As the morbid excitement around Hermione Granger's demise began to settle, so too did the true cold grip of November. The mountains around the school became icy gray and temperatures in the Slytherin Dorms dropped even further as the lake froze over. Professor Snape summoned the first years to the common room for a refresher on warming charms and the fireplaces roared at all hours. Before long, Hagrid could be spotted defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up from head to toe. This, for many, was the first sign of the only real season: Quidditch.

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes as one of the second years hurriedly babbled to Marcus Flint about the sighting. Marcus wasted no time congratulating the boy on his sharp eyes, going so far as to hug him before running off, calling for Oliver. Hagrid's great frostbitten form was apparently the official sign that crunch time to narrow down Slytherin's Quidditch strategy had begun; as if Quidditch strategy hadn't been the only topic of discussion in the common room since Granger's corpse had cooled. Daphne already knew the statistics by heart and she didn't even like Quidditch.

Surprising no one, Harry Potter would be replacing Terrence Higgs as Seeker. Higgs had thrown a fit about being ousted by a first year, but anyone who'd watched Harry at tryouts could see that Higgs had been soundly beaten. The Weasley twins making Beater hadn't been much of a surprise, either, nor had Oliver Wood's taking on Keeper. Marcus Flint remained as a Chaser with Adrian Pucey, with the unexpected addition of Graham Montague rounding out the trio. In their last life, Montague hadn't become a Chaser until the next year.

Percy Weasley had, with a guilty blush, taken responsibility for that change. He'd encouraged Montague to try out, having remembered how good he'd been in the future. While the fanatics rushed to congratulate Percy on his good Quidditch sense, Daphne had privately thought the whole situation was unbearably sweet. She knew Percy didn't care for Quidditch. She had, however, noticed that he did seem to be growing attached to Montague. And Montague seemed to feel likewise. The stoic boy had veritably preened as Percy complimented his new uniform, his subtle shyness overtaken by his adoration of Percy. He'd swaggered around showing it off, completely aware of the blush on Percy's face—if not the interest in Adrian Pucey's eyes.

The twins, of course, had clued in immediately on the love triangle forming around their brother. A betting pool was hastily established and had swollen considerably since. If Daphne hadn't known better, she would have thought that Percy, Pucey, and Montague were playing up their bumbling, somewhat oblivious pining for a cut of the profits. Unfortunately, she had known at least Percy long enough to ascertain that the entire debacle was perfectly, tragically genuine.

A sharp whoop broke Daphne from her musings. Sighing, she turned her page in Enchanté and tried uselessly to be absorbed in the designs coming out of Wizarding Paris. Obviously, Marcus had found Oliver. Now there definitely wouldn't be any peace until after Saturday's match, and only then if someone died during the damn game. With a traditional Gryffindor/Slytherin match kicking off the season, perhaps she would get lucky.

Many of the returned who had once played Gryffindor had been brought low by the reminder of their inevitable betrayal. However, Daphne found little could truly kill a player's spirit for the game, even if the season was all but guaranteed for Slytherin. If anything, the odds only encouraged the twins to start work early on the celebrations.

Realizing she hadn't truly looked at her magazine in the last ten minutes, Daphne chucked the glossy collection of pages to the side. Nothing new, anyway—a drawback of jumping back in time, she guessed. Without anything else to do, Daphne stared at the murky depths of Black Lake through the window. With a little effort, she schooled her expression into something distant and affected a pensive posture. From this position, she could survey the entire common room in the glass's reflection without looking the least bit suspicious. Just perfect for a little moment of people watching. What else would a Slytherin do when totally, terribly bored?

Daphne smiled. But she guessed she shouldn't be bored. So much had changed following the death of Hermione Granger that Wizarding Britain still hadn't adjusted. Even the returned hadn't quite been prepared for what they'd started. In reflection, they had been childish to forget that the Hogwarts returned weren't the only pieces on the board. They'd been swiftly reminded of the fact when it became clear that Lucius Malfoy had decided to sink his teeth into the situation.

Using Granger's death, Lord Malfoy had crucified the Hogwarts Board of Governors. He had nailed them for inaction, laziness, and blindness, going so far as to suggest that they were, perhaps, too comfortable in their chairs. In a stirring speech that was broadcast on the six o'clock Wizarding Wireless, he had turned the muggleborn Granger into a sort of post-mortem poster child for the dangers of forgetting their roots instead of spreading wizarding ideals to—not muggleborns, he'd called them, but—"the Wizarding World's lost children."

Listening to the broadcast in the Slytherin common room, Daphne's jaw had dropped. She'd never heard such articulate guile before. Silver tongued didn't come close. In one speech, Lucius Malfoy had reached into the ears of Wizarding Britain and wrapped his fingers around the heart of every parent and every guardian. Anyone who rebutted him sounded, at best, uncaring. At worst, they sounded filicidal.

Non-Slytherins often wondered how Malfoys always seemed to get their way. They wouldn't anymore, after that speech.

Needless to say, many pieces of important government paperwork found their roadblocks worn away in the wake of the speech. In the Wizengamont, the Education Amendment passed in hours. The Dark Arts Amendment had taken longer, but after a solid week of debate it, too, had passed. The Magical Children's Act, an emergency act passed quietly and provisionally as the first move of the Bones administration, was also further ratified into law. All three pieces of legislation were then batted about in the House of Lords, but that had taken no time at all. Not with Lord Lucius Malfoy choosing now to call in some of the choicest of the favors owed to him.

The result was an unheard-of three new laws introduced in significantly less than two weeks. All because of one dead muggleborn, a pureblood who was smart enough to pounce on the opportunity her corpse presented, and his son and his friends, who had killed the girl in the first place. It was the sort of scenario satires took their plots from. Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin House, and the Dark at large were high with the success of it.

Dumbledore had raised holy hell, of course, but he was so damaged now only the centric-Light had paid any attention to him. Though November was not even midway through, Hogwarts was awash with change. Muggle influence had fallen to an all-time low as teaching of the Old Ways became a mandate in History of Magic classes. Muggle Studies had been changed to World Cultures and curriculum for classes in healing, mind arts, magical languages, and warding were already in the works. Rita Skeeter had done a wonderful piece all about it, Minister Bones herself providing quotes about the Department of Education's plans.

In addition, all Hogwarts students were now also required to receive a full physical from Madam Pomfrey or an approved healer at the earliest possible time. All reports, be they of a muggleborn or a pureblood or somewhere in-between, were to be given to the freshly founded Magical Children's Services. Any child who showed signs of abuse would be removed from their guardian and placed in MCS care until a proper solution could be found, be that emancipation or adoption by another magical family. As children were so terribly precious in the Wizarding World, Daphne didn't foresee any problems with placing the wayward kids. Traditionalist purebloods, had, of course, taken the whole idea a step further and begun advocating that all muggleborns should be adopted into wizarding families regardless of homelife, but they were still quite a small lot. Delores Umbridge led that brigade, and Daphne trusted her irritating personality would keep her club from gathering much steam.

The only act that hadn't received a push from Granger's fate was the Magical Creatures Amendment. Understandable, as it was sort of hard to make a case for allowing vampires and werewolves equal rights when a student had just been killed by a troll. The act wouldn't remain muzzled for long, though, Daphne knew. Lord Malfoy was at a new peek in his power and he was motivated by blood. He would not stop until he had his prize, now, and that prize was the safety of those who were his family. There was no better motivation for a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy, than that.

Frown pulling at her mouth, Daphne turned away from the window. Thoughts of such love woke something maudlin in her chest. Once upon a time, she'd had something like that. A fairytale, the world had said, sown and grown in the summer after seventh year. Her family had retreated to the French countryside following the war, aware that their neutrality might not be enough for Light society. There, she had spent her days entertaining a continuous string of fortuitous purebloods her age, painfully cognizant of her parents' watchful eye. Purebloods were in the habit of marrying young, even after the War, and she knew her single status was an oddity. Even Pansy Parkinson had beaten her to the alter!

Finally, Cormac McLaggen had swept into her receiving room.

Unlike what the papers would later print, there was no love at first sight between them. His connections had impressed her more than his bravado or wit, and he wasn't hard on the eyes. He had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and marrying him, Daphne knew, would clear her family of all Light suspicion. They could go home, back to England. The thought hadn't thrilled Daphne, personally, but she saw the spark the notion put in the eyes of her parents. However, it was still Astoria who finally decided Daphne. Her sweet sister, two years younger and a would-be fifth year. Daphne dreaded the thought of watching Astoria try and settle into Beauxbatons, an exile pleading sanctuary.

Besides, Cormac had been oddly sweet when he wasn't talking himself up for a crowd. Every day that June he had given her a new bouquet of flowers, asking shyly before he so much as held her hand. He was kind to her sister, approved of by her parents, and even supported her interest in fashion. Accepting his proposal had been simple. Everything about loving Cormac had been so simple. She and her family were moved back to England by July of '98, her engagement plastering every paper. "Slytherin princess finds her heart! Light knight to the rescue!" The headlines cried. Daphne had tried her best to find the humor, even as she'd fumed. It was as if Wizarding Britain hadn't considered her a human before Cormac's ring had circled her finger. As if she were something else until that moment.

As the days wore on, Daphne would merely shake her head at the papers. The rest of the world seemed to be falling madly, recklessly in love. Why fight the depiction? The truth was so much less fun. Honestly, she and Cormac's lives barely affected each other. Cormac was a DAM, always away after a target, while Daphne spent her days Flooing to New York, where she was putting together her first fashion show. The time they did spend together was amicable, though, and as they drew closer to their wedding date, Daphne was confident she had made the best decision.

Then Cormac had died. The Ministry had called him a tragic casualty in the war on Dark magic. After all, when Padma Patil bravely brought down the corrupt, evil law firm of Avery & Patil, a few innocent victims had been caught in the wreckage. Six of them, to be exac, including Daphne's easy, respectable Cormac. Her sweetest friend, if not her truest love.

She had buried him that Monday and when she read about Parvati Patil's murder the next morning, Daphne got to work. She spent hours hoarding ever piece of reliable newspaper she could find, pouring over the obituaries. Still clad in mourning robes, a raccoon's mask of makeup smeared around her bloodshot eyes, she'd compiled a list of twenty-two interesting deaths since the Final Battle. All were wizards and witches who had actively fought Light in the Battle of Hogwarts and had some level of influence over the wizarding public.

The harder she looked, however, Daphne couldn't find an enemy. At the time, there were no new Dark Lords or Ladies, no radical extremist groups, not even a Death Eater enclave left active. She considered that the attacks really were rogues, but that didn't make sense either. After the last war, there just weren't very many Dark magicals left; she herself would only admit her magical preference under pain of her sister's death. To kill that many Light war heroes, talented fighters all, you would need quite a few people working together.

It wasn't until mid-August that Daphne suspected the Ministry. With Lucius Malfoy joining her list on August 12th, 1998, there was no other option. Who else had the resources to assassinate such a powerful man on the Ministry's own steps? When the anti-werewolf laws went into effect a little over a week later, her theory was sealed.

The Ministry was actively slaying war heroes, then using their blood to whip up the masses against political enemies. Racist, militaristic laws passed easily while people were distracted, legalizing the death of anyone who didn't agree. It was genocide on a scale not even Voldemort had considered. Clever, she'd thought as comprehension dawned. Certainly no one would ever believe Daphne Greengrass if she said a word about it. Not the mad, sorrowed fiancé, not even a widow, never even a wife. Mad with grief, they would say she was. Can't believe a word from her delicate, cracked lips.

At least, not until the dead of a late September night. She could still remember the chill in her blood as Harry Potter's floating head hovered over her doorstep, his body swathed in his invisibility cloak. The dull look in his eyes as he asked her for answers. Apparently, Luna and Theodore Nott had sent him her way. Daphne never had asked how they'd known she had worked it out, or that she'd continued to gather evidence just in case.

That night, Daphne had made the most important choice of her life. Against her better, safer, Slytherin judgement, she'd opened her door and welcomed Harry Potter in. Without permeable Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom had both popped out from under disillusionments, offering her nods as they stumbled in behind Harry. All three were obviously exhausted, covered in minor injuries from near-miss spellfire. She had tended to them nervously as she rattled off her theories, her tales, her data and details, half-expecting them to laugh in her face. However, as she petered to a close and let silence descend, three grim expressions were all that met her.

That night, a resistance was born in her family's living room. A resistance that would kill Daphne and her sister not two years later, and her parents that night, when aurors tracking Harry and his husbands descended on Greengrass Manor. In the morning, the papers would declare Harry Potter a Dark Lord. For years Light textbooks would teach of his first crime, the slaughter of the respectable Greengrass Family.

She knew Harry had no fault in her parents' death. They were all so young still, too young to know how to find and break Ministry trackers. In fact, Daphne would be the one to figure it out, three weeks later after the safe house in Birmingham blew up.

But in the dark of night, when grief threatened to eat her mind and logic was distant, drowned out by the noise of Astoria trapped in another nightmare, Daphne would sometimes wonder if the books weren't all wrong. Replace his name with hers and the sentence made so much more sense, really. After all, there was only rebellion in Greengrass Manor because the eldest daughter couldn't mourn politely.

"Hey, Greengrass, are you trying to hook up with a mermaid?" Parvati called, her mockery forcing Daphne from her memories. How pathetic, Daphne thought, that she'd let herself be trapped there in the first place.

"Why, Patil, are you feeling jealous?" Daphne drawled, tucking her hands into her robe pockets to hide the latent tremble. Loathe as she was to admit it, Parvati was just what she needed at the moment. The feeling had become a habit since they had taken to sparring together, spurred on by their first impromptu match the morning Harry had slipped away. A month and a half later, Daphne couldn't imagine life without the pressure release.

Parvati grinned Cheshire-like, her mass of inky hair fighting against her braid. Her dark eyes danced with something wicked, something wild, and she seemed almost to sway when she moved. She made Daphne think of vibrant silk, in vermillion and titian and evergreen, swirling playfully in the wind. She made Daphne want to reach out and feel the textures in her hands. Unlike anything else since Greengrass Manor went to ash, Parvati Patil made Daphne Greengrass want again.

"And if I am?" Parvati murmured, suddenly much closer than Daphne had thought.

Daphne bit her lip contemptuously and rose, fully prepared to flick Parvati away like she had every other unsafe bet in her life. She was confident that even in vastly different circumstances she could woo Cormac back to her, set her life back onto the safest track, and play her cards to happiness. She had no desire to take a gamble, not like a silly, insipid—

"Then you had best get a move on, hadn't you?"

—Gryffindor.

Oh, Daphne, she thought, staring into Parvati's delighted eyes. What have you done?

Certainly nothing easy. Daphne smirked. But maybe that was the fun of it.

As far as awful days went, Harry had seen worse. Hell, he could fill a calendar with days that beat out this one in terms of shittiness. A veritable year's worth of indescribable shittery, if you will. However, that is not to say that he was particularly enjoying his current experience.

Like a flock of nervous pygmy puffs, the Slytherin first year court stood huddled together around a glowing flame in the freezing Hogwarts courtyard. Millicent, in a stroke of genius that had left Harry flinching with the memory of a young Hermione Granger, had conjured the bright green flame in an empty potions bottle provided by Draco. Harry usually wasn't one to mind fresh air, but he was already cold from Quidditch practice and standing around in the snow did him no favours.

But Harry was more scared of Susan Bones than frostbite, as were his fellow court members. Hence the diaspora from the Slytherin common room, where she and her chosen war council had set up shop. The cold air had a way of clearing out the sinuses, too, which was needed after the first years had discovered the terrible surprise waiting for them in the hallway leading to their dorms.

Someone had carved the Amortentia recipe into the stone of the first year dorms' hallway. Littering the floor were old, grungy copies of Rita's article on the Weasley's, and, most disconcertingly, in the picture above the article, which showed the full Weasley family before Molly's horrors had been revealed, the eyes of all the boys and Arthur had been scratched out. A sweet, coppery tang had filled the air and one by one the first years had looked at each other and nodded. Blood and decay. Yet, there had been no physical sign of either.

While not obviously dangerous or enchanted, all of the first years had been disgusted and disturbed by the intrusion. If they each hadn't warded their doors and then had Theo check their work and add his own, would the attack have been worse? And, of course, there was also the notion that this was something more than Slytherin House politics to worry about. That someone knew something they weren't meant to.

Frankly, though, Harry was used to being threatened. So was Ron, and the other returned weren't far behind them. No, the truly nerve-wracking part of today's surprise went solely to the murderous rage Susan had flown into.

Harry supposed it was to be expected. Susan was a Hufflepuff at heart and badgers regularly killed to protect their homes. Susan had certainly made a home out of their dorm. It was Susan who soothed Parvati's nightmares, made sure Dean didn't forget his sketchbook in the morning, reminded Neville to wash the dirt off his face, learned to recognize the signs of Draco's flashbacks—the list was endless. So when some third year twat laughed about the incident as they reported it to Severus, Draco had been forced to pull her bodily from the idiot as she growled threats that had put Harry in mind of Bellatrix Lestrange.

After that incident, Susan had set herself to hunting the culprit. The entire first year court had decided to let her to it, wary of getting in her way. The only one who'd had even a little luck with soothing Susan had been Millicent, and she had only been able coax Susan into some breakfast before the redhead stormed off.

"Promise me if I ever get batty enough to upset Susan, you'll kill me," Ron muttered, hands jammed in his pockets. Beside him, Neville nodded fervently.

"Done," Harry swore. "But only if you'll do me the same." Solemnly, the pact was returned and spread around the rest of the circle. It was the first bit of levity the first years had seen all day.

Since that awful morning, Harry and the rest of the first year court had sat through their classes uninterrupted. However, tension was slowly eating away at their calm facade. After having become more distracted with each hour, Millicent had finally skipped last period and gone in search of Susan. Twenty minutes later, she'd returned alone and solemnly informed the rest of the court that Susan had taken over the common room with Percy and the twins. Millicent had then handed Blaise a missive from Susan, one that had made Blaise pale and run off once he'd read it.

The court had been quiet since then, none of them have given over to emotional overtures since Lavender's shriek woke them all up. The general reaction seemed to be disbelief, muted by worry and hesitancy. It reminded Harry of the War, and that stirred a deep, dark anger in Harry's heart. He'd felt the anger brewing for a while now. It was aggravated by the odd parallels he felt to his old life. Like standing out here in the cold around a brilliant girl's colorful fire. If Millicent hadn't turned the flames Slytherin green in a blast of House pride, Harry wasn't sure what he would have done.

Voldemort's shadow leered at him and Harry was sick of it. He couldn't stop mulling over the problem in his mind.

On one hand, Voldemort was Voldemort. No one knew better than the Hogwarts returned what a monster he had been. He'd tortured even his own followers, throwing fits of cruelty so vile that Theo's father had been irreparably damaged in their last life. On the other hand, the other children of Death Eaters had provided stories told to them about the First War where Voldemort featured almost as a kind family-figure. It was like talking about two different men: one evil, one caring.

All Harry knew was that he couldn't fight for the Light again. All of the returned knew of the pain, the radicalism, the racism, and the genocide spurred by that denomination. To different degrees, yes, but that would change shortly. Soon no one in their group would be able to plead ignorant to the brutality of the Light.

But where did that leave him?

Beside him, Neville nudged his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll figure this out soon enough."

Harry quirked his eyebrow, "I thought we were supposed to be comforting Ron over this nonsense?"

Beside Neville, Ron shrugged. "What's to comfort? Some low-level punk knows I have an aversion to Amortentia. So does most of the Wizarding World."

"They also broke past the hallway wards, though. Those weren't child's play," Parvati spoke up.

Harry hid a smile. He'd figured Parvati was too busy admiring the green glow of the fire on Daphne's face to add anything to the conversation. Since the girls' infamous exchange in the common room, Parvati had made it her mission to get a date out of Daphne. Daphne, of course, had responded by being as recalcitrant as possible. Being so focused on each other, Harry had barely heard a word from either of them for close to a week.

The twins, being the twins, had of course already set up a betting pool. The only bet Harry felt comfortable putting down was that the twins were going to have the start-up money for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes by this time next year.

"She's right," Daphne agreed, breaking Harry from his musings. She was looking pointedly away from Parvati, who grinned at her cheekily. "But they're not beyond a determined sixth year. And it has always been common in Slytherin to hire someone to fiddle for you what you can't manage yourself."

Dean chuckled lowly. "Now there's a sentiment I can appreciate."

"Oi!" Seamus grinned, "You'll be needing no foreign fiddling as long as I'm around!"

Daphne's nose wrinkled prettily as the two boys laughed, elbowing Parvati sharply when she salaciously offered to fiddle with Daphne any time she liked, free of charge. Before long Harry was laughing too, along with Neville, Ron, and even Draco, who'd been as grim-faced as Theo since Blaise ditched him at Susan's command. Theo himself was shaking his head, a small smile curving his lips, while Millicent struggled to smother her giggles behind a hand.

By the time the first years had control of their laughter, the bells were ringing for the next class. Moving reluctantly and in a slow shuffle, they plodded back indoors, Milli canceling her charm only at the very last second. To the immense pleasure of his would-be husbands, Harry wore a smile the entire walk back, and did not once think of ghosts.

Perhaps, Harry would think later, that had been something of a misstep.

Unnoticed by the youth in the courtyard, an old man stepped away from he'd been watching them. There was a pensive frown on his face. The window he'd found belonged to a secluded classroom, long abandoned by the school. Now, though, it was due to be opened as a new magical language classroom. Latin, he thought. As if the students didn't learn enough Latin in their day-to-day lessons. They knew exactly as much as they needed to use their magic without the temptation of messing with the spells themselves.

As a young man, Albus Dumbledore had learned the dangers of knowing too much of a seemingly harmless thing.

Leaving the classroom at a leisurely stroll, Albus made his way back to his office. On his desk was a report from Severus detailing a matter involving the Slytherin first years. What an odd collection, that group was. Strange. Wrong. Very much not what Albus had planned for.

Albus shook his head, trailing his wrinkled fingers over the report. They were just children— nothing that could not be worked around, or even through, if need be. And as things were, it did seem that, unfortunately, there was a need.

Albus settled himself in his desk chair, sighing heavily, feeling every bit his old age. Lethargy like this often became a problem when his plans went to hell. He couldn't understand where he'd gone wrong. Young Harry Potter was meant to kill what was left of his old failure, Tom Riddle. It was an unfortunate violence, but after Tom died Albus would finally be able to lead the Wizarding World into a new era of freedom and Light. Such a burden had been his only goal since Arianna's death, and his penance since Gellert's fall from grace. But now that plan seemed to have faltered. Years of sacrifice and strategy, all crumbled by a cruel turn of fate.

How, though? Albus had been so careful. Certainly dear Tom could not have orchestrated this. No, Albus had done well with euthanizing the boy's power once he'd become too dangerous. As much as it had pained Albus, giving Arthur Weasley to Molly Prewett had done well to assure that. But with Arthur now free of the Amortentia, could Tom have somehow gotten into contact? Could that be how Weasleys and Boneses and Potters and Longbottoms had wound up in Slytherin? How politics had turned on its head?

No matter. The hows and whys were not a concern here as much as they had been in other plots of Albus'. Now, merely, was a time for action. Action that would one day restore Albus to his proper seat of power, where he could serve the Wizarding World best.

"And you, my dear, will be instrumental in returning this world to right." Albus promised, screwing up a warm smile for the blood-chilling tragedy opposite him. Coppery decay stung his nose as he met its eye. "Your name will live into time immemorial."

The thing—composed of vaporous grey and black, oily smoke that seeped from its translucent skin, pantomiming blood—grinned. The teeth were pearlescent, sticking jagged and broken from its distorted maw. Bones popped free from the face-flesh. Its fingers cracked and snapped, sticking gruesomely out of place. When it moved it did not glide like the Hogwarts ghosts but slunk along the walls in a hobbled stumble. New to this veiled existence, it would try to breathe sometimes, forcing its brutalized chest to expand and exhale, pushing bits of bones, flayed flesh, and inky miasmatic blood from the sunken chest cavity.

Hermione Jean Granger had not been given an open casket funeral for good reason.

"Headmaster," it—she—croaked, voice whistling through a shattered windpipe, head lolling on a broken neck to look at him. In the eye that hadn't been punctured and deflated by a piece of broken skull glittered a hate like Albus Dumbledore only saw now in his nightmares.

"It will be my pleasure."

Mwahaha! I bet you guys thought you'd seen the last of Miss Granger, huh? Well, actually I had, too, but I think it was one of you lovely reviewers who said something about ghosts and then, well, who am I to ignore such good advice? (*Mumbles* Plus I needed another antagonist.)

Dumbledore - I finally have a plan for him! Yes! Hopefully this chapter drops some hints.

Daphne/Parvati - I really like this pairing. Hopefully you guys will too.

Other than that, I don't think I have anything else to say. Halloween largely inspired this chapter, so Happy Halloween! Thank you again for all the beautiful reviews, guys, they are seriously the life blood of this story! I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter! As always, I will reply back and please feel free to ask questions! Also, this is newly edited as of 8/14/2022.

Sincerely,

BlackRoseGirl666