Harry splashed water on his face, the motions automatic and thoughtless. As they should be after so much practice, Harry thought wryly. Going to the basin and trying to wash away the memories was standard post-nightmare procedure. It was as familiar as breathing or casting a shield charm.

Toweling off, his eyes found his childish reflection in the mirror and Harry had to take another moment to focus his breathing. Inhaling deep through his nose, he let the air seep slowly out through his mouth. He did this several times until his heart stopped hammering and settled into something less like a spell-barrage against his breastbone. Was he ever going to become used to seeing that baby face staring back at him? He wondered if he would have to wait another decade to quit feeling wrong-footed every time he glanced at something reflective.

The truly weird part was that this felt like his body. His brain just didn't seem keen on recognizing it as such.

Harry was still bent over the sink when a hand settled gently between his skinny shoulder blades, an as-yet uncalloused thumb rubbing soothing circles over his skin. Peeking through his bangs Harry shot a smile at Neville, who returned it kindly. There was worry in his eyes, however.

"How are you?" Neville asked softly. "How are you really?"

Harry stilled, then straightened. He pulled in another breath. "Not as bad as you'd think. I did lose it a bit, back at the castle."

Neville snorted. "A bit?"

Harry blushed. "Maybe a little more than that. But I'm feeling better, now." A smile flittered onto his face. "Talking to Sirius helped a lot. So does seeing that many of the adults seem to get it." Harry swallowed. "Makes me feel more like they won't turn on us."

Neville blinked. "You thought they would?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It's a fear, I guess."

"Not an unreasonable one," Ron threw in as he, too, stepped into the bathroom. He immediately began fussing with his hair, staring intently at the mirror, but nothing really helped his fiery bed-head. Harry felt a smile creep up again.

"There's less risk now, I think," Ron added absently. After a few more flicks, he gave up with his hair, hands falling to his sides. His blue eyes stared back strangely from the mirror, too old for his babyish face. Like a changeling's. Like Harry's, and Neville's, and so many others' eyes.

As though thinking the same thoughts, they looked at their reflection in the mirror for a long moment, almost entranced by the image of innocence that was so incongruous with their minds and emotions. Harry eventually broke the spell, shaking his head. "Well, I for one want this memory horror show over before Christmas. Let's get on with it."

Ron smirked as they all shuffled out of the washroom. "Thought it was a bit odd we were all hanging around in the loo."

Neville smacked his arm playfully. "Hush, you."

The three of them bickered that way through the walk to the dining room, where the returned had gathered for breakfast. As with dinner the night before, Narcissa had ordered an impeccable feast spread out for them. The mood of the room, however, was actually better than it had been at dinner. People seemed less tense, if not entirely happy with each other. There was still a fog of melancholy hanging over the returned, with families and lovers orbiting around each other in quiet pods, but Harry figured that was the best probable outcome. At least no one was glancing around suspiciously, as though suspecting an attack. Or worse, doing any attacking.

As breakfast ended Narcissa rose and shuffled them all off to the drawing room, where Theo once again cast the projector spell on Lucius's Pensieve. They all stood around for a moment, waiting to see who would start them off again.

"Well," Draco drawled at last, "Where do we want to begin?" He cast a tired eye at the adults. "Anyone have any questions? Suggestions? Explosions of passionate rage?"

Amelia snorted. "I'd give into the last one if I thought it would do any good." She rubbed an exhausted hand over her face. Clearly, the Minister had not slept well. Had anyone been looking, they would have caught a flicker of concern as it skipped across Rita Skeeter's face.

Narcissa, who never missed much, shot an interested look at her girlhood friend. Rita made a point of not meeting her eyes. Narcissa hid a smirk and made a note to have Rita for wine sometime soon, off the record. It would be a nice break from discussing the past, Narcissa thought idly. She had not removed her hand from Draco's shoulder all morning. She hadn't been given to such emotion since he'd gone to Hogwarts.

She rubbed her thumb lightly over the fine fabric of his shirt. A pity, that. Present events made her wish she'd had more time to hold him. She felt as though she'd missed so much... Tilting her head, Narcissa had a thought. "Pray excuse a lady," she murmured demurely, confident that her words d would be heard. The concurrent silence proved her right. "But perhaps we could see a positive memory next? Presuming there is one, of course." She cast her eyes lightly around the room. "Call it a mother's hope."

As she had expected, a number of faces around the room softened. Arthur Weasley shot her a frankly grateful look and even Lucius' icy facade melted a touch. Amelia Bones bit her lip and looked down, as if to hide her agreement, and dear Rita smiled briefly. Sirius' face bloomed with an excited grin, reflected by Remus' milder smile, and Severus didn't voice any opposition, so Narcissa assumed she had his approval, too.

Then her eyes met Kingsley's and Narcissa had to look away. She had not said a word to her (future?) husband since they'd returned. She wanted to, and had even alluded her feelings to the public, but she... Narcissa blinked, forcibly pulling herself away from those thoughts. She could focus on herself later. For now, she had other points of interest to give her attention to.

She smoothed her thumb once more over Draco's shoulder, contented when another degree of tension leaked away from his frame.

"Would that serve the purpose, though?" Susan Bones queried. A few of the other youth nodded, exchanging dreary looks with each other. Susan straightened up, setting her shoulders as the scrutiny of the room turned to her. Narcissa thought she had never looked more like her aunt. "I mean, seeing the happy stuff is hardly the point."

Parvati Patil nodded. "Does anyone even have anything? I certainly didn't go bubbly with my pick."

Neville Longbottom coughed. "I did, actually." He smiled sweetly at Harry and Ron. "I thought you might like Sirius and your dad to see our wedding."

Blaise Zabini smiled at her son. "Me, too," he said, cutting off the excited exclamations of Arthur and Sirius.

Narcissa regarded him curiously. Calista Zabini's only child, who had grown up to be even lovelier than his famously beautiful mother. Narcissa remembered attending the wedding of the boy's parents. She had also attended the further six weddings Calista had been party to after Harith Ibori-Zabini had died, and all those proceeding funerals. The rumour had come about, of course, that those hearts Calista Zabini possessed did not beat for long.

The Zabini boy, Narcissa had not failed to notice, had not left Draco's side since they'd entered the Manor. Draco had gone to Italy with him, Narcissa remembered. They were close friends. She had been so very grateful, at the time, because she'd thought it would keep Draco out of danger. Remembering Blaise's mother, her perfect composure behind the black veil she wore to all those funerals, Narcissa hoped she'd not been short-sighted in that.

In any case, Draco was looking curiously at Blaise. "What is it?"

Blaise looked down and took Draco's hand in his. "Our wedding, actually."

Draco, who Narcissa had only seen stressed or sad since his return, veritably melted. He pressed closer to Blaise, as though the rest of the world had gone away. Narcissa's hand slipped from his shoulder.

"Oh, darling," Draco said. A smile broke across his face. "It was the wedding of the century," he drawled, teasing and boastful. Blaise tucked a laugh behind his hand, accepting Draco's arm around his waist with the grace of practice. "By far the best I have ever been to," Draco murmured. He innocently kissed Blaise's cheek.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, Narcissa thought, dazed by the picture. Draco looked barely eleven. At this point, he was meant to still be obsessed with Quidditch and besting Harry Potter. Not cooing with his husband about their wedding. She had already seen images of Draco older, killing people horrifically—and Gods, how that hurt; her son who couldn't bat a peacock out of the way, slaughtering without a flinch—but this really drove home the difference. Her child had grown up, no matter what he looked like now.

She had missed so much.

Narcissa slipped a glance to Lucius, unsurprised by the horror that briefly skipped across his face. He was probably thinking through everything he knew about the Zabini family, too. However, where Narcissa had stopped at caution Lucius had jumped straight to fear. He'd always been the panicker in the family, Narcissa thought fondly. She raised an eyebrow at Remus, who easily caught the hint and leaned up to murmur in Lucius' ear. Some of the tension melted away from her best friend and ex-husband. One crisis averted, then.

Narcissa went back to watching their son. Perhaps she could see him married before the next crisis popped up. Even if just in memory.

"I would like to see that," Narcissa said, keen on her goal. "I admit I don't much care for the purpose."

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat, almost shyly. "I just watched my son die. I'd like to see something positive, too, if it's not much of a bother."

A round of supportive mumbles fluttered up from the adults while the young returned exchanged glances. Finally, Harry spoke up. "Alright. Everyone with happy memories, let's see them. The rest of you depressing bastards can go after." He smirked as the other youths scoffed and snickered. "Let's see if we can't end this before Christmas."

The young made agreeable noises. Many of the adults, on the other hand, looked surprised by Harry's tone. Frankly, Narcissa didn't know why. They had seen him as a commander in the last memory. This was simply that commander stepping to the forefront.

Content that her directive skill was unneeded, Narcissa went back to watching her son and, she supposed, her son-in-law. Draco was smiling softly still, his eyes glued to Blaise. He looked as though he could die happy, if only he could do so looking at him. The look struck terror into Narcissa's heart, well aware of just what one would do to protect the object of such love. Had this been what Calista's husbands had been like?

Narcissa didn't have the time to ruminate on those thoughts. With a nod to Harry, Blaise Zabini upturned his vial. A forest rose up around them, the air cool and filled with sweet, natural smells. Just a hint of smoke tickled Narcissa's nose. Night had fallen but a full moon hung heavy in the sky, painting the scene in silvery light. Through the trees a chorus of merry voices could be heard, and the flicker of firelight barely discerned.

Sirius looked around curiously. There was an odd sort of eagerness to the place, almost as if the very trees were excited to have visitors. "Where's this, then?"

Neville answered with a wistful smile on his face. "We were never totally sure. A forest the world forgot about, I guess. Of all our safe houses, this was the only one that was never breached."

Draco snorted, but fondly. Narcissa smiled. Such contradictory expressions brought Draco's resemblance to Lucius into stark relief. "Safe house?" Draco continued, drawing Narcissa from her musings. "It was a patch of woods in the middle of nowhere that one of the old Malfoy portkeys spit us out on. House is a bit of a mischaracterization."

Narcissa frowned, locking eyes with Lucius and meeting glaciers. "Draco," Lucius started, voice forbidding. "Those keys—"

"We had to use them or die, Father," Draco said mildly. Narcissa felt a chill go down her back. Even given that choice, Narcissa wasn't sure Draco had taken the best option.

"I don't understand," Amelia frowned. "Why such fuss?"

Lucius sighed, looking as uncomfortable as Narcissa had ever seen him. "What Draco is talking about are not portkeys in the traditional sense."

"Well, they're not portkeys at all," Arthur Weasley, of all people, cut in. His expression was surprised, as though he weren't quite sure why he was speaking, but all the same his words came confidently. That in itself might be the most unexpected part, Narcissa thought. The man she'd known to this point was not what one thought of as such.

This Arthur, however, didn't flinch even as he locked eyes with Lucius, as though expecting him to follow along. "Portkeys are time-sensitive and even the illegal ones are traceable. That's because they use lines of magic to connect two places, like a bridge. But these keys, they don't expire. Nor do they use bridges. They are quite literally keys. They open doors that have been built in time and space, letting the possessor 'walk' into a new place. They can't be traced because there's no bridge to follow, just a door that won't open without its key."

Lucius blinked, taken aback. "Well, yes. But that's not common knowledge."

Arthur interrupted Lucius again, his distant. It wasn't clear whether he was talking to himself or the room. "No, I'd think not. It's a terrible hassle making them, and it takes a very powerful person to do it effectively. It all went rather awfully at first, but—" Arthur stopped abruptly, looking around the forest as though mesmerized. "You were right about this place being forgotten," he murmured mistily. "I think that was actually the point."

"Dad," Bill said, caution filling the word. Fenrir Greyback hovered at his shoulder. Several of the group were trading anxious looks with each other now, let alone Lucius, who Narcissa had not seen so unsettled since the first time the Dark Lord crucio'd him.

"I'm alright," Arthur said, brushing off the hand Charlie had placed on his shoulder, stepping away from the crowding of Percy and the twins. He smiled gently at Ron when he made a noise of concern. "It's just, this is Albania, isn't it?" Arthur said. He looked back to Lucius. "And this key came off a ring of five that Abraxas gave you just before he died. You were never told where they led." Arthur narrowed his eyes, as though struggling to focus. "You used to keep them on you at all times, just in case..."

"How the hell do you know that?" Lucius all but barked, unease shifting quickly to anger. Remus had a hand on his arm, but Narcissa knew from experience that such actions would do little to keep Lucius from drawing his wand. She found herself nervously wondering just what would happen if someone tried to cast a spell while viewing a memory.

Arthur jerked like he'd been slapped. All the previous confidence in his posture immediately drained away, replaced with astonishment and fear. "I don't know. Lucius, I swear to Merlin, I don't know what came over me." His sons closed rank around him, which Arthur now accepted without a fight.

"The Amortentia," Draco and Severus said, potion's masters both. They shared a surprised look, unused to being on par with each other, but any possible humor was drowned by the tension.

So much for a relaxing, happy memory, Narcissa thought, not without some bitterness.

"The hell's that got to do with anything?" Charlie snapped, crossing his arms defensively.

"Memory loss is a common side-effect," Draco said, head tilting in contemplation.

"Yes, but not in those around the victim," Severus replied, eyes on Lucius. "From your words, Arthur, it would seem that you know about what very few ever did, and that few all knew each other extremely well. It is odd, then, that none of us would remember you."

"Are you accusing our dad of joining up with—" Charlie started angrily, but Bill clipped him in the side before he could stick his foot fully in his mouth.

"As I was saying," Serverus replied silkily, "It's odd."

"If it helps," Arthur replied, rubbing an exhausted hand over his face, "I don't remember much about my life that isn't connected directly to Molly or the children. Patches of this and that, but nothing concrete. You could tell me I'd sold muggle rubber ducks for spending money and I'd have no reference to disprove you." A little, possibly hysterical laugh punctuated his words.

Severus hummed. Lucius' expression slipped from anger to concern. He looked poised to speak but just then a roaring laugh spilled from the clearing. The returned were forced to pivot their attention accordingly.

The bushes shook. An older Blaise Zabini pushed through the foliage, grinning to outshine the moon. His hair was longer than Narcissa had ever seen it, falling below his chin in a wave of tiny braids. A few had been pulled back, holding in place a small bunch of her namesake: narcissus flowers, known also as daffodils. Their white petals and bright orange centres stood out beautifully in the dark gloss of his braids.

"We wanted to include everyone we could and abide tradition as much as possible," Blaise offered to her, his expression almost shy. He and Draco had clasped hands.

Narcissa found herself smiling at them both, pleased and touched. Flowers, in a traditional, English Wizarding wedding, were meant to stand as symbols for what the couple wanted of their future. She and Lucius had shocked society by marrying with bird of paradise and dahlia, bright, foreign flowers wishing for elegance, strength under pressure, and freedom, promising commitment to each other but not love. It was the only rebellion they'd issued about their arranged marriage, and by the end of the summer wedding season dozens of other pairs had copied them. Most had been muggleborn or Light couples without a clue what the flowers said. Witch Weekly had hailed them the trendsetting wedding couple of the decade. Narcissa had canceled her subscription that day.

Now, however, she felt joy. "Rebirth and hope," she identified softly. She smiled specifically at Blaise, endeared by how he hopefully met her eye. "I am honoured, dears," she said. She was even more pleased by how Blaise instantly relaxed under her approval, giving her an honest smile while Draco all but beamed.

"Hold on, Zabini, Gods know Draco will pitch a right fit if this is fucked up," Ron's voice broke through the trees. His body followed a moment later. Arthur, surprised, couldn't hold back a gasp. This was the oldest Arthur had ever seen Ron, his youngest boy. He favoured Charlie more than Bill, Arthur thought, but he had gotten the Weasley height like Bill. Like Charlie's, his face was sharper than Arthur's, features more defined—a Prewett gene. His eyes, too, were Prewett blue, like Percy. He had Arthur's mouth, though, shared with the twins; Arthur's attitude, too, apparently. From what shards Arthur could remember of his youth, at least.

In any case, he felt his heart swell as his boy bumped shoulders companionably with Blaise Zabini, offering the groom a gentle grin. "Not that I think you could fuck it up," Ron continued, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Draco's so gone it'll be a miracle if he's able to keep his mind off you long enough to get through the vows."

The young Draco grinned, unrepentant. To Blaise he said, "It's still a miracle I'm able to do anything but think of you."

Blaise blushed, tugging their twined hands up so he could kiss Draco's knuckles. "My heart's the same, Caro."

Sirius cooed, unable to keep it back. He was a romantic at heart and seeing Cissa's sarcastic son all mushy made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He leaned into Severus' side, quietly thrilled when his taciturn husband—boyfriend? Did time travel do you part as well as death?—wrapped an arm around his waist. He was distracted from his romantic thoughts, though, when a third body broke through the brush—Harry!

Sirius couldn't deny being excited to see his boy grown-up again. He had missed so much, dying so early. Even though Harry had assured him that he didn't blame him, Sirius couldn't quite let go of the guilt of not being there. If he was being honest, his biggest incentive for watching these memories was to gain more insight. Maybe then he could be of more help. His fist clenched. He refused to let Harry down again.

Severus' arm disappeared from around his waist, as expected. Severus was never very demonstrative outside of their rooms. Still, they shared a glance. Life would be different this time, that look promised. Fool me once, Sirius thought grimly, but don't ever let me find out. There won't be a second chance.

In this memory, Harry was physically no more than a year older than he had been in the last. However, where before he had been an image of vivid danger, he now wore a shroud of exhaustion that aged him. He looked tired and sad, Sirius thought, even through the smile he gave Blaise.

"Are we ready?" Harry asked, smile inching up a touch. "Because, honestly, I don't think Neville can keep Draco stalled another minute."

There was a round of giddy chuckles before Ron bowed out. "Well, then, that's my cue. See you at the end of the isle!" With a kiss to Harry's cheek, he dashed through another line of bushes, moving closer to the distant firelight. A few moments later, stirrings of music rose from beyond the greenery.

Harry turned to Blaise, offering an arm. "Ready?"

Blaise took the arm happily, his grin never dimming. "I have been for years."

Together the pair moved through the bushes, following a trim little path that opened into a wide clearing. Guests in a mishmash of conjured formal robes and armour stood in a loose circle around four crackling bonfires. Breathtaking magical flowers filled the ground not occupied by people, glowing purple Merlin's breath tangling merrily with sparkly white dragonalia and golden aphroditia. Only a small isle and a circle in the center were left otherwise grassy. Neville, so tall and muscular that those who hadn't known him then were shocked, occupied that circle with Ron, stood at Draco's side.

Hair free but for the locks tied back to hold a small collection of yellow jasmine in place, Draco wore white like Blaise. He held Lucius' wand in his left hand, the cane piece slipped into a holster on his hip. As Blaise joined him, wand drawn in his right, both clasped their free hands and sank to one knee. Silence descended, interrupted only by the chattering fire. The tension built a moment, like a breath of anticipation, before finally Neville began to chant, the words lyrical and ancient and recognizable only to a handful of the returned.

"Oh," Narcissa sighed, utterly captured by the moment's beauty. She met Lucius' eye, commiserating with the dove-soft expression on his face. They had been married like this, too, of course, but theirs had been but another show, just as the public, Lighter wedding had been. This was not that. This was a real magical ritual, designed not just to bind people and families and interests but souls. There was a power here that could be summoned only by truthful emotion and intention and, even if only viewing the memory, the magic was tangible.

"What is this?" Amelia Bones murmured, awed. It's just a memory, she thought insistently, and not even one of her Susan or anyone she knew. There was no way she should feel so much. Yet...

"It's a Bonding," Rita replied softly, her eyes rapt on the scene. Amelia could hear the capitalization in her voice. "I've only ever been to one," she continued, remembering witnessing Narcissa kneel for the first and only time she'd ever seen. "But this..."

"...Is real," Sirius finished, sotto voce. He had forgotten, he realized blearily, how arresting Old Magic, Dark Magic, was. How it hummed in his bones, buzzed in his blood, made his body sing. Even just the brief contact of a memory set that dark fire alight in him.

Sirius closed his eyes, reveling in the old, familiar warmth. Many years ago, now, he'd been so desperate to escape his family that he'd forced himself to forget this feeling. He'd been willing to do anything to leave behind the pain inflicted by his parents and their casual torments. To avoid becoming like them. To his child-self escape had meant throwing himself into the Light. It hadn't mattered that it burned so badly he'd only found peace in drunken blackouts. He'd thought of it like a purge, like cleansing fire. Even when James, whose magic had felt the like the gentlest, rightest Light of anyone Sirius had ever met, had begged him to at least be more moderate, Sirius had persevered. He'd accepted the pain as a penance. After all, Dumbledore had said it was necessary, that the tremors and insomnia and night terrors and migraines would pass as he skipped more solstices, rituals, burned his runes and melted down his sacrificial knives. Anything, Merlin—because Light wizards knew of no Gods—to not be as terrible as his parents.

He'd had to die to realize that Light could be just as horrifying as Dark. That Dumbledore's magic only felt familiar to him because it made him feel sick, just as his parents' had. That Severus could feel just as gentle as James, though more like coming home than James ever had.

Sirius didn't realize tears had escaped him until Severus was brushing them away, dark eyes fixed on Sirius with an intensity that would have subdued the bravest of sentient life. "What can I do?" He asked, voice below a whisper, the words only for Sirius.

Sirius bit back a disbelieving laugh. How lucky was he to have Sev, always so carefully observant, so perfectly worded with his questions? Severus knew Sirius wasn't okay. Severus knew he should be concerned. There was no point in asking about that. Severus couldn't deduce a solution alone, however, so that would be where he sought information. Gods, Sirius thought, tasting the word in his mind the way one might the name of a dear but distant friend. Gods.

"Marry me," Sirius replied, matching Severus' tone. No one was paying them any mind. How could they? The whole room was swept up in the memory. But that wasn't the point. Sirius would have shouted if his instincts said so. But they hadn't, so for the first time since he had turned eleven he let himself embrace his quietest voice. "The way you wanted, the way we should have, if I hadn't been so scared."

Severus had never said anything, but Sirius had known. Known that Severus was Dark, was happy to be. That the rituals and rites were ingrained in him deeper than the tenants of potions-making, as integral as the necessity of breathing and blinking. Sirius had been like that once, before he'd let himself be terrified into burning out his heart, his soul, his magic. A dozen times before their wedding he'd waited on tenterhooks, certain that Severus would bring up having a Dark ceremony along with the Light-acceptable wedding. A bond would happen either way, but the ceremony brought it to fruition all at once, binding them together instantly and permanently versus the gradual effect of Light marriage and romantic cohabitation. What happened in a decade the ceremony would do in ten minutes.

Sirius honestly didn't know what he would have said if Severus had asked. He had drawn up a million counter-arguments, but in the short time they had been together Sirius had never denied Severus what he wanted. In the end, however, it hadn't mattered. Severus had never brought it up and so neither had Sirius, even if the desire on Severus' part was blatant.

If he'd had any doubt about that, the way Severus froze at Sirius' words would have confirmed his suspicions. His dark eyes were lit with that undisclosed desire, his hands still with the wariness of a man trying not to frighten a wild, flighty animal. After a beat, one hand returned to his side, while the other griped Sirius' shoulder before slowly, possessively sliding down his chest, over his ribs, to sit like a brand around the curve of his hip. He was tugged in closer than before, tighter. He couldn't have pulled away without drawing the attention of the room. Severus watched him through this, his eyes invasive and analytical but not magical. He wasn't digging around Sirius' brain. No, he was merely reading Sirius' soul, as only Severus had ever managed.

Finally, he nodded once, firmly. "Yes." For all intents and purposes, he then appeared to forget their conversation had existed as he turned back to the memory. Yet, his hand remained firm and proprietary on Sirius' hip, not drifting away as he was liable to.

Sirius felt happiness bloom in his heart, warming him from the inside out like the first breaths of a balmy night. Unable to resist the impulse, he let his head fall to Severus' shoulder, aware that this was the most affectionate they had ever been in front of anyone. He immediately expected Severus to move away. Instead, a tiny smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Something in Sirius' chest that he hadn't been aware was knotted came undone.

In the memory, the crowd cheered and the music kicked up, but the central pair didn't notice, too lost in their first bonded kiss. Still wound together, mouth to mouth and chest to chest, Draco and Blaise Zabini Malfoy rose as one, their joined hands fastened by glowing light, wands raised to the sky and touching at the tip, releasing the most beautiful ribbon of glowing colours that Sirius had ever seen.

Through it all, Severus did not let go. For the first time in quite possibly his entire life, Sirius Black felt something that might be peace.

So, a new chapter! Praise the Gods, honestly. Anyway, thank you again to everyone who reviewed and PM'd. You darlings are fantastic and the entire reason this chapter was written! Thank you so much for your support! As always, don't hesitate to come chat with me! I love hearing from you - even if it takes me a bit to reply :( Edited 8/20/2022).

Yours Sincerely,

BlackRoseGirl666