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The Slytherin first year duo of orphans had become quite famous after their first day of classes, in which they gained their house thirty points only by their performance on class. They had had only three classes that day, as the fourth period was reserved for extra-curricular clubs, whose enlistments would only be opened at October. Nevertheless, Anya had managed to receive five points from Dumbledore for quoting the whole transformation formula, and Tom another five for explaining the fifth unknown variable concept – to the anger of their lion classmates. Later, Professor Beery had given Tom ten points for being the first one to succeed in executing the fire-making spell (at his first try, obviously) and her five for being the second. After that, Professor Fairwent had managed to make a question about the locking spell in his Introduction to Charms Speech, and Tom had been awarded five points for answering it. In short, now they were the celebrities among the first-years, and Tom was enjoying his five-minute fame to gather some contacts.

The female of the duo, though, could be found at the far-eastern side of the castle, exploring. Anya had run away – she found that fame was too unstable to be used; besides, it wouldn't help her image. Tom would be fine, of course, he wanted to dominate minds; but she wanted to charm…and that required more patience and subtlety.

And she had taken a liking in exploring. Hogwarts had around a forty towers, and most of them were unused. The same could be said of its rooms, it had countless chambers, passages and everything else, yet she calculated that only fifty of those were used. Anya was near the Middle Courtyard.

Taking the parchment which she had been carrying around since Friday, she sketched the room she was in on the rest of the map she was drawing: a dark room with low-ceiling and a small staircase. She was almost sure she was inside the small but high tower with four gargoyles she had seen from the Transfiguration Classroom. Nice. Now she had to explore the upper grounds of it.

Climbing up the staircase, she walked into a chamber similar to the former, but whose walls were taken up by five cells. Oh Merlin, there was a prison inside the school. That was precious.

Walking in the direction of one of the cells, she took a look inside of it before performing the unlocking charm she had read about in their Charms Book. The cell was empty, obviously, yet there was something very disturbing about it. It wasn't huge, no - it was very small. Then she saw it, a skeleton, hanging in a cage – a gibbet. Such a nice thing to find in your school. The corpse's flesh had rotted a long time ago, yet those empty orbs at her were quite creepy. How long have it been there?

A clatter behind her back made her jump in fright, unconsciously. Well, what did she expect? An abandoned tower would obviously have rats and things like that.

"Hello." A voice said unexpectedly, making her freak out for a moment. Then she turned on her feet to see a man in ragged clothes wearing chains. Then she saw the transparency of the body. A ghost.

You are in a prison and you see a ghost, again, what a nice surprise. "Oh, sorry. I must have scared you. Just tell me if you see my body. I have been looking for it for almost three centuries. It has a chain with claw at the neck, probably."

"If I see it, I will bring here." She assured him, although it was more possible that there was no such a thing around anymore, if the ghost had been searching it that long. But she was a bit gobsmacked. "You died around here?" She said in her best conversational voice. Oh, she had seen a lot of ghosts in the last days, of course, but that was the first one with whom she had a conversation. And it was an extremely weird place to talk with the spirit of a deadman.

"No, very far away from here. My name is Captain Nicholas Digswell, but they called me 'Griffin Beak'. The best Sorcerer Pirate of the Seven Seas. And you are?"

"Anya Donbyre."

"Very well, Anya Donbyre. You remind me of a friend, they called her the 'Banshee's Grin'. I leave one of mine to you." And with that fancy farewell and dubious flattery, the ghost floated through the walls and vanished of the tower.

Then, she noticed the figure hiding in the shadows. "Well, that was quite a show." It said, revealing itself as a sandy-blonde boy. "It was a compliment, by the way. He said I looked like his friend 'The Barmy Niffer', and I know he likes me. Harfang Longbottom, at your service, Ms. Donbyre"

She recognized him from her Transfiguration class. He was as tall as Tom, but differently from him, he had a friendly-smile stamped in his full of baby-fat face. He seemed to have taken his blazer off at first opportunity, and know the only symbol of his house was the scarlet tie he wore loosely with the uniform jumper. "Nice place for a first meeting. Call me Nastya, everyone is doing."

"Well, some people call me Fang." He said with an idiotic smile.

"Seriously?"

"No. But it would be cool if they did."

She laughed at his deject. "So, what are you doing here, Mr. Fang?"

He beamed with the nickname. "The same as you I suppose, Ms. Nastya."

"Being an evil snake that plots how to take away candies of children?" She suggested, gesturing at her green tie.

"I would prefer to call it exploring. You know, the favourite hobby of a nosy lion." He joked. "I meet with Griffin Beak as soon as I left my dorm and then he invited me for a walk, promising that he would guide me. Now, I don't have him and I'm lost."

"Oh, do not fear, Mr. Fang. You only have to follow the snake and she will guide you to light. After she sees more of this prison, of course. Want to stick around? You seem to be pretty open towards a snake, which is more than I can expect of a Gryffindor."

"My fiancée has been a Slytherin for three years, and she comes from a family full of them. If I don't accept them, how am I supposed to be good husband?" He asked with benign smile.

"Callidora Black, isn't she?" She recalled. "If you allow me to ask, how does it feel to be engaged to someone older than you?"

"She is two years and five months older, but since I can remember, we have been childhood friends. My mother used to have tea with Madam Lysandra, her mother; and Mrs. Crouch, the mother of Caspar. I was engaged to Callidora, Caspar to Charis, and together with Cedrella we would play together. I think we still think we are playmates, but in two years they will want us to date, and if Ally feels like…I'll always like her." He smiled, a blush at his face. "I ended up rambling, didn't I?"

"A little. But it was cute." She agreed. "You are the perfect lover-boy, which is a pretty good thing to an eleven year old." Anya added, as she unlocked the other cells and took a look at them. There is nothing more in those. "Well, that's pretty disappointing. There is another floor, and probably one after that... do you want to give a try?" She asked.

"Maybe later? A prison floor per day isn't good enough? Besides, dinner will be soon, I think." He stated from outside the cell. Suddenly, the girl walked out the cell with a golden piece in hands.

"Gold tooth." She told him.

"Be careful, it could be cursed. Once I found a ring at my house's basement…a mad fever for two days before mother found a healer that knew how to cure it."

"It will be cool if it's cursed, although I don't really like the fever thing." Anya stated, throwing it away. She would come here later; she could learn a curse-detecting spell before picking it up again. "Now, have you ever wondered why there is a prison inside the school?"

"It's an old castle. Most old castles have."

"Fine, but shouldn't someone have destroyed it already? I mean, maybe the dungeons have held jails, too, but they don't do anymore…besides, it was built to be a school. You saw the sculpture of the architect of Hogwarts, he built it to the Founders. Now who puts a tower with a prison in a school?"

"Someone who like to confine students? Considering the gibbet, I would say someone really evil and unscrupulous." Harfang suggested.

"I will search about it." She stated, making the lion laugh. "Why are you laughing?"

"You are brave enough to go in an adventure inside a prison with lots of corpses, probably. You seem to be very easy going, and are friendly. And you want to research everything you find mysterious. A lioness, a badger and a raven…are you sure you were correctly sorted?" He laughed. "Come along, the school won't accept a Gryffindor arriving at the Great Hall with a Slytherin, but I would be a jerk if I let you roam around alone." He called.

"You know that I have to show the way to the Hall, don't you?"

"I'm counting on you."

][][]

While Anya met with the Longbottom heir, Tom was doing what he was better: politics. Oh, he knew how good he was in it, but most importantly: he knew people didn't know how good he was – and that made him feel conflicted. It was too easy, in his opinion, if people underestimated; and he liked it easy – but he didn't like to be overlooked. Yet he was and he couldn't do anything about it except use it to his advantage. So, he did politics.

Politics. What people don't know about politics is that things rarely look like politics, but most of time, they are. And how his present situation didn't look like politics – one gullible person could confound it with studying, actually. But the people in his group knew better, after all in Slytherin, everything could be transformed in politics. The main target was usually friendships.

They sat around a stone table at the Dungeon Hall – first and second years listening to his explanation about the fire-making spell. Of course, only the firsties were paying attention; the second-years were sticking around because they wanted to analyse his persona. Sometimes they would make questions about their year's lesson, which Tom would respond easily – he hadn't stolen the books of a second year and a third year those months ago at Diagon Alley for nothing. He could discuss other magical subjects, as well, as he hadn't just stolen Hogwarts's books. Actually, he was sure he could give his view on every magical matter – even if just a minor opinion, which he planned to explain now that he had access to Hogwarts's Library.

"Hey, Riddle. Now that we can all become pyromaniac fools, how about doing something interesting?" Orion asked, pushing the parchment in which he had just written his essay about Charms Theory. Tom took a fast glance at it, noticing that it was just a paragraph of five lines of scrambles. Well, the Black Heir could be categorized as lazy, he supposed, and a quite hyperactive – in fact, he was the most childish of them.

The boy picked a crumpled paper ball which had just fallen from his pockets, quickly shoving it on them again – an action that caught Tom's attention. He dismissed it, though, as inquiring about something like that would be considered intrusive.

Tom knew his partners would soon get bothered as well, and bothered never worked well in politics. Well, he was done reading the books he had taken out of the library too. With a quick clock-charm he concluded that they still had one hour until the dinner. "I'm glad to see that you are not allowing your education to overwhelm your fatuity, Orion." He said to the laughter of others, while pushing his own textbooks into his leather bag. "Well, I assume that you have something you wish to do then?"

"I have a set of gob stones." Ragnar told them. "I bet that none of you can defeat Abraxas on it. He could enter in the National English Gob stones Team if he wished."

"Everyone could enter in the English Team, Lestrange." Caelum Nott, a second year, told him. "We suck. Now, I would want to see Malfoy entering in the Welsh Team. I bet ten galleons that I can defeat Malfoy."

"Deal." The Lestrange heir said, making his blond roommate to protest. "Oi, I didn't say I was going to play it. I used to, but I grow up…it's unfitting."

"Ask Ragnar money, Abraxas, if you win. Then, you won't have any reason for losing." Tom said nonchalant. That proved to be a good reason to Malfoy, as he quickly tied his long hair and rolled up his sleeves. "So what will it be? Classic, Jack Stone or Snake Pit? Do you have a board or you need me to draw it?"

"It's surprising how excited he can get with it." Tom whispered to Ragnar, snickering. "I guess I can see why you put your money on him."

"Don't you? He has been obsessed by it since we were little children. It was quite annoying." The auburn-haired boy confided, before raising his voice. "Play Snake Pit, I have the board and you are better on it. Be careful, my money is on you."

Ragnar took the set out of his bag and with some jealously, Tom noticed that it was made of solid gold. But he wouldn't steal it from him, of course – it wouldn't be wise to steal of someone with whom you would share the bedroom the whole year. "I have a Wizarding Chess Set." Flavius Rosier, a boy with honey blond hair told them.

Soon, Tom found himself in fight to death with Ragnar to win a game of Wizarding Chess. Well, he supposed that politics could be fun too.

][][]

Anya knew that saying that Tom was annoyed wasn't enough. She hated when he was moody, yet his current temper was one of the worst than she had ever seen since the dinner of the day before. She also knew the cause to it, and it came in the shape of one Ragnar Lestrange; to be more precise, his fucking chess abilities. Her male-counterpart had lost to the heir of the Lestranges several times, until he got stuck with that mood. She was pretty pissed with Ragnar, too. Her Arawn was already a pain in the arse when his temper was good, but when it got worse…everything else also got.

The fact that their history class was proving to be pretty boring wasn't helping. Binns was an elderly man whose dry and reedy voice seemed to be capable of boring someone to death. Most of the Gryffindors were already drooling over their desks, and the same could be said of the Slytherin – except that they astutely hid their mouths in order to conceal the drool. She had read about a book called A Vampire's Monologue that was written to bore their readers senseless so that the author could bite them; and for a moment, she couldn't help think that maybe Binns was a vampire as well.

But no, no vampire could be that boring.

And he only spoke about Goblin Wars! Anya hadn't read about the whole history of the Magical World, but she could easily that it wasn't only about Goblin Wars. Well, apparently they would also cover the Witch-Hunts at their third year, and the Giant Wars at their fourth and fifth years. And then something about a Soap Blizzard at 1378 which was followed by a burst of the wizarding economic bubble – the which was actually interesting if his voice showed a bit more of interest for the subject. And they could talk about things more interesting – like Merlin and Morgan, and Herpo the Foul, and the transition of the Wizard's Council to the Ministry of Magic; and about the signature of the International Statute of Wizarding Signature, perhaps, and about Salem and many others things. Even if he still wanted to talk about creatures, they could all go to the Werewolf Rebellions and to the Vampiric Question, et cetera.

So why did he only talk about the Goblin Wars?

If Anya were anyone else except Tom, she would have raised her hand and asked. But Anya was Anya, and she could easily see the advantages of having a class nobody payed attention to, including the teacher. Most of her classmates wouldn't search about history and so they would grow up ignorant, and that was a pretty good thing. Then, if the teacher didn't pay attention if you were hearing it or not, you weren't obliged to hear it – a vacant period to self-study was something pretty good.

Anya took her copy of Mixtures pro Malo and started to browse through the magical properties of evil potions. Thanks Merlin she had disguised it as a copy of the infamous Toadstool Tales, or everyone who knew how to read Latin would find the title of her book suspicious.

"You are not reading that trash written by Beatrix Bloxam, are you?" Tom whispered in her ear. Anya looked to the seat beside her and noticed that Tom was reading another book as well, whose title she also doubted to be the real one, as he had read their Charms' year book at least thrice months ago.

"I could, if she had written a book about poisonous potions. I don't really think is her area, though. What about you?" He ignored her for some moments, until she took the book of his hands and untransfigured the cover of Notable Wizarding Families Through the Ages. "I assume you are still working in research about our ancestry."

He took the book out of her hands and nodded. "I have now several names of families we could belong to, but I still haven't found anything about another Tom Riddle, or a Marvolo. Riddle isn't a wizarding name; maybe my father was a half-blood, then."

"Marvolo seems to follow the wizarding tradition of having rather distinguished names, though. There wasn't any Marvolo born in the end of the last century? Maybe your grandfather wasn't a notable wizard."

"Maybe." Apparently, he had gotten tired of the subject, because he jumped to another topic. "Now, lend me your book, will you? There must be something I can test on Lestrange."

"You know that Lestrange is the heir of Noble and Most Ancient House, don't you? And you are fairly aware that you are going to get stuck in Azkaban for the rest of your life if someone caught you trying to kill or even maim a member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, aren't you?"

Begrudgingly, Tom saw the reason and dropped the matter, returning to his research. Feeling a bit generous, she mumbled: "Well, I've already finished this chapter; I guess you can take a look. Just keep potions testing restricted to animals, alright."

The boy with jet-black hair huffed in annoyance. "I won't kill everyone I see around, Anya. Actually, I still have to kill someone."

She snickered. "Give it five years." At that moment, Binns walked out of the classroom and Anya noticed that the class had already ended. Their next class was Transfiguration, with the Gryffindors as well. From what she had seen in their schedule, the school found appropriate to put the two houses that held the greatest feud in history together for most of their classes.

"Ms. Nastya, what did you think of our incredible class of history?" Harfang Longbottom asked her as soon as they entered at Classroom 1B, to the shock of everyone who was present. So, he wanted to go against the feud. She would bet that Callidora Black had some role in his reasoning and the simple fact that he was a nice boy being pleasant, too. After all, you could expect everything but manipulations of someone like him.

"The same as you, I guess, Mr. Fang. Incredible boring." She joked.

"Enough to read the Toadstools? Amazing, a whole other level of boredom that nobody had ever registered."

"Well, if I'm fated to die of boredom, I prefer to hear my own thoughts to a monologue about nothing. Boredom is a vital problem to a moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it. I seek for it, because it hatches the most interesting ideas in my mind, Mr. Fang."

"Well, Ms. Nastya, you must be extremely intelligent as I can think of nothing while plagued by tedium. I'm not disappointed, I guess. Will you honour me and group with me today?" Both of them smiled at each other.

"As long as you feel it's an honour."

"Hey, that's Harfang, Ally's fiancée. Since when you know him?" Dorea asked from the row of seats behind her.

"Since yesterday." Anya answered.

"Who is he?" Tom inquired in a way that obviously said he was pissed off.

"He is the heir of a Noble and Most Ancient House, if you are wondering, Arawn. Harfang Longbottom, we meet yesterday. He is going to marry Callidora Black, Dorea's cousin."

Tom was accepting it against his will- she knew it; after all, he couldn't deny the advantage of an alliance with someone like Longbottom. "You were quoting Russell at The Conquest of Happiness."

"Correct, Arawn. Nothing to me?" She inquired, knowing that he wouldn't have.

"Just trust me, Anya. I can build my own web."

"I know. But you know what a pre-Socratic philosopher once said? 'Men would live exceedingly quiet if these two words, mine and thine, were taken away.' I say that men will walk greater paths if they unite both words and create 'ours'."

He groaned. "You are manipulating Anaxagoras's words, is that valid?" Anya knew that it would take a while for him to settle down so she just snorted in response and watched as Harfang moved from his seat.

Dumbledore had arranged the classroom in a quite disorganized manner, which seemed to fit his persona. The desks were disposed side by side, ten at the first row and ten at the second. It was practically impossible for the students be away from the teacher, but not to pass notes around.

But most importantly, it was impossible for the houses to be separated from each other.

When the Longbottom sat at the table beside hers, Anya noticed that she was in the very middle of the first row, in the very front of Dumbledore; and also the no man's land – the battleground of the houses. Perfect. Tom on her left, Harfang on her right; Harfang's friend on his right; Ragnar on Tom's left. Abraxas besides Ragnar and Orion. The first row was made of the most territorial species in the world – males – except her. She looked to her roommates behind of her; why she hadn't sat with them? At least most of the Slytherin boys wouldn't fight much with the Gryffindor girls.

"Nastya, this is Charlus Potter. Charlie, this is Anastasia Donbyre." Harfang introduced his black haired friend.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Donbyre. Harfang said you are a very nice girl."

"Call me Nastya, please. People have taken a liking in calling me this recently." She looked over her shoulder to Dorea, who shrugged. "Your friend is very fast to judge people…I am as well, and I must say Fang is a rather nice boy. I know one of us is right, at least." She winked at them in delight.

In that moment, Dumbledore arrived in their classroom in the same robes of outrageous colours he had taught them the day before. But differently from severe-but-calm expression which he had worn to explain that prejudice wouldn't be tolerated in his class; his expression was welcoming-and-warm, and it got even more soothing in the moment he saw Harfang and her together. She could bet he had been hearing the whole incident from the antechamber.

Inter-house cooperation. It seemed pretty obvious to her that achieving such thing was one of the deputy headmaster's greatest desires. Perhaps she would be able to help him with it. "We will resume what we have been talking about last class." He told them, as the chalk wrote in the board the subject. "The fifth unknown variable, also known as aether or quintessence."

"Mr. Riddle gave us a brief summary on this subject last class, but today we shall deepen our minds in the substance which the Greeks called 'clear air'. A substance subtler than air; all space is permeated by it, which contains tiny whirlpools."

With a wave of his wand, the chalk became powder and the powder floated in front of the class, the dust forming a three-dimensional vortex. "These whirlpools allow it to have certain elasticity, transmitting vibrations from the corpuscular packets of light as they travel through." And suddenly several of those vortexes had been combined and seemed to reproduce his exact explanation.

"Now, we are basically speaking of alchemy here. Can anyone guess why are we addressing such a subject here? Yes, Ms. Donbyre."

"Transformation, Switching, Vanishment, Conjuration and Untransfiguration. All the branches of Transfiguration conduce to something disappearing or appearing – be it the handle of a cup, the feather of a bird, or a whole cup or bird. But energy isn't something that can be created or destroyed, and neither does matter. So, the question is: to where goes mass when magic transforms or vanishes something? And from where does it come when magic conjures or untransfigures something? The answer is the same for both: quintessence."

"Exact, Ms. Donbyre, five points for Slytherin. For centuries, many transfigurists have called quintessence the non-existent. They were, of course, wrong, as mass cannot cease to exist – only be transferred to another dimension in the shape of waves." He gave them a benign smile. "When they noticed this, however, they also noticed that their fellow alchemists had already developed the concept of this dimension and borrowed quintessence from Alchemy. Yes, Ms. Plunkett?"

"Well, Transfiguration and Alchemy are very similar, aren't they? Both are about alteration of an object's structure. Why are they divided as two different branches of magic?" A copper-haired girl blushed, glancing at Tom and Anya. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked it."

"Do not fear questioning, Ms. Plunkett, the greatest discoveries of mankind started out as a doubt. Indeed, Transfiguration and Alchemy are fields that walk closely together, but the latter focuses more in Chemistry and the Potions part of the art of transforming, while the former is more related to Charms and the Biology part of the same art." He paused for a moment. "One could possibly say that Alchemy aims for overcoming the limitations of Transfiguration too."

"The most known limitations for Transfiguration are the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law. Can you say one of them? Mr. Potter?"

"Uhm…food? Food cannot be outright conjured from quintessence, can it? Although it can be multiplied, summoned or enlarged."

"In fact, Mr. Potter, five points for Gryffindor. Mr. Lestrange?"

"Money. One cannot create money from quintessence with Transfiguration, although one could argue that alchemists can create gold."

"Indeed, it has been one of the greatest goals of alchemists. Five points for Slytherin. Mr. Pratt?"

"My dad said something about information. You cannot create information with magic in any way. Because of that, Ravenclaw's Diadem doesn't exist."

"You are correct, Mr. Pratt, despite the fact that there is no prove of its existence or no-existence and the fact that the diadem was supposedly built to enhance wisdom, not information. Five points to Gryffindor. Mr. Riddle, if you please?"

"The other two exceptions are love and life. One cannot make someone love another, so all those love-potions are in fact, useless. And one cannot bring someone dead to life nor give sentience to inanimate objects, despite the fact some seem to believe the contrary."

"Correct, Mr. Riddle. Five points to Slytherin. I quite remember the time when I used to care for a bumblebee which used to be a grape. Of course, one day it disappeared." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be unfocused for a moment. "But look where have we come, we should go back to quintessence, shouldn't we?"

][][]

Their first potions class would be at the Friday morning, and Tom was quite determined to leave a great first-impression on their Head of House. Saying that he was determined meant that he was well-groomed, held himself in the most perfect posture that showed to the world that there was someone who would shine in the middle of the masses, and had the most pleasant expression that showed some kind of total-regard for the one who it was directed. It also meant that Anya's head was hurting because of the amount of times Tom had brushed her hair and that her uniform was far from having any crinkle.

Indeed, they had taken 'acting on your best-behaviour' to another level.

So one could possible assume that Anya was a bit bored by the introduction-to-potions speech Slughorn was giving – not that one could tell from her face, that held an impeccably interested expression on it. In her mind, she was silently analysing with whom she should spend her afternoon that day. Oh, she was fairly aware that Tom was answering as many questions one could answer without being called a know-it-all, even herself had answered one about imbuing magic on a potion – although it had sounded more like a whole essay than an answer, so she was pretty sure that Slughorn would invite her to his Slug Club as soon as they brewed his Cure for Boils in the next week. Although she was also sure that Tom would be the first one to receive an invitation of all Hogwarts, if one were to consider his delayed appearance to DADA.

When she asked about it to him, Tom answered that he would have one in three days and she believed in it. Trust Tom Riddle to know how long a simply talk-after-class with a teacher would take to make the same teacher to adore him.

Defence Against Dark Arts was taught by Madam Galatea Merrythought – a silver-haired lady who had seemed to occupy the same post for over forty years. Anya was pretty sure she wasn't a little girl when she had started to taught, though, if one were to consider the fact she looked over a hundred. She was someone rather easy-going, though, considering she had been born in a very conservative Victorian Era. Tiny and wrinkled, the woman was constantly smiling, had the habit of offering cookies to every student who arrived in the class and was very fast with a wand and her feet to an old lady.

At the ending of her first week as a student, Anya had decided that she liked most of her teachers. Professor Beery was a very dramatic man that had a taste for acting as if his plants at the greenhouse were sentient – which was quite annoying, but not bad. Professor Fairwent was a very tall albino that was impossible to not look to as soon as you entered in the Charms Classroom, but also someone who was quite the scholar and had a very good grasp of his subject. Madam Black, Dorea's niece, was a young feminine woman who looked quite like her aunt and, like Anya assumed all Blacks were, had a great understanding of Astronomy. She still had to head her Flying Classes, and meet Madam Hooch, but everyone else seemed great aside Binns.

To her classes, she would usually pair up with Tom, Dorea and Brianna, Harfang and Charlus, or Laws, aka Eoessa – the Ravenclaw was still punching her every time she called her for her first name. But most of time, Tom would drag her and oblige her to be his pair – even when she protested saying that it wouldn't help them socially.

Everything was going pretty well, she supposed. But that was a phrase that tempted fate, and fate adored to relinquish to temptation.

Yup, of course, October had to arrive.

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