Author's Note: Second Chapter. YAY! Oh, and the story's taken such a detour from the original that I'm taking it down.

-:-O-:-

[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]

II

Façades

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know."
William Shakespeare

Draco Malfoy sat close to the window, staring blankly out at the beautiful countryside. Hills flew past and the landscape was lost in one long blur. He suspected that it wasn't just the speed of the train that distorted the landscape like that. He was sure it might have had something to do with him not paying attention.

He was far away, sorting through a barrage of thoughts that threatened to take over him and drown him. He feared that he would soon loose himself in the tangled webs of thought and confusing spectrum of emotions. He was confused, that much was certain, but beyond that he really didn't know.

His summer had been hard, filled with unexpected twists, turns and distasteful developments. Had his friends not also been in this compartment, Draco may have cried as he thought about what had happened. But they were, and Draco would not let himself show weakness in front of those who would extort it. Instead, he hid it behind his patented Malfoy mask.

"Draco? Eh, Draco? You want to buy something?" Blaise's voice cut through his thoughts. Draco was put off for a second as he turned away from the window, noticing the scene in front of him.

Blaise was sitting directly across from him, occupying the only other position next to a window. Next to him was Theodore Nott, who seemed to be obliviously reading. Draco wasn't sure when he had come in and why he was here, but he guessed that Blaise may have befriended him. Perhaps "friend" wasn't the right word to use in that situation as he suspected Nott's father's status as a prominent Death Eater may have had something to do with it.

The only other occupant of the cabin at this point was Pansy, who was sprawled across the seat, her head resting on Draco's shoulder. He found it weird that he hadn't noticed it there, although maybe he had just gotten used to it, it being there so often and all. He found that more than a little creepy. Crabbe and Goyle were in sight, just outside the cabin, greedily grabbing a large portion of sweets from the trolley.

"No," Draco sneered, remembering how he was meant to act, "I don't eat that peasant-grade garbage." With that Draco turned his head back out the window and sunk back into his thoughts.

He tried not to think about had happened during the summer; tried to distract himself with thoughts of Quidditch and school and other trivial things. At one point during the journey he even tried distracting himself by talking to his friends. Unfortunately none of it worked. The thoughts of his horrific summer came crawling back, pushing themselves into his mind. Had he not known better he would've said a Dementor was close, feeding off his misery, but he did know better. It was just his masochist mind replaying the despair and the misery.

All too soon he felt the train slow and knew that his temporary reprieve was coming to an end. All too soon he would have to face people. All too soon he would have to pretend like nothing had changed. All too soon he would have to sneer and jeer at those he was supposed to hate.

He had kept asking himself when they had gone from people he hated to people he was supposed to hate, and he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. Sometime during the summer everything had changed, and Draco feared what that meant.

-:-O-:-

Harry stepped out of the train, his head bowed, staring at the pavement ahead of him. The school year had only just begun and already he didn't like it. A large percentage of the younger grades – and even some of the older ones who still weren't over the fact that he was Harry Potter – were staring him at. As he made his way towards the thestrals and the carriages they pulled, he saw someone.

Luna Lovegood was walking just off the designated path, swinging some sort of bag in her hand and humming to herself. She was off in Wonderland again, it seemed. As he approached her, however, he discovered he was wrong.

"Oh, hi Harry," she said, just as Harry went to say something.

"Hello Luna," he replied in return. "How were your holidays?"

"Oh, not bad," Luna replied, her voice light and whimsical, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. "I spent them with my father tracking Whooping Glaxbapies across the plains of Africa. Interesting stuff, you know, Harry."

"Yeah, I'm sure they are." It was the only reply Harry could give, having never even heard of Whooping Glaxbapies. Not that he'd heard of many of the creatures Luna talked about.

"What about you Harry?" Luna asked.

"Not too bad," Harry lied. He feared that telling the truth would be a bit of a conversation killer, or it would guarantee him someone to add to his list of sympathy-givers. He wanted neither of those.

They left their conversation at that as they continued up the path towards the awaiting carriages. On the way he overheard an exclamation from a student not far away.

"Fuck! What are those disgusting things!" Harry turned around to see Draco Malfoy, frozen to the spot, his face a pale shade of white. Although, perhaps it was just his normal complexion. It was hard to tell.

Harry would have rolled his eyes at the perfectionist attitude of Malfoy, had he not noticed what he was looking at. Malfoy could see the thestrals. At first Harry was shocked, having realised the implications that came along with Malfoy seeing thestrals. Then, slowly, his mind began to function again and soon he realised why Malfoy could probably see thestrals. What better way to see death than in the service of Voldemort, right?

-:-O-:-

Draco sat in the corner of the coach, trying to avoid blatantly staring at the haunting-looking creatures pulling the carriage. He watched their skeletal forms pounding along the path; he could see their bones grinding together as they moved towards their goal. Their dark leathery wings were folded at their sides, but he could see the small, yet deadly, talons that protruded from the end. The worst were their eyes. Glowing white orbs that pierced into him, judging him, making his skin crawl. He shuddered every time he even thought about those ghostly eyes.

However, he said nothing. Soon after his earlier outburst, Theodore Nott had explained to him what they were and, more importantly, what they meant. He had shut up after that. Perhaps having Nott around had been a brilliant idea. It was lucky that there had been few people around when he had shown his disgust. It was very likely that no one even heard.

He prayed that was the case.

Draco kept one eye on the beasts the whole journey, as if he was worried they would turn on him and show him what those talons and fangs could do. To be honest, he partially was. The things looked so harrowed and malicious that he thought they could truly be described as "pure evil". Plus, they were symbols now; symbols of his soul-crushing summer.

A sigh of relief escaped Draco as he dismounted the carriages and alighted the steps to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He took in the sight of the castle before him – its tall towers and amazing spires, the marvellous, well kept grounds that stretched for miles, the enormous wooden doors with their intricate cravings that marked the entrance. For the first time since he began school he truly appreciated the peace and tranquillity of the castle and the beauty of its grounds. The castle was worthy of compare with Malfoy Manor. He was glad about that. This place was about to become his refuge.

"Hasn't it always been?"

He frowned at the thought that swept through his mind like it had a life and will of its own. It seemed so strange and foreign that Draco could not believe that it was his. Although, he could definitely see the truth behind the statement. He had never really thought about it as such, but he had always preferred it here to home and he had assumed it was the freedom. He now knew it was the peace.

"Draco, come on!" Pansy whined, attempting to drag him up the steps to no avail.

"Partial peace, then," Draco corrected himself. "An escape from Lucius."

He began to ascend the stairs, following his friends into the Great Hall and the feast that waited therein. He could sense the cheer in the air, the festivity, the sheer excitement at being back inside the castle walls. Sure, school was a bitch, but Hogwarts was more than just a school for many. To them, it was a paradise.

Draco slid into the long bench at the side of the Slytherin table, taking the position that he had occupied since first year. He listened half-heartedly to the conversations that his friends were having, but he made no real effort to participate. He was in a rather pensive mood, finally having time to think and reflect on the past two months. While it was happening, there hadn't been time for thought, just action. Now he had hours for thinking and months of thinking to catch up on.

Soon Dumbledore's voice pierced through his thoughts, echoing through the Great Hall. Draco must have missed the sorting, as the first years sat amongst the other students, talking eagerly about the house they had been chosen to be a part of.

"My dear students," he began, "welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope that, for all you returning students, it is better than all your previous years combined. For all of you who are beginning your time with us this year, welcome, and I hope Hogwarts becomes a home-away-from-home for you." He paused here, his voice taking on a different, more serious tone.

"I feel that I must remind you of several things or, in the case of those who are new, inform you. The Forbidden Forest is named thus for a reason and this rule will, this year, be enforced more than in the past. I can not stress enough how important it is for you to stay clear of it, this year especially."

Murmurs flew through the hall about why this could be, but Draco paid no attention. It wasn't as if the Forbidden Forest had ever really interested him, anyway.

"Secondly, you may remember that several years ago the Third Floor Corridor was marked as an out of bounds area. I am afraid this is to, once again, be labelled as such, and any student caught there shall be harshly punished."

That one attracted Draco's attention, wondering what exactly Dumbledore wanted no student to see.

"Lastly," Dumbledore finished, his tone becoming even more dire and serious, "you all know of the return of one of the world's most feared wizards. Voldemort" – many winced – "has returned and, as such, we must take precautions. We won't tolerate people out after hours this year, for such things could prove disastrous. That said, we cannot let fear drive our lives, for if we let fear guide us and shy away from living, then what is the point in fighting? We must stay strong this year and prove that we are not afraid, that we are willing to stand up for what is right and continue to live."

Draco was flabbergasted that Dumbledore had managed to turn his welcoming speech into a rally to boost army numbers. Although, really, what had he expected? He heard the cheers echoing from around the hall at the speech and he would've probably cheered too, were it not for his name. After all, he did agree with what Dumbledore was saying. He mentally slapped himself for such thoughts and tried to tell himself, once again, that he was a Death Eater, a supporter of Voldemort. Once again, it didn't work.

-:-O-:-

The images flashed before his eyes in rapid succession, blurring together into one large portrait of horror and pain. There were the pallid masks, sneering taunts, symbols of fear and malice. A muggle man screaming in agony as he was hit with five separate Crucio's. The pain and terror on a muggle woman's face as she was unceremoniously raped before his eyes, himself punished with Crucio's if he showed anything other than nonchalance.

It was not just his eyes that were bombarded with images, but his other senses that were overwhelmed. The scent of searing flesh filled his nostrils, a pungent wave of burning that made his stomach want to empty. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth as he bit his tongue harder and harder to stifle the yells that would only elicit further punishment. The screams: endless wails that chilled you to the bone. Men, women and children alike filled his ears with their horrifying cries of agony.

Then it all stopped and he was in a dark room. It was damp in here, the walls reminding him of cardboard that had been wet right through and was dripping. The place smelled of must and grime, with a faint remnant of the torture that had taken place here at some time in the past. Shadows filled the room, dancing around with others so that nothing was ever in light. At the wall he was facing there was a large chair, veiled in shadow, and, sitting on the chair, was a cloaked figure with glaring slits for eyes. That was all he could see, those piercing, malevolent eyes that just screamed evil.

"Yes, I like you," a gasping, hissing voice said. Every word seemed laboured to pronounce, yet managed to be filled with hate and spite. Venom was ever present, and it made him shake with fear and disgust. "You'll make a good one when you're ready. It'll be nice to have you…" A long, pale, white finger that seemed to be made of nothing but craggy bones and wrinkled skin traced along the underside of his arm as he uttered the last sentence. "You'll be one of mine. Forever…"

Draco was gasping, panting for breath as he sat upright in his bed. He had awoken from his dreams, from his memories, with a start and was now sitting, petrified. He was literally paralysed, movement wasn't possible and neither was thought. His eyes were glazed and merely stared blankly at the curtains of his bed that swayed ever so gently in the breeze. No screams were emitted from his mouth; no whimpers escaping his sealed lips. All that he could do was sit, stare and sweat – and that was all he did for the rest of the night.

-:-O-:-

It was breakfast and Draco's eyelids were pleading with him. Well, when you are awake for most of the night that tends to happen. He was drearily spooning eggs into his mouth and chewing, swallowing intermittently, trying to ignore the glum mood that he could not shake. It had been present ever since he had awoken from that dream the night before. This sense of dread. This sense of doom.

"Drakey, dear, why aren't you eating anything?" Pansy crooned in her sickly-sweet voice. "Is something the matter?" She stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand as she spoke, her face showing mountain loads of concern. Her large, pleading eyes and her pouting lips begged to know what ailed her love.

"It's nothing, Pansy," Draco replied, shaking off her hand and hunching closer to his food, shovelling another forkful into his mouth. "Nothing at all."

"Sure it is, Drakey. C'mon, you can tell me, I'm your Pansy." Draco closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to be patient. It was a dear shame that he just wasn't in the mood.

"Listen, Pansy," he hissed, looking venomous and ready to kill. "I do not want to talk about this, all right? Now I'm going to Potions and I hope you refrain from mentioning this in the future." With that he stood and left the Great Hall, for once not flanked by a hoard of Slytherins.

Draco's steps were quick as he trod angrily away from the Great Hall. Perhaps angry was too harsh a word. He was more… frustrated. Frustrated and sick of the fucked up situation that was taking place all around him. The fucked up situation that was his life.

"Calm down, Draco," he thought to himself, "come on, get a grip! It'll be all right. Everything will work out OK."

Even as the thoughts ran through his head he knew that he was lying to himself. Things wouldn't just work out and fix themselves over night. There was very little chance that they would work out at all. His future prospects looked bleak at this point. His career options looked like being either a murderer and torturer or a prisoner in Azkaban. Or dead. None of those appealed to him.

"Could my life be any worse?"

"Oi, Ferret Boy! What're you storming through the corridors for? Did someone touch your precious hair?" Yes, as Ronald Weasley's voice echoed down the corridor, Draco indeed knew that that wonderful Muggle invention of "Murphy's Law" was certainly not something to take lightly.

-:-O-:-

It was the first day of school and already the sixth years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were drowning in a flood of homework. This was especially in the case of the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth years, both having had Double Transfiguration and Double Potions in the same day. It was a known fact that Professor McGonagall gave homework out quite liberally and as for Professor Snape, well, he gave it out far more than liberally.

Seamus Finnigan and Ronald Weasley were, by no means, terribly worried about their academic position. While others were hunched over a desk working, they were lounging in the common room engaged in an animated game of Wizard's chess. Ron had already beaten Seamus twice and Seamus had vowed that he would have his revenge. So far his revenge was looking very poor indeed.

"Bishop to D3. Check," came Ronald's clear voice, perfectly calm.

"Oh bloody hell!" came Seamus's frazzled reply. "Fine. Queen to E2."

"Perfect!" Ron exclaimed, the first emotion he had displayed throughout the game. "Rook to G5. Checkmate!"

"Fuck! You bloody bastard! I swear I should've had you that time!" Seamus was beyond annoyed now, somewhere in the field of downright pissed off. There was just no defeating The Ronald.

"Oh, of course you should've. The fact was that you didn't." This was the time where Ron let all his emotions go and gloated beyond reason. What was the point in winning if you couldn't boast, after all?

Across the common room Hermione sat deep in contemplation. She had homework still left to do but, in a unique turn of events, something else had drawn her attention. It was not the fact that the Third Floor Corridor was once again a restricted area. It was not the fact that the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher had failed to arrive and Dumbledore himself had been forced to take the First Years. It was not the mood Harry had been in since he had arrived at The Burrow, a mood that had so far perpetuated into the school year. No, what troubled her was something far more elusive. It was so close, yet so far. She couldn't quite put her finger on it…

The thought was on the tip of her tongue and within her grasp when a certain Irish Gryffindor obliterated her concentration, saying: "Your boyfriend is an insufferable git, do you know that?"

"What?!" She almost fell off the couch she was sitting in.

"Ron," he said, completely naturally. "Beats me in chess four times and then proceeds to gloat about it for an hour! If that's not insufferable, I don't know what is." Hermione continued to stare at him as if he'd grown a second head, declared his allegiance to Voldemort and his undying love for Snape!

"He is not my boyfriend, Finnigan."

"What?" Now it was Seamus's turn to stare blatantly at Hermione as if she had grown a second head, declared her passionate hatred of herself and all other "Mudbloods" and then declared her undying love for Draco Malfoy. "You can't be serious! Surely he's asked you out already. Is he that dense that he doesn't realise you like him?"

"I don't like him," Hermione stated, a little too quickly.

"Sure, and Harry's really You-Know-Who's love-child,"

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, a little tentatively.

"You can't make it more obvious if you jumped up and down yelling and screaming 'I love Ronald Weasley'," Seamus stated firmly. With that he stood and left the Common Room. Hermione's concentration was well and truly gone, a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment welling up inside her. The only thing that could possibly calm her down was a good round of homework. That was exactly what she did.

-:-O-:-

A cloaked figure moved through the Forbidden Forest, his long black cloak billowing behind him. The wind was strong that night and the rustles of the leaves around him was the only sound that could be heard, that and the faint howling of the wind. That drowned out all other sounds, even the crunching of the dead leaves under his feet. His feet moved with a definitive purpose, his hands clutching his dark cloak tightly around him. The wind drowned out noise, but it sure made for a bitter cold.

"There you are," a voice drawled in front of him. It stopped him in his tracks. He looked up from the ground and lifted the hood off of his face.

"Good evening," he stated in response. He schooled his features well, playing the role he was meant to. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts; his mind blocked to all intrusions. "Everything is still going ahead as planned?"

"Yes."

That was the end of their brief conversation. Nothing else was needed. They both knew what they had to do. The cloaked figure raised his hood once again and turned back the way he came. The wind began to ebb; yet it was still enough to penetrate his clothing and chill him. At least he had the cloak; it would've been ten times worse without it. Faint crunching noises could be heard under his feet as he wondered back; innocent leaves destroyed under the shoe of one who cared nothing for their lives.

-:-O-:-

Harry sat at the breakfast table, listlessly spooning porridge into his mouth. He wasn't deep in thought, nor drifting far away, yet he did not participate in any of the conversation surrounding him. Isolation had established a home in Harry and refused to let go. The walls of Hogwarts once again surrounded him, he was once again in his first real home, but he still felt miserable. All around him life had gone on. While he had suffered at Privet Drive under the taunts of Vernon Dursley, everyone else continued to live their lives, completely oblivious. He was famous, their hero, their saviour. It seemed ridiculous to think that they knew what brand of toothpaste he used to clean his teeth, but not that he had been abused over and over again all summer.

"They don't know who you really are," he thought to himself. "All they see is an image, an idol. Do they know the real you?"

He was well acquainted with the blatant staring and the disapproving looks that had always unsettled him. The people who thought they knew him when they didn't. Those that looked no farther than the hero façade.

Ron must have said something he shouldn't have and was sent crashing into Harry, causing a bowl of cereal to be disturbed in the process and its contents strewn across the table. It was, it seemed, one Seamus Finnigan who had decided to violently shove the redhead at the breakfast table for reasons Harry hadn't been listening to. He did manage to make out something along the lines of: "Stop your bloody gloating!" uttered by the Irishman. After quick apologies by his friend, Harry went back to eating with a smile on his face.

"They don't all look at you that way. You have Ron and Hermione and Seamus and Dean and Neville and Luna and so many others! You are lucky. No, I am lucky. I am lucky to have such good friends."

Harry was content for the rest of breakfast and he remained content even as he headed towards Defence Against the Dark Arts and happened to bump into the most antagonistic person he had ever met.

"Watch it Potter!" Draco Malfoy said as Harry Potter bumped into him. "Watch where you're going next time, won't you?!" That, not surprisingly, shattered Harry's composed mood.

"Oh, sod off, would you Malfoy?" His voice was different from its usual when he met with his nemesis, less attacking and more aggravated. He was not in the mood for a conflict – he had been quite happy up until that point.

"Appear without your cronies today, did you? Finally realise you have no friends?" Ronald Weasley said from behind him. At least someone was in the mood to piss Malfoy off, as Harry sure as hell wasn't.

There was a lengthened pause in which no one spoke that seemed to last for eternity. Ron stood there, triumphant look on his face, knowing he had struck some kind of nerve. What exactly that nerve was, he did not know, but he had struck it nonetheless. Draco stood with a murderous gaze in his eyes, but something else lay not too far underneath. It was strange and no one could possibly know it was there, let alone what it was, but it was there nonetheless.

"Shut the fuck up, plebeian," Draco finally said, before stalking into the classroom.

Ron looked to Hermione, Hermione looked to Harry and Harry looked after Malfoy with a thoughtful look on his face. It was an anticlimax indeed, and Ron especially was disappointed at the lack of reaction.

-:-O-:-

"What the hell was that!" Draco thought to himself as he sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts, listening to the old man, Dumbledore, explain his presence. Had it been any other day, Draco would've probably been mentally yawning and thinking rude insults on Dumbledore's existence. It wasn't. Instead he sat, far away, pondering the strange events of a few moments earlier.

He didn't hate Weasley.

He didn't hate Potter.

Draco Malfoy didn't hate Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter.

The world was coming to an end.

Sure, he had known that he didn't hate the people he used to, like Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, but not to hate Potter and Weasley, well, that was just too ludicrous for words. Had that, too, merely been a cloak of his father's that he had worn and, now, had shed? Draco wasn't sure. He had thought that, at least, his hate for those two and their pathetic Mudblood friend had been real, something that he himself had felt. It appeared not.

Hatred, too, had been a component of that self who had been moulded by his father and was now dead. Hatred, it seemed, was now part of his façade – the façade that he needed to stay alive.

-:-O-:-

Days began to blend together as the monotony of school life resumed once again. The beginning of the school year was turning out to be rather uneventful. That was until almost three weeks into their education.

It was not a regular occurrence for a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to turn up late to a school year. The fact Dumbledore was the temporary Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was definitely something that had had the castle gossiping for the first week of school. Like all gossip, though, it had faded into the background, this time fairly quickly, and Dumbledore's teaching seemed to be accepted as normal.

That was, until it ended.

Two and a half weeks passed with Dumbledore as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and the students in the sixth year advanced class assumed that Dumbledore would be taking them for that lesson. The Gryffindor students sat in a circle, some on desks with their backs to the board, others reclined with only half the legs of their chairs on the ground. The Slytherins clustered up the back, murmuring and grunting, looking annoyed and discontent with the present situation. They were all relaxed, though, having been lulled into a relaxed classroom atmosphere by Dumbledore's lax disciplinary standards in the classroom.

About the time Dumbledore was due to enter the classroom, all of the students jumped by a horrendous noise – all the windows in the classroom suddenly slamming shut. Complete silence descended upon the room and the young occupants looked around in fear. Another loud noise resounded around the classroom as the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office slammed against the wall as it was thrust open. In the door stood, what they could only presume, was their new professor.

Ancient. That was the best way to sum up what this man looked like. He looked older than Dumbledore even, and a hell of a lot fiercer. He was a rather tall man with wizened grey hair likened to that of the mad scientist stereotype. His eagle grey eyes swept the room, piercing the soul of every student, seeming to read the minds of every one of the class's occupants. Harry was reminded of Mad-Eye Moody with the way his eyes seemed to see everything.

"Well, what are you all staring at, get to your seats!" His voice was croaky, yet menacing. Harry thought his teeth looked like they were well accustomed to ripping raw meat off the bone.

"I am your new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher," he announced. "I trust you all intend to pass with flying colours, and, as such, are willing to work hard." Groans resounded through the room, partly because Dumbledore's teaching method had required strangely little work. "Dumbledore has already wasted the first few weeks, so it's time to catch up. Everyone turn to page a hundred and ninety-five..."

-:-O-:-

Things were being pulled out of his trunk at random, clothes being flung onto his bed, books falling to the floor. Rummaging, that's what he was doing; trying to find a certain Charms textbook that he knew was in here somewhere…

Harry's hand grasped something that he didn't recognise and his brow instantly furrowed. He drew out his hand slowly, eyeing the foreign object with interest. It was a necklace of some kind; a thin gold chain held a small gold pendant. Tracing around the tiny round disc about the size of a one-pound coin with his finger he noticed an intricate pattern carved into the gold that seemed to form some sort of symbol. A small gem (Harry was buggered if he knew which gem) sat in the very centre of both the disc and the pattern carved on it. The accessory shone under a stray beam of sun and Harry smiled.

It looked like an elegant piece of jewellery, something a snotty Pureblood like Malfoy would wear. The thing looked expensive, not to mention the fact that it was made of solid gold, and it was probably the most expensive thing that had ever sat inside Harry's school trunk. He did not know from whence it came, but that didn't seem to matter. The amulet was so beautiful that Harry couldn't just give it up, willingly give it to another. What compelled Harry to place the piece of jewellery around his neck was a mystery even to him, but it couldn't be denied that it felt right. The cool metal pressed against his skin made him shiver slightly, but he ignored it and went back to searching for his Charms textbook, the mysterious object hidden under Harry's loose shirt.

-:-O-:-

Author's Note: OK, writer's block. Sorry! That, and a busy schedule. Not to mention the trouble I've had uploading this. Hopefully I can update faster in the future. (Hopefully!)

Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!