trying to defuse the situation.

"It's fine. Maybe it just looked like that curse," his aunt said. "Things like this happen all the time, don't they, Mr. Ollivander?"

"No, they do not," the grey man replied. "However, I wonder, yes, yes. Mr. Nott, if you will, give the holly wand a try."

Theodore took the wand, raised it above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of white and gold water flew from the end like a waterfall, with no physics holding it up, a dancing stream of translucence.

Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, "but now I must see to another thing..." The water fell right onto his face and drenched his clothes. McGonagall was on the scene again, and with a lazy flick of her wand, Theo was dry again—hair puffed up like a dog's fur.

Ollivander went to the back and brought out another case. "Rosewood and phoenix feather, eight and a half inches... suitable for those with a refined taste and an affinity for healing magic." The wand was a very light shade of brown with pink vines wrapping around loosely on the grip. "And perhaps, in the happenstance of emotional conflict, a penchant for pyrotechnics."

As Harry took the wand and waved it, he felt warmth and a bit of craving. To be exact, he felt the stringent emotions he felt when he used blood magic. Slowly, flecks of bright pink light coloured the room. A swarm of luminescent butterflies fluttered in the air, fluttering around the room majestically. Dudley had gotten the splinter out of himself and stared at the butterflies in reverence. Much like McGonagall and Petunia, even Nott. Sr was mystified.

"Oh, bravo! Yes, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious..." He put Harry and Theodore's wand back into their boxes and wrapped them in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…."

"Sorry," said Theodore, "but what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed him with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Nott. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather is in your wand, gave two more feathers. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother was fabled to give Mr. Potter... His..." The man clamped his hands on the table and let out an anguished groan.

With a warning glare from Petunia, he retracted his magic from the man. Harry was churning on the inside. This revelation was not good. Not good at all. How were some of these people able to see past his charm work?

Unless Ollivander himself practiced blood magic, he'd have to question how Zacharias Smith could see through it.

"Ahem. As I said, Mr. Potter and you share the same core from the same phoenix."

"But didn't you say that there were three?" Dudley, bless his soul, added to the bile that charged up his throat.

"Yes. The last one belonged to the Dark Lord." Nott. Sr. looked paralyzed in his spot. Petunia and McGonagall were not looking any better. Theo's eyes had widened.

The lack of fear in those blue pearls horrified Harry.

After their goodbyes and promises to meet up at the station after a briefing from McGonagall. Harry got home and dissected the day's events. All that left him was a deep sense of unease.

Whatever the propensity, his journey to Hogwarts wouldn't be a boring one.

Headmasters Office, Hogwarts, August 1st, 1991

Sometimes Albus wondered what life truly meant. He lived for so long that he had truly forgotten.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was a celebrity in the wizarding world, the son of martyrs who liberated them from the Dark Lord. Dumbledore knew what the boys' life would be if raised with too much attention.

It was the day after Harry's birthday. A full day since he became eleven. The boy was packed up, sitting at home for his last month before school. Most likely cutting into leftover bits of cake.

Of course, that home was now 8 Spinner's End, with what he thought was miraculous—a family. If raised according to Albus's standards, the boy would have been abused, scorned and malleable by the time he got here. Instead, this boy was auspicious and cunning, but just a boy—a boy with close confidants and a mind of his own.

And to top it off, no lightning bolt scar. Albus had seen Harry's eyes change before. The boy had it hidden well, but Albus knew what he was. It was now that he was at a standstill. He still felt like the boy was naïve and full of misconceptions about the world, but Albus couldn't help but shudder.

He had seen Gellert do it once. He made a man crumble under his sheer presence. The ability to rule over other people's bodies, their veins, all while his eyes gleamed a malevolent red.

Albus clapped his hands on his lap, staring into the fireplace. He had intercepted a letter that morning, which was simply detailed with a slight smell of camomile. It was to Harry by Uncle Vernon. It was the second one he'd seen being sent to the boy.

It read:

Harry,

I know it's been a while, but I'm ready to make amends with you.

I needed a while to come to my senses, but I must make room in my heart to condemn myself for the horrible way I've treated you.

I want to make things right. Please, if you would grant me this chance, I will eternally be grateful.

Meet me at Privet Drive. Alone, I can't lay bare to see them again after I've done.

Love,

Uncle Vernon

Albus had destroyed the first one, but this felt like a precious opportunity. To finally get a hold of those three convicts running around with a muggle vampire.

This uncle Vernon and Harry's actual uncle Vernon are different people. Dumbledore placed Harry at Privet Drive, to begin with, because of the lack of love he would receive.

The time was opportune, and the board had been set. If Voldemort had made his first move, then so shall he.

Severus walked into the chamber in a billowing stride. His face was precautious, and his posture straight.

"What did you require of me, headmaster?" The potions master asked him.

"I am reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. Effective immediately."

"But why?" Severus crossed his arms, shocked.

"I have long let the current climate of this death eater insurgence terrorize the minds of the innocent," Albus told the man.

"What will you have me do?"

"Your first assignment—protect Harry Potter," Dumbledore said.

"But headmaster, I'm already doing my best!" Snape protested. "He is in the safety of my home under my wards, where nothing can happen."

"Then, I suggest you go to the boy," Albus said. "Before he is left to the wolves."

Severus paled and swiftly ran to the floo, desperation clear in his eyes. Yes, Albus had let the boy receive that devious second letter.

A fire started next to him from a grave of ashes laying upon the rest of a golden perch. Feathers, red and gold, soared off the ashes and settled into the perch in a blazing radiance.

"Welcome back, Fawkes," Albus smiled. He was greeted with an indignant squawk, and perhaps he deserved it for what he was doing. But Albus let it slide.

It was for the Greater Good.

Author's Note: This story, again, is super old. I'm editing as I post. My "Beta's" at the moment is the free version of Grammarly, lol. I hope you guys liked this! Love you! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o