Beta: lil'hawkeye3, thanks for the work
One note about the money rate. Back in the 1939, a pound value would be something around the 40-50 pounds nowadays. I did this exchange, so when I say 12,000 pounds, I mean 540,000 pounds. A bracelet of diamonds in the 30's would cost 2,000 pounds, so if you were to consider they sold in Black Market, in which cheaper prices are a must, the money they acquired makes sense. A galleon is something that nowadays would cost around 5 pounds. I did not change the value of a galleon, even though I know that happening would be impossible, because I don't want to go around changing the price of everything – I'm lazy. Because of that, a 30's pound in this story costs around 9 galleons. Remebering that this is story takes place before the decimal system. So:
1 pound – 20 shillings – 240 pennies
1 galleon – 17 sickle – 493 knut
1 pound – 9 galleon
1 shilling – 7 sickles and 19 knuts
1 penny – 18 knuts
Enjoy!
Anya looked at the beautiful marble manor at Mayfair; it was the house of an ambassador – rich, certainly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Anya. He is a crow; he's attracted to shiny things. At the eastern wing, in a small parlour with a wide widow with the view of garden of roses."
"We both know that your birdie didn't see it. You just took it of his mind." Anya pointed out, looking at the dark avian perched on Tom's shoulder before vanishing in the air.
Tom smirked as minutes later his partner appeared before him with a grin, several necklaces hanging from her neck, rings threaded throughout the strap of her bag, tiaras in her head and bracelets covering her arms. "How much was Hugh giving for one diamond?"
[][][][][]
Hour later, the two orphans strode into Diagon Alley with four large suitcases of money and wide grins on their faces, ready to exchange their twelve thousand pounds into galleons. Settling their expressions in a more polite manner, they both walked into the Gringotts.
Even though both of them knew that it would be rude to interrupt a goblin working, Anya still had to keep a close eye on Tom as he didn't appreciate being ignored – which was exactly what the goblin in front of them was doing, while writing something in a very long parchment.
"May your business go well." Tom said as salutation when the goblin looked up. Anya smiled and imitated the action.
"And may gold always flown into your vaults." The goblin responded. "My name is Bolank, may I help you?"
"Good morning. We wish to open a vault and exchange this money into Galleons before depositing it." Tom said, dropping his suitcases in the desk. "I believe the exchange rate is 10 Galleons to 1 Pound?"
"Nine galleons to one pound." The goblin correct, his eyes shining at the sight of so much money. "Which means your vault will start with a hundred and six thousand galleons. The cost to create a vault is two thousand galleons, a key included. Under whose name will it be?"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle and Anastasia Lynda Donbyre." Anya answered.
"Very well. I will need a drop of your bloods to key you to your vault, and your wands." The goblin offered a needle and bowl to them and accepted their wands. "Holly, phoenix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. Yew, phoenix feather, 13 and half inches, unyielding. These wands are brothers in the core."
"Yes." Tom agreed. "Anything else?"
"Your key." Bolank said, handing them a rather large, old-looking key. As soon as he handed the key, the suitcases disappeared. "The number of your vault is 784. Do you wish to visit it? Do you wish to drawn some money from it?"
"Maybe later a visit. Three thousand Galleons if you will." A bag of money appeared in front of the desk and the goblin handed it to them. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Donbyre."
Minutes later, the two children could be found in front of the Wizarding Bank, staring at it in suspicion. "That was-"
"Extremely efficient." Tom completed.
"I was going to say too fast. No explanation, no paperwork." Anya stared at him. "Do you think they are keeping yourselves ignorant on purpose."
"Probably. But they must be happy to welcome so much money." Tom analysed. "Anyway, it isn't as if there is no more money from where it came, is it?"
They continued to walk around the almost empty alley. Last year, things hadn't been like that – that empty. Yes, during the first semester of the year, when they occasionally went to the alley to gather information on the Wizarding World; it hadn't been like the last days of summer vacations, when the alley would turn a turmoil of bodies in shopping spur, however, it hadn't been that desolate.
The war was coming, everyone could tell you that. There had been attacks- magical villages stripped of its Muggle-born population, Muggles with deaths unexplainable to their people. If the Muggle Chancellor and Führer was bad enough, the unnamed wizard behind him was even worse. And neither of them were the best example to Tom, who had the hobby of analysing their political situations with a cold precision.
They walked into Twillfitt and Tattings, taking their time to buy several robes of velvet, silk, wool and linen. At Scribbulus Writing Implements, they bought several pieces of parchment, inks – the colour-changing ink was her favourite, but she had to admire the usefulness of the invisible ink – and quills of pheasant feather.
As they sat in Brews and Stews, a small seafood restaurant in Diagon Alley, Anya watched the others clients around. It interesting how weird wizards looked when you have just left the Muggle world, with all their peculiar habits.
"I want to go to Knockturn Alley after this." Tom had declared while savouring his octopus lagareiro. Anya shrugged, digging her hands into his pocket and taking a cigarette and lightening it. "That is unfitting –"
"Likewise, Arawn, I would like to buy a cello." Anya answered, tasting her prawn curry with a moan of happiness. "Miss, can you tell me where can I buy an instrument around here?" She asked to the young-looking waitress.
"Oh, dear, you will find a music shop in the Carkitt Market; it's the only one we have, but it's very good. Tell Jaime Concordia that Clutterbuck Crispe brought you there and maybe he will speak with me again."
Anya had to dig her heels on Tom's feet to stop him from sniggering at the curly-haired witch's name. "Thanks, Ms. Crispe, I will." She said with a smile. Sometimes she wondered which one of them was the sociopath.
After lunch, Tom dragged them to the Knockturn Alley, entering in several shops like Cobb & Webb's and Ye Olde Curiosity who had refused to sell anything to them, even in those hard times. Frankly, the witch thought that the wizarding world should reevaluate the image they had of the morality of the shopkeepers around that alley, as they were very similar to the law-abiding folk.
A shop whose windows showed a display of furniture made of bones appeared very tempting, but of course, they didn't have a house for the objects. Tom entered a shop named Noggin and Bounce whose merchandise was somewhat peculiar – heads whose skull and fat had been removed. "What is this?" Anya had asked the owner, a beautiful woman with dark skin and prominent cheekbones.
"Shrunken heads! You won't get it anywhere else!" The woman answered excitedly. "Some of them are funny, some of them have a nasty temper, and some like swearing. But don't worry, they are all stunned. I don't like hearing their fights."
"May I ask what their real usefulness is?" Tom asked, holding a rather big and nasty-smelling head.
"Oh, that was a giant!" The woman told them, making a thoughtful face. "But they don't sell very well, they bite more than bark, you know. Answering your question, they can be used as guardian, mascots – or for rituals!" She finished with a shout, laughing maniacally at their frozen expressions.
"And how are they done?" Tom inquired as his companion dreaded the answer.
"I do them myself. It's very difficult as simmering the head too long would cause it to lose its hair, but not long enough would leave it gooey. And you don't want a sticky head, do you? Yet, if you have a specific head, I can do it custom."
"I just need to bring you the head?" The young wizard inquired.
"I can take it on my own if you feel it's too weird to carry a head around. You just need to give me the name of the head's owner." Anya and Tom shared a look. That was getting creepier and creepier as it continued. But of course, Tom being Tom, he completely ignored Anya's whispers of 'Don't think of this!'.
"Alright, Miss…"
"Miss Anise Anboar."
"Miss Anboar, I don't have anyone in mind right now, but I think this might change in the oncoming years. Can I just owl you if have an order? I'm Marvolo and this Lynda." Tom said, deciding that it wasn't that wise use their full names in this business.
"Of course. I usually take a month to create them, but that depends on the head's protection; My little Herakles will find you anywhere and deliver when it's done. "
As soon as they left that store, Tom was entering in a shop selling poisonous candles, affirming that it would be pleasing if they actually managed to make one of those float above someone's head in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Anya wanted to yell.
Instead, she took her time watching the window of Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos. Inside of it, a man had a young dragon in his chest, which flied around his skin and she was pretty sure it would get older with time. An elderly woman whose crimson red braid reached the floor had a strong oak tree covering almost her whole left-side, her silky see-through robes doing nothing to hide the beautiful tattoo. And a young man dressed in dragon-hide swung his arm up and down, making the kitten on his skin play with a yarn ball.
"Interesting. Shall we get going?" Tom asked, a dark bag on his hand that really didn't pry her curiosity. There were some things about him that she did fine not knowing about.
[][][][][]
Abraxas Malfoy was bored. It was his birthday, 15th August, and Wiltshire was expectedly beautiful. Most of his friends were there, all his family's friends were there – from the ministry officers who his father suborned to the lords of noble houses who had enough money to suborn their own officers, old money, new money. He wore fine robes made of the most pure acromantula silk, and his father had actually allowed some matches of gob stones among them, as long as they did it inside the manor, in a private parlour in where nobody else would see them downgrading themselves. Yet it was still tiresome.
He blamed Hogwarts. Before attending the school, he had never found those parties monotonous, yet now he had no idea why once he had waited excitedly for them. In Hogwarts, he wasn't just a simpleton child in the way of the adults, he was doing politics. In their microcosm, things happened to them – deals, social-talk, debates, and new ideas. At first, he had thought of Hogwarts as just a smaller copy of the ministry, in which they could all play being grown-ups, but he wasn't so sure anymore. There was something lacking in the adults, something even his father couldn't fill.
"It's a pity Tom and Nastya couldn't attend, isn't it?" Dorea asked, toasting their glasses as she walked to him. "I was hoping to see her. His father is awful- obsessed, I would say. Do you think they might come next year?"
"I wouldn't know, Dora."
"What were you thinking about?"
"This." He said after some hesitation. "It seems so mindless. Play gob stones and leave the adults to their own affairs. At least, betting is profitable, but father prohibited it." He snarled, reaching for her hand as the soft music played behind the noise of the teenagers. Dorea followed his guidance blindly dancing with a deep, thoughtful frown.
"Thank Merlin, betting wasn't allowed. Orion has lost sixty galleons already these holidays with bets." She said in an attempt to disguise her lack of attention to their conversation. "A Knut for your thoughts?" He offered.
"I won't be able to organize them in a manner worthy of even a Knut." She declared, waving him off. "I was thinking about my family."
"Cassiopeia? Because if that's the case, I would like to say that you can marry me if you don't find anyone else." He offered, spinning her gently while she grimaced.
"That's disgusting. I was talking about my brother."
"Pollux Black? Ah…Marius." The girl nodded, while Abraxas cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Marius Black, a squib, had been disowned from the family at eleven, when his Hogwarts letter didn't arrive, fifteen years ago. It was the type of talk nobody had in the pureblood supremacy, and wars had been declared for less. "He had a daughter two weeks before – I'm an auntie again. Of course, I don't know the name, neither of her nor of her Muggle mother. I don't even know my brother. But my niece is a metamorphmagus."
"How did you know that?"
"I overheard father talking with Lord Arcturus. Brother met with father in the Leaky Cauldron." Dorea sighed. "My niece will go to Hogwarts and I probably won't even know who she is if she appears in front of me. I don't know the last name my brother chose when he was cast out."
Abraxas was silent, knowing that Dorea wasn't really interested in his opinion, just in opening up. The Malfoy stopped dancing, guiding his friend to a more private place where she would be able to talk. He stopped in the farthest from the guests corner he found, winking to a smirking Ragnar Lestrange who had just won another game of chess.
"Sometimes, don't you feel we are wrong? About magical blood?" She whispered. "Father would ally with Germany if they approached him, and I know yours would as well. And a metamorphmagus, that is…well, rare. My family had lots of metamorphmagus nine centuries ago, but the last one born in the Blacks was born four hundred years before. And look at Tom, his grandmother married a half-blood. He is a parseltongue."
"Nastya is as well, and her descendants were proper purebloods. Did you inform your parents about their abilities, by the way?"
"I told Pollux, he is the head of house, after all. I suppose you did it too." The wizard nodded. "I think everyone did. Two parseltongue – whose ancestor is most likely Salazar Slytherin. Has history ever heard of that? I'm sure this would make to the front of the Prophet if it wasn't so busy publishing about the German Ministry. " She reflected. "And you ignored my last question, Ax."
"I don't think we are wrong, Dorea. Do you remember Kneeler? Compare her to Nastya. The truth is that purebloods are direct descendants from druids, while mudbloods came from the humans who venerated them. Who do you think is better?"
[][][][][]
Sometimes, Anya wondered if everything she had seen the year before was real. If her dreams could really tell the future, if their powers were nothing more than their insanity. Sometimes, she imagined her life was only that – washing dishes and clothes in in an orphanage, never having a place to call hers. She felt weak.
And then, Tom appeared.
Tom was different. He knew he strong, he trusted he was unique. He had to be unique because there was no other alternative to his pride. He didn't always had the best arguments, but he always had confidence. Anya attracted people with smiles, but Tom attracted them with his posture. And while her smiles could sometimes wither, his self-esteem was unshakeable. He was an overbearing proud petty prick yet he was steadfast.
And cute.
Maybe because of that she put up with him.
The summer at Wool's Orphanage had been, as expected, dull. Mindless days of chores and avoiding the other children, and making Tom avoid anyone else. She was boiling some eggs to the breakfast when Johnny Foster, a fourteen years gangly boy who had arrived in Wool's Orphanage when they were away, grabbed her hair. "Oy, weirdo, have ya turned useful in that nuthouse of ya? Used?"
Anya pushed him away lightly, just enough to release herself. No use making a fuss around there. Maybe the boy would learn with that. Or maybe not. "Yeah, I heard of the guys that ya and Riddle go to a loony bin for crazy fuckers. Man, are you a fucking cunt now?"
"Well, if you want to fuck men I suggest you to go to another place. Or woman." She said sharply.
"Tight ass then? Oh, that's bitchy of you." Anya ignored his words completely, it wasn't worth it. "Oy, pay attention to me, ya bitch!" He said, grabbing her arm this time. Anya shoved him off wandlessly, without a batter of lashes.
"Don't you dare to touch me! Ask the guys what will happen." She said with a feral smile to his frozen in panic expression.
Sometimes, it was good to have powers, she concluded when the boy scrambled to his feet and fled away. Turning back to her eggs, she hummed softly, taking them out of the water before they turned hard-boiled. Anya then took the stale bread they had baked the day before and shoved it into the wood-burning stove.
"Cece," she called the younger girl who had been making tea at the opposite side of the kitchen and had successfully ignored her whole conversation with Foster. Most of them did, nobody wanted to get in the way of bullies. "Take the bread before it burns, ok? I'll take these to the table." The witch ordered and wiped her hands in her apron.
Grabbing the tray with eggs and the teapot, Anya walked into the dining room – which was nothing more than a wide room whose paint was peeling and in which someone had made a long plank a table with benches, nothing similar to Hogwarts. There were very few similarities between her school and her orphanage, and the only one she could actually point out was the excess of children per adult in their populations.
Walking back to the kitchen, she noticed Tom. He was leaned over the wall, Crime and Punishment in hands. But he wasn't looking to the artwork of Dostoevsky but to the widow, to the view of Johnny Foster in the backyard. She also saw his smirk when his eyes stopped at the subdued form of Dennis Bishop.
A month after that, Johnny Foster would be found in the East End, pissed and bruised, too frightened to be able to utter a word. He was an orphan and because of that nobody investigated – he had only been attacked by robbers, the kind of evil people that lurked in darkness.
Anya never talked with Tom about it. There was no reason for her to care.
[][][][][]
London, summer of 1939. At the beginning of July, the first North Atlantic air passenger service had been inaugurated in Southampton by Pan Am. The Barber Institute of Fine Arts had been opened by Queen Mary at the University of Birmingham. The IRA had exploded a bomb in Conventry – and the Muggles would never know how many wizards had been involved in that process.
The Emergency Powers (Defence) Act 1939 had been passed – the war had already started to Army reservists and Civil Defence workers. That had happened a week before. Now, paintings had been moved from the National Gallery in London to Wales. The Royal Navy was already at the war stations.
London didn't look festive. As she left the tube on 1st of September, Anya watched as hundreds of children and their parents seemed to gather around the railway station. The Operation Pied Piper had begun, and children from all major cities of England were being evacuated and you wouldn't find a train in the country that wasn't guiding children to safe houses with the exception of the one leaving Platform 9 ¾ in King's Station – although she supposed Hogwarts could be considered the safest house of all.
Parents were crying and giving their goodbyes – maybe their last words to their children? – in a very emotional moment. Anya heard Tom snicker beside her – he wasn't exactly emphatic, she feared. Anya rolled her eyes, making her way through the crowd and after reassuring several adults that they would board their train, they passed through the wall that divided the Muggle World from the Magical.
~Although, somewhere around there a quartet of two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eva, brothers and sisters, would experience another kind of magical experience. But she would only know about that in 1950. ~
Of course, the wizarding side of the station wasn't that better when compared to the non-magical. Less tears, as most were only sending their children to school, and not to refugees. But packed nonetheless.
They boarded the train immediately, walking to the Slytherin wagons in which they knew their housemates would already be, as it was unbecoming of pureblood heirs to show such degrees of affection in public.
"I will be at the toilet." She had informed Tom before sliding the door of said compartment.
She didn't look like an orphan. Sometimes, it was too easy to forget about it – Anya had never felt much her lack of parents, just the lack of money, she had books to explain things to her, she had Tom, in all his aloofness, she had never know the feeling of having parents to miss it – and when she looked at herself in the looking glass of the Hogwarts's Express, she couldn't point out her poverty anywhere.
Because of the sparse diet in Wool's Orphanage, fat had always been lacking in her cheeks, but the rich-looking robes she wore made others believe that she was only thin. The wizarding fashion, despite other's beliefs, changed a lot and because of that, she wore those silky button up robes with high neck and tight sleeves, teal-coloured. Anya smiled, oh, money, sweet money.
She entered in their wagon, in which most of them had already settled down, Dorea with her tawny owl, Vega, and Abraxas with his albino ferret – a fact which, for some reason, always amused Anya – Nous, and Brianna's Puffskein, Tosca – a name which made her laugh. "You realize, of course, that Puffskeins die in some months, don't you?" Anya had asked. "And why Puccini?"
Brianna had looked at her curiously and the emerald-eyed witch swore internally. Of course she wouldn't know who a muggle was. "Who is Puccini? Are you talking about the name? I was walking around London and I saw the name, I found cute. And yes, I know they die early. But they are cute."
Anya conceded that point, sitting between both girls, in front of Tom. "Why don't you have a pet?" Dorea inquired.
"Toads and cats are quite useless. And we don't find the need to communicate with outsiders often enough to get an owl, although this may change." Tom explained. "Obviously, we should have thrown the supply's list in the trash bin." He deadpanned.
"He wanted an ashwinder. As they only live in fire, I found this quite impossible. Maybe a crup? We could name him Turandot."
"I doubt that the name of a blood-thirsty, cold-hearted princess would fit a canine. Besides, what would I do with a dog?"
"They are loyal. Would you prefer a nundu? It's a big cat."
They all shared glances. "Yes."
Anya waved them off with her manicured nails – a feat that she was quite proud of archiving in an orphanage full of daily chores to be done in which she was forbidding of using magic. "Now, if you excuse me, I will be continuing my studies."
"You said you were studying Mermish. You won't start screeching anytime soon, will you?" Orion questioned with an alarmed look on his face, making the others laugh. "Have any of you heard Mermish? It's heinous."
"Don't worry. Water bubble charms over my mouth will be handy in Hogwarts." Anya smiled, taking her exemplar of Mermish: A Comprehensive Guide to their Language and Customs, gifted to her by the author himself, out of her purse. With a giggle, she rested her head on Brianna's shoulder at the same moment Dorea linked her arms with Anya's, the three of them a bundle of bodies. Dorea giggled at the distance among the boys and nestled her feet on her brunette roommate's lap, cuddling on her warmth.
"You are just too comfy to keep around, Nastya, did you now?" Dorea had mumbled.
"In fact, I did."
"Actually, I prefer when you are not talking."
"Me as well, dear Dora. I think we'd all appreciate your mouth closed more." Anya mocked before continuing her reading.
[][][][][][]
The Great Hall was in a turmoil – an uproar of voices, members of staff with worried frowns and students trying to peek over others' copies of Evening Prophet. Dumbledore walked into the hall, leaving the newcomers at the waiting chamber and walking to the headmaster, whispering to him in hushed tones.
"Silence!" Dippet shouted, bringing their eyes to him. "Welcome back, students and teachers, may the year be enlightening as always. We will start the sorting now and later, I would like to make a few announcements."
The large doors of the chamber were opened, welcoming the children who would be their freshmen. "Abbot, Nathaniel!"
A bubbly boy with dark hair walked to the stool and with that, the sorting started. Anya noticed that there were more children in that year than it last year. Maybe this time, it wouldn't be three girls to seven boys in Slytherin.
Anya glanced back the newspaper Tom had in hands, the picture of a frigate flagship destroyed. Alphard Black, Walburga's brother and Orion's future brother-in-law, was the first Slytherin to join them. He looked had the same hooded eyes of his sister, but his nose was crooked and his hair was black instead of dark-blonde.
"Auntie Dora, good to join you." He beamed, ignoring completely the seat at the end of the table to the newcomers and sitting at his cousin side.
"Where else did you expect to be? You are a Black." Brianna said with a sneer she seemed to direct to all firsties. Apparently, the blonde thought that being a year younger was good enough reason to be looked down.
"I'm a rule-breaker. I was expecting to break this rule, but the Sorting Hat said no. Who are you?"
"She is Brianna, Alfie." Dorea quivered. "These are Tom and Nastya, the rest you know. Call him Alfie."
"Very well, Alfie. I advise you that the next time you try to force the Sorting Hat to land you anywhere but Slytherin, you must not be so ambitious in your aims, or else you will land here." Tom said, watching as Elaine Bones also walked into their direction, sitting in the correct place. "A Bones in Slytherin. I'm not sure this has happened in history. Abraxas?"
"I doubt it, Tom. I would ask you, Ragnar, but I have recently discovered your deplorable knowledge on family trees." The Malfoy scion taunted, receiving a snicker of his best friend.
"At least I'm good in DADA." He defended himself. "I have heard that ninety percent of those who are dreadful in this particular subject fail in the Dark Arts."
"Well, the Malfoys are unique. I assure you that I belong to the ten percent who are glorious in mastering the Arts. Don't you agree, Brianna?"
"You know there is no fairness in this at all, Ax, Brianna is bound by blood and by hormones to agree with you." Dorea told him, making the pink-blonde witch blush. "As someone who is disgusted by the thought of any romantic feelings for you, let me say the probability of you being successful it's high – just because you are to determinate and vain to accept failure."
"You hurt me, Lady Black. The thought of us in a more than platonic relationship will fry my brain." Abraxas joked while Dorea laughed – not bothered by what most would classify as an insult – the others shaking their heads in dismay.
Eventually, a Vittoria Zabini – whose pureblood parents had apparently fled from Italy by the 1920's, something to do with Muggles – was sorted into Slytherin, settling the ratio of five girls to six boys in the snake house that year, and ending the Sorting Ceremony.
"Welcome all to one more year in Hogwarts. Before we start our dinner, I would like to give some warnings. First of all, I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is expressly prohibited to all students. Second, swimming in the Great Lake is prohibited without faculty or prefect supervision and boating in it is forbidden without faculty permission. The Restricted Section is forbidden to all those without singed note from a professor, and the books in it shall not be removed from the Library. Students must be in their uniforms to attend their classes. Magic should only be used by students in relation to schoolwork or approved extracurricular activities. Students shall attend all their classes." Armando Dippet said in a monotonous voice, using the same words he had used through all his term as headmaster – if last year's speech was anything to go by.
Anya shared a look with Tom. It was interesting to note how many rules they had broken through the year. Then she remembered that Abraxas had a ferret under his robes and thought that maybe nobody really cared if you broke the rules.
"As you all of you must be aware for now. The British Ministry of Magic has declared war on the German Reichstag der Magie today after the SS Durmstrang was attacked on the coast of the Scandinavian Peninsula." He stopped, allowing his word's to sink. "Today is a sad day for the Magical Community, a day in which many innocent lives were slaughtered for a supposedly Greater Good. Don't let its name to fool you- there is no good in the actions we heard of this day."
"With plenty commiseration, our school has opened their arms to the students and teachers who didn't choose to attend Durmstrang Institute in these dark days." This declaration broke out several whispers around the hall, most of them excited. "Silence!" The headmaster ordered, like the judge in a tribunal. "This offer was meet with great gratitude and acceptance of our fellow school of magic. Ergo, in two days, we will be receiving the members of Durmstrang Institute, may all of us welcome them properly."
And...scene! *deep bow in hopes of getting reviews* I have finally updated, so I better get some! XD