"That was lovely, boys," Narcissa said, misty-eyed but diligently holding back any tears. She couldn't quite hold back her blush, however, when Kingsley gallantly offered her a handkerchief. Accepting with a quiet thank you, she dutifully dabbed at her eyes while hiding her smile behind her palm. She couldn't help it. She suddenly felt all of sixteen.
Kingsley smiled at her—that slow, intimate smile his stony face never gave to anyone else. Dark warmth slipped down her spine and Narcissa quickly jerked her eyes away lest she lose composure. She caught the barely contained amusement Lucius was sporting and narrowly avoided the impulse to elbow him in the side. Yes, Narcissa thought fondly, just like when I was sixteen.
Sirius grinned, tousling Draco's hair affectionately. "Yes, little nephew-mine, nice job," he said over Draco's offended squawk. Sirius turned beseeching eyes on Neville. "Now can we watch my pup get hitched?"
Chuckles broke out among the group, including Draco. He did give Sirius a lethal glare when Sirius made to take another swipe at his hair, however. Images of Draco's affinity for wandless magic fresh in his mind, Sirius settled down.
Upending his bottle, Neville smiled as warm salty air tickled his nose. A gentle breeze blew through the memory and soft white sand slid underfoot. Not ten steps away, teal water pushed up playfully against the sand. The sun beat down bright and friendly. The scene was as different from Britain as one could imagine.
The twins hummed in harmony, identical expressions of bliss on their faces. "Where are we?" Fred asked dreamily.
"Paradise? Elysium? Heaven?" George offered.
Ron snorted, "Bathsheba, Barbados, actually." His face softened. "It's a fishing village. We rented a cottage and spent our days surfing and getting a tan."
Harry snickered. "Spent our days falling off surfboards, more like."
"And even with the sunscreen charms you went lobster red," Neville added playfully. "I had to rub you down with salve every night."
Ron leered at Neville; as much as an eleven-year-old face could leer, at least. "Well, you can't say that didn't make the nights interesting."
"Ugh," Daphne cut in. "That's more than I needed to hear."
"I don't know," Parvati mused, smirking. "I like interesting."
Ron coughed. "Uh, never mind."
The young returned laughed, jostling and joking with each other. Sirius smiled. They reminded him so much of himself, James, and Remus at that age, all mischief and fun. Such a shame that such things didn't last, Sirius thought, suddenly tired.
Louder, adult laughter broke the returned from their musings. A trio of young men rounded the corner, led by a smiling woman. All three wore billowing white Muggle clothes, their hair free, not a flower in sight. Instead, Neville had the sword of Gryffindor in a scabbard on his hip. Harry's wand was holstered on his arm, while Ron wore his on his thigh. The dark colors of the scabbard and holsters stood out in stark contrast against the white cloth. All three teenagers—for not one of them was twenty or more, Rita mused, though Ron and Harry had already been married and divorced once—also wore blinding smiles.
Sirius made a little happy sound in the back of his throat. From behind, he wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him into a hug. "My little pup!" Sirius crowed, "All grown up and getting married!" He refused to count the wedding to Ginevra, though he had been there for that one. Obviously, something hinky had gone on there. And once again, Sirius had failed to find out what and protect Harry from it.
Sirius held his pup tighter. He clung to the notion that such things had yet to happen. He had time to make up for his past mistakes.
Unaware of Sirius' thoughts, Harry gave into the hug with a laugh. In the memory, his older self smiled as the woman came to a stop and guided the three men into a triangle. Her curly hair was almost all gray, her face laced with smile lines and happy crow's feet. Harry watched his own nervous face as his past self hurriedly linked hands with Ron and Neville.
Harry jerked his head in the woman's direction. "That's Aisha," he explained. "She's the Head Priestess of Barbados, the leader of the magical community there. She wanted to marry us herself. She said she rarely saw love bonds so strong," Harry finished with a sappy smile.
Sirius cooed, his dark thoughts smothered by a fresh wave of giddiness. Reluctantly, Sirius let Harry free to go stand with his once-and-future husbands. Biting back a happy sigh, Sirius let his eyes wander over this future version of his boy.
His pup looked so happy in this memory, and almost exactly like how Sirius remembered leaving him. His eyes were darker, though, dimmed by sorrows Sirius only knew some scant details of. But they were not yet as broken as Sirius had seen. Suffocating the impulse to gather Harry up in his arms again and hide him away until he was thirty, Sirius vowed to stop thinking so damn much and just enjoy the memory.
"We are gathered here today," Aisha said, raising her hands, "To celebrate the marriage and bonding of three souls. Do you three consent to becoming one?"
In turn, each man gave their assent. Aisha smiled. "Then bring forth the rings and let them be given."
Harry, Ron, and Neville each provided her a plain silver band. Aisha's smile brightened as she cupped the rings in her hand. In a sibilant murmur, she began to chant. Some words were English, others definitely not. Together, the pace of the chant blended all the words into a pleasant song. Her free hand glowed softly, as though light were glued to her palm. Slowly, she brought that hand up and circled it three times over the rings, which took on the glow. She gave one ring back to Harry, Ron, and Neville each. "Now," she said in English, "By these powers vested in me, let Magic hear your vows and the bonding be complete."
The trio dropped the hands they had been holding. They exchanged nervous grins before Ron finally took a deep breath. "Neville," he began, formally but with a joyful smile. "The first time I met you, it was because you were looking for that damned toad. He's probably trying to escape our cabin as I speak."
Both Nevilles, memory and not, chuckled at that. "Such a romantic," the present Neville whispered to Ron, who blushed.
In the memory, Ron carried on undeterred by his fiancé's amusement. "I still say life would be better if you'd lost that creature on the train," Ron added playfully, but then his face went soft. "Yet, I'd never wish that if the price were losing you. You are the most caring, loving person I have ever met. You are a brave fighter but still kinder than I ever thought it was possible to be after the sort of life we've lived. You returned gentleness to my life when I thought I would never experience that again. You gave me faith when I had none to give you. Your patience is a miracle." Ron took a breath, blinking hard. "You complete our circle. I vow to stand by you in the winter as in the spring, when the days are dark as when they are light, and until the end of all things. Do you accept me?" Ron asked, offering his ring, which still glowed softly.
Neville beamed. "Yes, I do, of course." Ron eagerly slipped the ring onto Neville's finger. Sparks of yellow and red magic danced briefly in the air between them before settling.
Neville turned to Harry. "Harry," Neville began, eyes glittering. "The most important rule of my life is that boldness is not a requirement of bravery. You taught me that. Not in words but in actions. Because though you spent much of our school years quite literally shouting at your enemies," in the memory, Ron couldn't restrain a snort. Harry merely grinned, while Neville shot Ron a glare before continuing. "Even when silenced, your bravery continued in forms I never thought bravery could take. In recent years, I have come to know the sweet man from which that strength stems and I now couldn't imagine my life without you. I know that you complete our circle." Neville paused. "I vow to stand by you in the winter as in the spring, when the days are dark as when they are light, and until the end of all things. Do you accept me?"
"I do," Harry replied, his face radiating happiness as Neville slipped the band on his finger. As before, sparks lit up the air between them, this time in yellow and green.
As the sparks dissipated, Harry turned to Ron. "Ron," Harry said. "I honestly believe that my life started when I met you." Ron laughed, blushing, but Harry just smiled. He waited until Ron met his eye again before continuing. "Some would say that entering the Wizarding World would be a reasonable start or maybe Hogwarts. But those things didn't feel real to me. I only had them for nine months of the year. During those summers, they could have been dreams." Harry cleared his throat, obviously fighting with tears. "You, though, I still had. Your letters always and later on, visits. Even the odd prison break," Harry chuckled roughly. "Even when we fought, I never lost that faith."
Ron was blinking fast, his smile wobbly. "Sometimes I thought you should have. Wouldn't have blamed you," Ron mumbled. A tear rolled down his cheek. Harry reached up and brushed it away.
"In barely two months of knowing me, you backed me up against a troll," Harry said. "We were eleven. After that, of course, I always knew you'd be there when things got ugly." The pair shared a laugh before Harry continued. "That's how I know that you complete our circle. I vow to stand by you in the winter as in the spring, when the days are dark as when they are light, and until the end of all things. Do you accept me?"
Ron took a shuddering breath. "'Course," he said gruffly. "I do." Harry took his hand and slipped the ring on. Green and red sparks shot up. Before the sparks settled, all three joined hands again. Sparks in all three colors jumped between them, creating a colorful, glittery maelstrom that only intensified as Aisha spoke again.
"In witnessing these vows, let me act as the vessel of Magic in blessing this union of souls," she declared. Her eyes flared briefly with light and she broke into chant again. When she finished, she proclaimed, "What had been three is one. What has been joined, let none make undone." Aisha grinned. "You may now kiss your husbands." She disappeared with a pop.
At her last word, the wind whipped into a frenzy, throwing up water and sand. The glow of the rings rose to such a level that they couldn't be looked at straight. The sparks whirled. A passing muggle might have panicked about a bomb, if not been blinded by the light. When the fuss died down, Ron was lying in the surf, supported by his elbows while Neville kissed him hard from his lap. Harry was similarly tangled up with the pair, intent on pressing kisses to any available skin. Their rings, flashing in the sun, were now bright, pure gold.
"And that's where we'll leave that memory!" Neville interrupted hurriedly. The memory cut off, leaving the returned in the Malfoy drawing room.
As soon as the walls solidified into familiar eggshell blue, Sirius lunged toward the boys. He pulled all three into an ecstatic hug, accompanied in no small part by hair ruffles and over dramatic cheek smooches. Indignant pleas and groans broke out, but it was clear to see that all three reveled in the approval, especially Harry.
"That was brilliant, boys," Sirius said after he finally let them go. "Absolutely brilliant. Ah, my old heart can barely handle it!"
"Thank you, Sirius," Neville said, smiling. He was thrilled to see Sirius so happy, especially after the slight melancholy he had noticed on Sirius during Draco's wedding. Sirius had always fought so damn hard, both for Harry specifically and in general. The man deserved some peace.
Arthur Weasley was brushing away tears as he embraced Ron. "I'm so proud, Ron. So, so proud and so happy besides." He let go, turning to the two young people his son had married. "I'm so glad the two of you found him and vice versa. I wish it had been easier and that I'd been there for it, but I'm still so happy for you."
"Thank you, Arthur," Harry replied, suddenly feeling a bit shy. He'd never really thought of Arthur as an in-law before. He'd died before Harry had come to grips with his feelings for Ron. He'd always been a parental figure to Harry, or like a favorite uncle. He wondered if this would make things different.
As though sensing his thoughts, Arthur smiled wetly and pulled Harry in for his own hug. "I've always thought of you as one of my boys," Arthur said as they separated. "This just makes it official."
Harry smiled and felt his nerves settle.
The hugs and congratulations carried on for a while more, as they had after Blaise's memory. Finally, the decision was made to carry on. Oliver Wood upturned his vial, supplying a glimpse into the network of safe houses run by the Resistance. Among snippets of Oliver's rigorous training sessions on advanced broom handling—the broom being the Resistance's main form of transportation—the returned watched children from all races play together while their parents worked to raise and protect them. Oliver seemed to feature as teacher, administrator, mediator, and guardian, running the operation with an iron fist in a velvet glove.
"I know I never quite seemed the type. I didn't really think I was, either," Oliver said, blushing. In the memory, he soothed a crying child while a medic bandaged the arm of her exhausted mother. The woman blessed him in Old Latin when he passed the child back, sleeping. Outside the memory, Oliver smiled. "But needs must and, well. I've always had a knack for putting people to good use." Those who had experienced his Quidditch leadership made playful noises of agreement.
The memory flickered again and revealed a makeshift conference room with a huge map taking up the largest wall. Golden dots speckled the continents on display. The Oliver in the memory, exhaustion clear on his face, tapped each dot one by one, pulling up a profile. He spent only a few minutes looking at each before grimly muttering to a quick-quotes-quill. "Inventory," the current Oliver explained, voice gone wooden. "We never had enough of anything. Worse, I always wound up snuffing out more lights than adding them."
Kingsley frowned. "What does that mean?"
Oliver shrugged, gesturing to a smattering of dark dots on the map. "That the safe house was attacked. Even if there was anything left of them, you couldn't use a place the Ministry knew."
Amelia blinked, dread building in her stomach. "Anything left?"
"Sometimes we could beat the Ministry back," Charlie Weasley cut in grimly. He shuffled under the new attention, crossing his arms. "Didn't happen often."
Kingsley and Amelia exchanged glances. How had their Ministry come to this?
The collection of snapshots ended with Oliver high on a broom, gleefully refereeing a group of youths playing a pick-up game of Quidditch. Twin veela girls flew alongside a forever-tween vampire boy, an amber-eyed werewolf child going for the Snitch against a young wizard. Another werewolf, pig tails flapping in the breeze, supported the boy-wizard with another pair of children, one pixyish, one oddly serpentine. The Oliver in the memory laughed, cast golden in the light of a setting sun, as the children shrieked joyfully and the memory faded out.
Marcus Flint couldn't smother his besotted smile. He was so ridiculously proud of Oliver that sometimes he thought his chest would burst. Gods knew his friends had teased him something awful every time they got drunk together, what with his tendency to ramble on about his husband. But that wasn't his fault. He just had the most incredible husband ever. The rest of the world just had to deal with it.
Taking advantage of the height difference, Marcus slung an arm around his fiancé. His grin turned possessive as he caught the gleam of his heir's ring on Oliver's finger. Soon, he promised himself, it would be a proper wedding ring. Oliver beamed up at him, not at all reserved. Marcus let himself be pulled into a chaste kiss, swearing silently to have Oliver be a Flint again as soon as graduation passed.
"Ick, lovebirds," Ron snickered teasingly. Oliver shot him a casual middle-finger, sending all the youth, and Sirius, into a round of laughter. Amelia Bones shared a look of long-suffering with Narcissa Malfoy Black.
Shaking his head, Dean Thomas sent them off next, providing a collection of snippets that matter-of-factly showed the workings of the smuggling system set up by the twins. The twins ran things internationally but Dean was the British head when he wasn't on a mission. These memories similarly showed dedicated, weary people of all creeds working cohesively to live and protect. There were moments of danger, but largely the smuggling rings moved randomly enough that the Ministry forces were hard-pressed to do any real harm.
Dean shrugged. "Smuggling wasn't the most dangerous job. There was already a black market serving respectable, moneyed Light-types, so Ministry goons were leery of upsetting that. Can't have anyone making it hard for Minister Fuckhead to get his 'calming potions,' eh?"
Seamus squeezed Dean's hand. That wasn't to say that smuggling was safe, he thought. Dean certainly had come home with scars that said otherwise.
Dean squeezed back, grateful beyond words for Seamus' support. He couldn't imagine having done any of what he had without his best friend and boyfriend, would-be fiancé and husband. He had died with the ring in his pocket, last life. He wouldn't again.
Following the conclusion of Dean's memory vignettes, Theo Nott gave a memory selection showcasing the wards used by the Resistance. Many of the older returned were left gaping in astonishment, particularly at the snippet where a covert Ministry unit attempting to break into a safe house was incinerated upon contact with the home.
Neville blinked as little pieces of the attackers danced in the wind, the older Theo smirking from the window as they fluttered around. "Theo, sorry, but how, exactly, was this a happy memory?"
Theo gave Neville a quick, brutal smile. "I don't know about you, but frying Ministry goons always gives me the warm and fuzzies."
"Here, here," Parvati said, sharing in the bloodlust. Daphne rolled her eyes but didn't disagree. The other youth made similar comments.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably. They all looked so young. The little Greengrass girl, Astoria, was just nine. Even on someone grown such expressions would be offsetting. On children, they were downright sickening.
Another memory began, provided by Seamus Finnigan. They watched as he led a squadron of black-clad magicals astride brooms on an air-raid, dropping ward-breakers on the apparently empty countryside. The wards hiding a collection of well-to-do homes shattered and the squadron gave a war-cry as they swooped down. No one died, but two men Amelia recognized vaguely from the Ministry were taken captive.
Finnigan grinned viciously. "Higher-ups in the Unspeakables. They're how we knew how to break into the Ministry." He puffed up his chest. "This was the crowning achievement of my squad." He shared a fist-bump with Marcus Flint, of all people. Squad-mates, Amelia supposed.
Harry nodded, his smile pleased and proud. Amelia recognized it instantly as the smile she gave to her apprentices when they had done something particularly well.
"Several squads ran missions like this for various purposes," Harry explained. "Seamus headed up my best, while Daphne coordinated overall." He inclined his head to Daphne. She dipped him a graceful curtsy, which sent all the young returned off laughing.
When the chuckles quieted some, Bill supplied them with a memory of his own. The room shifted from the inky dark night to a large warm room filled with rough-hewn tables and laughing people. The floors were slate and huge beams held up the ceiling. Great stone braziers hung from them, shedding heat and intimate light over the memory's actors, of which several faces were immediately recognizable. The Weasley twins stood out prominently, older but still identical down to their clothing, dancing with a merry mishmash of people the older returned couldn't place. Astoria and Daphne were with them, Seamus and Dean, too, and even Charlie Weasley was glimpsed, spinning Fleur Delacour with a roguish grin.
Out of the memory, Bill nudged his brother. "Fleur, huh?" He sure hadn't noticed that the last time around.
Charlie shrugged, grinning. "She's a hell of a lady." Even so, she hadn't returned. Would Charlie even meet her this time around?
Laughter broke out, drawing their attention back to the memory. Sat at the head of one of the low tables, Fenrir Greyback reclined like a king against an assortment of furs and pillows. Bill was tucked loosely against his side, long hair free and gleaming in the firelight. Draco and Blaise sat at the couple's right, Harry, Ron, and Neville on the left. Miscellaneous men and women filled the rest of the table. A woman turned, laughing at a story being told by Marcus Flint, and her amber eyes glowed.
Remus jerked, the oddly high number of amber and glacial blue-eyed people making sudden sense. He turned his head slowly, taking in details he had glanced over before: finely woven tapestries displaying wolves at rest, play, and hunt, carvings in the beams, forming prowling wolf bodies and snarling maws. A hole in the ceiling that allowed moonlight and clean air in, probably charmed to keep out the rain and pests.
This was a den, Remus thought, shocked. Or the entertaining hall of one, at least. He had been told dens often spiraled out for acres underground, containing countless rooms and halls. He could have been misinformed, however. Even as an emissary of Dumbledore's, Remus had never been invited inside a den. To his knowledge, no non-werewolf or werewolf aligned with regular magical people ever had. In his lifetime and all the years before, a scene as Bill was showing had never existed. This was the home of no liberal or fledgling pack, either, but Fenrir Greyback's. Never a more conservative and terroristic alpha had there been, in Remus' opinion. He felt it was a fair one, as his furry little problem had been the result Fenrir's beliefs.
You would have never believed that, to witness this. The non-werewolf witches and wizards of Harry's rebel faction moved freely among the Greyback pack, treated as trusted allies, even friends. Harry, Draco, and their husbands all sat in places of honor at Greyback's right and left. Perhaps most surprising of all, however, were Greyback and Bill themselves. Rather than partially shifting into his wolf form, a classic method of intimidation, Greyback was entirely human, relaxed and laughing. Bill, despite the slight sheen of Lycanthropy in his eyes, had not been bitten, either. Fenrir Greyback's mate, left almost entirely human. Remus thought he might need to sit down.
Lucius shot him a look full of concern, meaning that Remus had been blunt with his expressions again. Damn, he thought. One of these days he swore he would learn to keep the emotion off his face. Not that such promises had done him much good in the past
Lacing his fingers with Lucius', Remus brushed a chaste kiss on his cheek. He had never turned Lucius. Never let himself consider it, even as the wolf in his chest whined at him, pining to run with his mate. Lucius had already survived the hell of one cruel master. What was left of the wizard in Remus was appalled that his unguarded heart would desire to give him another—the moon.
"Stop," Lucius commanded in a low, deadly whisper. Only a werewolf at Remus' range would have caught the words. Remus doubted anyone else had even seen Lucius' mouth move. The hair along Remus' neck rose, hyper-aware. Lucius' quicksilver eyes narrowed. "I can feel your self-abuse without even glancing at your mind. Cease now."
"Lucius," Remus tried, but Lucius merely raised an eyebrow. He was the very image of a man used to being obeyed.
Remus felt the tension go out of his shoulders, a conditioned reaction to that expression. If Remus tried to argue his way he would just waste his breath. For every argument Remus made for his own damnation, Lucius would simply counter him. Lucius had been taught the art of debate from his first word and, against all reason, he loved Remus. Every oratorical skill he possessed was just another addition to the arsenal Lucius used to convince Remus of his own worth. By the end of such 'discussions,' as termed by Lucius, Remus more often than not found himself red-faced and curled into Lucius's chest, the only reasonable reaction, he felt, to someone who had such unreasonably staunch faith in him.
Remus smiled a little. Lucius' idea of 'supportive partner' presented itself in unusual ways, but it was no doubt successful.
Sensing his victory, Lucius offered his palm to Remus. His smile growing, Remus placed his own palm in Lucius's cool hand and accepted Lucius's kiss to his knuckles. Even though he'd grown somewhat used to Lucius's courtly manners over the years they'd been together, Remus still felt his cheeks heat up. He half-wished he'd grown out his mustache rather than shaved it off. At least then he wouldn't be so obvious around all of his stone-cold friends. Safe to say, Remus didn't play a lot of poker.
Remus was snapped from his musings when, in the memory, Fenrir Greyback rose from his position with a short, sharp howl. The humans in the memory fell silent while the pack replied. As the last wolfish cry quieted, all the people gave their attention to the Alpha.
Fenrir slid his eyes coolly across the room. "This year has been a hard one," he growled. He words carried like a thunderclap. "What hopes we had before have collapsed and many have been lost." A low, mournful howl rocked the room. Fenrir let the cry fade away naturally. "Yet," he snapped, commanding fresh attention, "Those who are left to remember, we have found new hopes." A roguish grin slowly curled his mouth. "We have found new allies," he gestured to Harry and Draco, who stood. A cheer broke out from the pack and the rebels. "We will defeat our old enemies," Fenrir continued, to growing noise. "We will take what we deserve, no less than twice the blood that from us was taken!" His entire speech to that point had been laced with the rolling cadence of a building tempest, and with that last word the storm broke. The tension in the room snapped into an eruption of cheers and war cries, people leaping to their feet in support. Only Fenrir's raised hand settled the room again. "May we right the wrongs been done," he said simply.
"And may well the war be won," Harry finished, shifting forward to clasp Fenrir's arm. At once any sense of calm dissipated, displaced by the roaring approval of the crowd. The music picked up again, loud and raucous, and several people disappeared through a large arched doorway to return with platters heaped with food and steaming mead jugs. Once again, the crowd cheered.
Chuckling, the Bill in the memory rose gracefully to his feet. He placed a gentle hand on Fenrir's shoulder, followed by an only slightly hesitant kiss to the alpha's cheek. "That was well said."
Fenrir grinned, all but melting under Bill's touch. "May I?" He murmured. When Bill nodded, Fenrir instantly locked an arm around Bill's waist, molding Bill to his side. Fenrir rumbled happily, low in his chest, making Bill laugh again.
"You're ridiculous," Bill said, laying his head on Fenrir's shoulder.
Fenrir hummed, "Only for you."
There was a beat where the couple merely stood wrapped in each other, eyes on the room. Harry had been tugged into a lively tangle with his husbands, only graceful by virtue of Ron and Neville's excellent tandem lead. Draco and Blaise showed up the whole assembly with an inspiring waltz—how they kept time with the most haphazard band Remus had ever heard was magic in itself. Obviously, it was also something of a personal skill. Marcus Flint, from just as pureblood a family as the Zabinis, only swayed, blushing nervously. Oliver appeared quite happy with that, though, curled sweetly into Marcus' shoulder.
"Do you think we'll really be okay?" Bill asked softly, not looking at Fenrir. The returned could easily see where his attention was focused. Towards the back of the room, Charlie Weasley spun Fleur Delacour, Percy just beside him, blushing Remembrall-red as a she-wolf pawed at him playfully. The twins were leading a cheerful gavotte that seemed to take up half the dancers, while Ron laughed as he spun both husbands, one in each hand.
Fenrir tensed before slowly, intentionally relaxing his frame. He ran careful fingers through Bill's hair, taking care to let Bill see his movements. "I would lay down my life to make it so."
Bill smiled, which pulled at the scars on his face. When Fenrir flinched his hand away, guilt in his eyes, Bill easily stole his hand out of the air and tangled their fingers together. He tugged Fenrir forward and pulled him in for a chaste kiss, then carefully rested their foreheads together. "I believe you," he said simply, eyes closed.
The memory faded away within a final few notes of music.
Hello, darlings!
So, unusually quick update this time, but what can I say, I was inspired by your lovely reviews and apparently limitless faith in my ability to get this damn story done. That said, I just want to let you know that I'll be reading over this story in its entirety and fixing some of the nitpicky bits that bug me. So, yes. Keep an eye out for that. Anyway, I love you all and can't wait to hear what you have to say - please come talk to me! That's what keeps me writing!
This chapter was updated 20/08/2022
Yours,
BlackRoseGirl666