The Deathday Party

'Castiel, wake up!'

Castiel bolted upright and found himself face to face with Sherlock's tousled bed-hair. He was already dressed, but he'd forgotten to put on his tie. The sun had already risen, but it was still early and the rest of the dormitory was still asleep. Good thing it was Saturday.

'Hurry up and get dressed, we're going out,' Sherlock said quietly. Castiel collected his clothes and pulled the blue silk curtains around the bed to get dressed in privacy. Sherlock waited patiently until Castiel re-emerged rolling up the sleeves of his trench coat

'Where are going?' Castiel asked as they exited Ravenclaw tower.

'We're going to the Forest. There's a certain centaur herd I'd like to speak to.'

Castiel rubbed his arm nervously.

'Why do you need me?'

Sherlock shrugged, lightly brushing a hand along the bannister as they descended the stairs.

'It's always good to have company.'

Castiel mentally prepared himself for the Forest, though something on his face seemed to give away his doubt. Sherlock stopped him in the entrance hall.

'You don't have to come if you don't want to,' he said seriously. From what Castiel could tell, he looked sincere.

'But if you do decide to come, you will be perfectly safe with me.'

Castiel considered him for a moment, uneasily thinking on Sherlock's request. On one hand, the Forest was incredibly dangerous and it scared Castiel to no end, but on the other, Sherlock said that he would be safe, and he didn't want to disappoint his friend.

'I'll come,' he said eventually. Sherlock seemed to decide he was ready this time and set off again.

It was quite chilly outside and the ground was damp with dew. The hem of Castiel's coat was soaked within minutes. They slipped quietly past Hagrid's hut, with loud snores emanating from within, and soon found themselves enclosed within the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Sherlock wandered through them aimlessly, listening intently. Castiel heard only the whisper of the wind in the branches above and the soft snapping of Sherlock's feet on the ground. His ears must have been sharper than Castiel's, or at least known what he was listening for, as his steps became more assured and took a more definite direction. The Forest stirred and suddenly the sound of hooves pounded around them.

Though Castiel had seen them before, it did not make them any less frightening. Once again they were surrounded by centaurs. The red-haired centaur they knew as Ronan stepped forward. Castiel also recognised Magorian- who looked slightly less furious than last time- and Firenze.

'Welcome, Observant One,' Ronan said. 'And to what do we owe this honour?'

Sherlock looked Ronan straight in the face but Ronan smiled before he said anything.

'Ah, it has already begun. I see it in the way you hold yourself.'

Sherlock cocked his head.

'What do you mean?'

'The connection between you and the Oracle. You have felt it stirring inside you, have you not?'

'I have,' Sherlock admitted. 'Though I don't think John has.'

Castiel frowned at him.

'You never mentioned it,' he said. The centaurs suddenly turned to look at him, noticing him for the first time.

'He's with me,' Sherlock said hurriedly. Magorian and a few others eyed him with distaste, but Firenze approached him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He looked unflinchingly into his eyes with a slight air of curiosity.

'I see much sorrow in you, small one, but do not despair. A light will soon enter in your life and lift the darkness away,' he said softly. He returned to the bulk of the herd and turned his gaze back towards Sherlock as if he'd never said anything.

'I need to know more about this,' Sherlock said. 'Why do we have this connection? Why us? What exactly is it?'

'You have many questions, and rightly so, but you must wait until we can explain it to both you and the Oracle,' Ronan said patiently.

'How long do I have to wait? When can I tell him?'

Ronan shifted slightly on his hooves.

'You must understand, we have waited for this for many generations, but we do not hold all the answers. Just know this- you alone will know when it is time to tell John the truth. You must trust us. It won't be long now.'

Sherlock sighed.

'Fine. I'll wait. Let's go,' he said to Castiel. He stalked away from the centaurs and up to the castle.

Sherlock stabbed at his breakfast moodily.

'You don't need to take it out on the eggs, you know,' John said in amusement. He had found Sherlock and Castiel in the Great Hall, Sherlock looking annoyed. He refused to say why he was in such a bad mood. Sherlock grunted and started shredding a slice of toast. His mood picked up, however, when the post arrived, and was practically ecstatic when twenty long packages were flown around the room.

'Ah, Harry, just in time,' he said as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down with them.

'What on earth?' Hermione said, watching the packages, six of which landed at the Gryffindor table. The two nearest them were dropped in front of Fred and George Weasley.

'Watch,' Sherlock said quietly. Fred and George ripped the packages open eagerly and exclaimed in delight at the sleek new brooms that lay on the table. Fred picked up the note that came with it and read it aloud.

"Dear Mr Fred Weasley,

It has recently come to my attention that the Slytherin House Quidditch team recently received an unfair advantage in the form of seven new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. I thought it only appropriate to present you- and every team member of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw- with your own Nimbus Two Thousand and One in order to even out the playing field, so to speak. I hope you put them to good use.

Luck and regards, Mycroft Holmes."

They all gaped at Sherlock, who grinned triumphantly. A letter then fluttered down in front of Harry, who had not received a new Nimbus.

Dear, Harry,

I have been informed that you are quite attached to your current Nimbus model, so I have not given you a new one. However, a Nimbus Two Thousand and One will be stored in the Gryffindor broom shed should you or any of your teammates have need of it.

Mycroft Holmes.

Harry handed the letter to Ron, who looked as if he might swoon.

'Was this your doing?' he asked Sherlock.

'Perhaps. Perhaps not,' he said slyly. It was then that Oliver Wood appeared behind Harry, flushed and holding onto his broom like it was a new-born baby.

'Quidditch practice. Now,' he said before dashing out of the hall. Everyone who had gotten a broom soon left too, whether for practice or to put them away.

'So, are you expecting to get in on the Ravenclaw team now?' John joked. Sherlock shook his head and people began to file out, eager to see the new brooms in action. Draco Malfoy got up and stormed out, shooting Sherlock a look of pure evil on his way out. Ron was out of the door almost before Harry was, and Hermione decided she was curious too, leaving once the crowd had thinned a little.

'Not going?' Sherlock asked John and Castiel.

'I'd rather wait and see them in a match,' John said. They didn't remain in the hall for much longer, and decided to sit in the deserted courtyard. They sat together in a corner and Castiel closed his eyes, falling into a doze. John looked up at the grey sky, grateful that it wasn't raining, though he could tell it would soon. He noticed a chilly wind in the air and pulled his cloak around him to stop it getting in. Hearing Sherlock groan, he looked up and echoed it. Anderson and Donovan were walking towards them. Castiel cracked his eyes open slightly to watch what happened.

'So the new Defence teacher isn't a witch,' Anderson said when he reached them.

'Which you would have known if you were paying any attention whatsoever,' Sherlock commented scathingly. 'Or read any of his work. He's far too conceited to allow anyone but himself to teach his books. Now, if you don't mind, please leave. Your face is annoying me.'

'My face is?'

Donovan roughly pulled on Anderson's shoulder.

'Come on, just leave it. Why do you even bother with him?'

'Yes, Anderson, why do you?'

Anderson shook his head and walked away again.

'Don't worry about him,' John said as soon as they were out of earshot.

'I'm not worried.'

Castiel, who had nodded off completely, groaned in his sleep and woke up with a start. John then noticed the faint shadows under his eyes.

'What have you been doing, you look exhausted.'

'Couldn't sleep, so we went out for a walk,' Sherlock grunted.

Couldn't sleep? Really?' John said doubtfully as Castiel's eyelids began to droop again. 'Go back to bed- no, don't argue with me, just do it.'

Castiel needed no telling twice, but John had to push Sherlock out of the courtyard.

October arrived in a swirl of wind and driving rain, forcing everyone but the Quidditch teams inside. A spate of colds among the staff and students kept Madam Pomfrey busy. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though she needed a lot of it to keep up with the influx of runny noses. Her efforts to teach Castiel to make it hadn't been entirely successful. Though he had gotten it to work, he had left Ginny Weasley smoking at the ears for several hours. He turned up at Quidditch practice one stormy Saturday, after Madam Pomfrey forced him to take a break from brewing potions all day.

Though Wood had convinced Harry to try the Two Thousand and One, Mycroft was right. He did prefer to use his own Two Thousand model. Wood didn't seem worried, convinced as he was that Harry could easily outmanoeuvre the other Seekers.

Castiel sat in the stands, paying no heed to the rain that had soaked him to the skin. The training session didn't last long due to low visibility and Wood not wanting to lose any of the balls. So Castiel accompanied Harry, dripping mud and water, back to the castle.

As they squelched along the corridor they came across Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor tower, who looked preoccupied and was staring morosely out of the window.

'Hello, Nick, Harry said.

'Hello, hello,' said Nick, looking around at them.

'What's wrong?' Harry asked. Nick sighed dramatically, his head wobbling precariously on his neck.

'It's nothing of consequence,' he said. 'It's not as if I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfil requirements.'

Harry exchanged a confused glance with Castiel.

'But you would think,' he said suddenly, pulling a transparent letter out of his pocket, 'that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt.'

'Er.'

'I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly. It would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However-' Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

'"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible, otherwise, for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head Juggling and Head Polo. It is with greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."'

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

'Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but, oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore.'

Nick took a deep breath and noticed Castiel standing quietly beside Harry.

'Oh, hello. I've seen you around, but I don't believe we've met,' he said in a much calmer tone.

'I'm in Ravenclaw,' Castiel mumbled.

'So you are, so you are. Pardon me, but I didn't catch your name.'

'I'm, uh- I'm- I'm Ca-I -'

'He's Castiel,' Harry jumped in.

'Quite. Well, it's very nice t-'

He was interrupted by a high pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. They looked down and gazed straight into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs Norris, Filch's cat.

'You two had better get out of here,' Nick said quickly. 'Filch isn't in a good mood- he's got flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place-'

'Got it. Let's go,' Harry said. They backed away from the accusing stare of Mrs Norris, but not quickly enough. Argus Filch burst through a tapestry to their right, wheezing and looking for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf wrapped around his head.

'Filth!' he shouted, eyes popping wildly at the muddy puddle dripping from Harry and Castiel. 'Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! You two, follow me!'

Castiel rubbed his arm and followed Harry and Filch downstairs. He had never been in Filch's office before and hoped to never be in it again. It was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the ceiling, wooden filing cabinets stood around the room, containing details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had a whole drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. Castiel's heart almost stopped as he caught sight of them.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

'Dung,' he muttered furiously, 'great sizzling dragon bogies…frog brains…rat intestines…I've had enough of it…got to make an example…where's the form…yes…'

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

'Name… Harry Potter. Crime…'

'It was only a bit of mud!'

Castiel winced at Harry's defiance.

'It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour of scrubbing!' shouted Filch. 'Crime…befouling the castle. Suggested sentence...'

He squinted at Harry and then at Castiel.

'You, what's your name?' he demanded. Castiel opened his mouth and there was a loud BANG! on the ceiling of the office.

'PEEVES!' Filch roared, flinging his quill down and making Castiel jump several inches off the ground. 'I'll have you this time, I'll have you!'

Without a backward glance at the two boys, Filch ran from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him. Harry sunk into a moth-eaten chair and looked at Castiel who was stood, stiffly staring at the manacles on the wall. He began to shiver from being so wet. Harry noticed how tense he was and attempted to comfort him.

'Those are just for show. I'm pretty sure he's not allowed to use them,' he said, nodding at the chains. 'It's Filch, what's the worst he can do?'

'Mmm,' Castiel said vaguely, not taking his eyes off them. Harry noticed a glossy purple envelope on the desk, picked it up, and flicked it open curiously.

'I don't think you should do that, Harry,' Castiel murmured. 'It's private.'

But Harry, intrigued, pulled the sheaf of parchment out of the envelope.

'"Kwikspell- A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic",' Harry read out. Castiel twitched and looked nervously at the door. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in an attempt to warm himself up while Harry read the letter.

Eventually they heard shuffling footsteps outside that told them Filch was coming back. Harry hastily stuffed the parchment back into the envelope and threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

'That Vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!' he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. 'We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-'

His eyes fell on the Kwikspell envelope that was lying two feet away from its original position. His face turned brick red and he hobbled over to the desk to throw the envelope into a drawer.

'Have you read-' he spluttered.

'No,' Harry lied quickly. Filch stammered something about it being for a friend.

'Go- and don't breathe a word- not that- however, if you didn't read- go now, I have to write up Peeves' report- go-'

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry and Castiel sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs.

'Harry! Harry! Did it work?'

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom, the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet visible behind him. It appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

'I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office,' Nick said eagerly. 'Thought it might distract him-'

'That was you?' Harry said gratefully. 'Yeah it worked, we didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!'

They set off up the corridor together and Harry noticed he was still holding his letter.

'I wish there was something we could do about the Headless Hunt,' Harry said.

Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry shuddered as he accidentally walked right through him.

'But there is something you can do for me,' said Nick excitedly. 'Would I be asking too much if- but no, you wouldn't want-'

'What is it?' said Harry.

'Well, this Hallowe'en will be my five hundredth deathday,' he said proudly.

'Oh. Right,' Harry said, not sure whether he should look sorry or not.

'I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. Your friends would be most welcome too, of course- but I daresay you'd rather go to the feast?' he asked Harry on tenterhooks.

'No, I'll come,' said Harry quickly, 'and Castiel, too-'

'My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And-' he hesitated, looking excited, '-do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?'

'Of- of course,' Harry said, mystified.

Nick beamed and then glided off.

'You told him we'd do what?' Sherlock demanded once Harry had joined him, Ron, Hermione and John in the Gryffindor common room. Castiel had gone back to Ravenclaw tower to find a dry set of robes.

'Come on, Sherlock, there aren't many living people who can say they've been to a deathday party,' Hermione said keenly.

'Yes, and for good reason!' Sherlock exclaimed in dismay.

'Why would you want to celebrate the day you died, anyway?' Ron said, grumpily trying to finish his Potions essay. 'Sounds dead depressing to me.'

'I'll come,' John said, without looking up from his own essay. Sherlock looked at him and sighed resignedly.

'As will I,' he said. John shot Harry a quick wink in response.

Fred and George were sat at a table, surrounded by a knot of curious people. They were attempting to see what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander that Gabriel had given them in the name of 'science'.

The salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud bangs and sparks as it whirled around the room. They heard a terrified yell and turned to see Castiel dash back out of the open portrait hole.

Sherlock dragged his feet the entire way to the dungeon that Nearly Headless Nick was holding his party in. It grew colder with every step, and by the time they got there, he couldn't control his shivering. It irritated him more than the being cold itself and was soon on the verge of snapping at anything. The music that was playing sounded like fingernails being dragged down a blackboard and drilled into John's brain. He, too, found himself in a foul mood with a buzzing headache. Castiel, also, was pale and twitchy- in fact, the only one that seemed to be looking forward to the upcoming event, was Hermione. They found Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

'My dear friends,' he said mournfully. 'Welcome, welcome. So pleased you could come.' He swept his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was like stepping into a freezer, their breath rising before them like mist.

'Shall we have a look around?' Harry suggested.

'Careful not to walk through anyone,' Ron said nervously. They set off around the edge of the dance floor. John, whose headache was quickly gaining strength, noticed Sherlock's shivering and took pity on his skinny form. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around Sherlock's bony shoulders. Sherlock took it gratefully, but frowned when he saw how flushed John was looking.

'Are you all right?' he asked. These words kept coming out of his mouth more and more often and he didn't like it.

'Mmm. Headache. Ghosts apparently have terrible taste in music,' John said, glancing at the Bloody Baron, who was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

'Oh, no,' Hermione said, stopping abruptly. 'Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-'

'Who?' said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

'She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor,' Hermione said.

'She haunts a toilet?'

'Yes. It's been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-'

'Look, food!' Ron exclaimed excitedly. They had skipped the Hallowe'en feast for the party and were all rather hungry.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also draped in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment stopped in their tracks, horrified. John gagged and turned away, and Castiel turned a slight shade of grey. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous cake in the shape of a tombstone. The tar-like icing formed the words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, died 31st October, 1492.

A portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, walked through it- his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

'Can you taste it if you walk through it?' Harry asked him.

'Almost,' he replied sadly. John couldn't take the smell anymore, so pushed Sherlock, and anyone else who wasn't transparent, away from the table. He rubbed his painful temples and cringed as Peeves swooped up to them.

'Nibbles?' he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of fungus covered peanuts.

'No, thank you,' Hermione said politely.

'Heard you talking about poor Myrtle. Rude you were about poor Myrtle.' He took a deep breath and bellowed, 'OY! MYRTLE!'

'Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset-'

'Do it, it'll be funny,' Sherlock said. John gaped at him, lost for words.

'Hello, Myrtle,' Hermione said.

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had an extremely glum face, half hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

'How are you, Myrtle?' Hermione said in a falsely bright voice. 'It's nice to see you out of the toilet.'

Myrtle sniffed.

'Miss Granger was just talking about you-' Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear. Sherlock giggled quietly.

'Just saying- saying- how nice you look tonight,' Hermione said, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

'You're making fun of me,' she said, silver tears rapidly welling in her eyes.

Sherlock's giggling grew louder.

'Sherlock, stop it,' John said sternly, fanning his hot face. But Sherlock didn't seem to hear him.

'Don't lie to me,' Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. D'you think that I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!'

'You've forgotten pimply,' Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, 'Pimply! Pimply!'

Once they had both disappeared, Sherlock stopped giggling and looked mildly confused.

'What was that about?' John demanded.

'Oh, erm. Reverse psychology. Thought I'd give it a go. Clearly it didn't work,' Sherlock told him. John raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

Just then the orchestra suddenly stopped playing and the dungeon fell silent.

'Oh, thank God,' John whispered. Castiel, who was standing nearby, nodded in agreement.

A hunting horn sounded, causing most of the ghosts to look around in excitement. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under one arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. Sherlock assumed this must be Sir Patrick, but didn't bother paying attention to the conversation that followed, not even when Castiel jumped at being addressed as a 'live 'un'.

At last, when the Headless Hunt began a game of Head Hockey, Ron muttered to Harry.

'Let's go,' he said. They backed towards the door, nodding and smiling at anyone who looked at them, until they were hurrying back up the passageway they'd come down. As they reached the base of the steps that lead up to the entrance hall, Harry stumbled to a halt and pressed his ear against the stone wall. John also had to stop and lean against the wall. His head thumped and he was beginning to feel rather dizzy.

'John-'

'Shut up a minute- it's that voice again-'

Harry squinted around and John rubbed his eyes to clear his vision

'This way,' Harry shouted. He bolted up the stairs into the entrance hall. He was already sprinting up the marble staircase to the first floor by the time the rest of them came clattering after him.

'It's going to kill someone!' they heard him shout. He kept running, up to the second floor and around each of the deserted passageways until they came to the last one'

'Harry, what was that all about?' Ron panted. 'I couldn't hear anything.'

But before Harry could answer, Hermione gasped and pointed down the corridor.

'Look!'

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

As soon as John laid eyes on the words he felt his headache disappear, but not before a wave of dizziness almost caused him to lose his balance.

'What's that thing- hanging underneath?' Ron said, a slight quiver in his voice. They edged closer, Harry nearly slipping on a puddle of water on the floor. Castiel did not seem curious about the ominous message on the wall, and wished he hadn't come out that night at all. The five of them who had gone to get a closer look, suddenly leapt backwards as they realised what it was.

Mrs Norris was hanging from the torch bracket, stiff as a board and eyes wide and staring.

'We have to go,' Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

'Shouldn't we try to help-' Harry began.

'Trust me. We don't want to be found here.'

'Sherlock's right,' Ron said. The two of them rarely agreed on anything, so it was best to do as they said. Unfortunately it was too late to heed their words. A rumble, like that of distant thunder, from downstairs told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The next moment, students came crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter and noise suddenly died as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. The six of them stood alone as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

'Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!'

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the stiff cat.

Hello everyone! I hope you're all well and you had a good Easter, I certainly did.

First of all I'd like to thank Maliha, TS17isme, Guest, pyffypuffin3 and Reichenbach-Hero for all the lovely reviews :D it's been a pleasure and thanks to all of you I reached 100 reviews for this series.

Second thanks go, as always, to my beta ScazzaGrace

So the production of Singin' in the Rain I was in finished yesterday and I had so much fun. Make 'em Laugh has been uploaded onto Youtube and I will put a link in my profile description if you want to check it out :)