Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series, franchise, characters, et cetera, all belong to JKR. No copyright infringement intended.
CHAPTER 4: Hospital Beds
"Pangloss deceived me cruelly when he said that all is for the best in the world."
- Candide by Voltaire
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Hermione reached down to scratch the dry skin of her inner thigh. Her movements were slow and deliberate.
She certainly did not feel like going to class today. Herbology with the Ravenclaws?
"No thank you," she thought whimsically, and smiled to herself. The delicious feeling of disobedience warmed her icy fingertips and flushed her beaten cheeks. She lived for the days when she got to skip classes and stay in bed.
Even bright students needed their mental health days.
But it was not like she would be missing anything particularly important; she had read ahead and already knew all the information that would appear on the N.E.W.T.s.
So no worry. Missing one day of class wouldn't kill her. Anyway, if she missed any paramount notes, Harry could-
Hermione's heart bended recklessly in her chest. It started pumping furiously and she felt involuntary tears of rage well up in her eyes. They burned the back of her closed eyelids so painfully that Hermione thought they might leave a scar. Her throat went dry as sluggish bile begun trudging upwards.
Harry couldn't take notes for her. He was dead.
Ron was also dead.
Ginny, Neville, Molly, Luna, Hagrid, Seamus, McGonagall, and Dean could all be dead as well. She just didn't know.
Hogwarts was destroyed, and Voldemort had won the war. Everything in the wizarding world now belonged to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
All creatures and wizards of lower blood status would either be killed or taken as slaves.
The prophecy predicted only two outcomes to the war, and with Harry's death, it had been fulfilled in the most horrifying way possible.
Her parent's memories were altered to forget her existence and she doubted that she would ever see them again.
She would never finish her Hogwarts education.
Voldemort destroyed her wand.
Her heart gave a painful lurch as she reminded herself of the most horrific part of the entire ordeal.
She tried her best not to think about it, not to think about him. But it was impossible.
Her fate was wrapped quite uncomfortably in Draco Malfoy's cold, unforgiving hands. There was no escaping, no reconciliation, no hope left for her. She was going to be degraded; violated, and stripped of whatever fragile innocence she had left by her worst enemy. Then he was going to kill her.
Her head began throbbing mercilessly.
She was completely powerless. Utterly useless as a witch…as a human being.
She didn't know if she was supposed to grieve for all that she had lost in those few short hours or grieve for what was coming.
There was no book that held the answers to how to approach this sort of all-encompassing pain.
So instead, Hermione lay frozen in the bed, with the palm of her right hand against the cool surface of the silk fitted sheet underneath her. She was wearing a baggy blue nightshirt that wasn't hers. The rough cotton of the sleep robes irritated the skin of her lower back and the bruised flesh of her collarbone. She had no idea what time it was. The room was swallowed by a haunting blackness. The only light came from the dying orange embers in the fireplace that sat opposite of the large bed.
She slowly sat up to observe her surroundings. The room was about half the size of the dormitory she shared with her classmates last year, which was still, she believed, to be unnecessarily large for a bedroom. There were two massive, bow-shaped windows on the wall opposite the fireplace, that were drawn shut by a an ancient-looking pair of emerald green drapes that were covered in a organized, symmetrical pattern of silver diamond shapes. The marble fireplace was raised off the ground by a small polished cobblestone step that was guarded off from the rest of the bedroom by a miniature gold cage. The sprawling, plush carpet held the same pattern as both the drapes and the suffocating top comforter sheets. The sheets themselves seemed to seal in all heat, which was probably necessary considering how cold the Manor was at night. On the other side of the room, a cushy and antique-looking loveseat stood proudly by one of the largest bookshelves that Hermione had ever seen, rivaling only one of the library's 'restricted section' cases. It was obviously carefully crafted; each inch that made up the shelf appeared to be a created by a wizard who attended closely to detail. It extended from the sleek carpet until it brushed the ceiling, the wings of the two hippogriffs statues that were carved into the top of the ebony wood, peaking against the gold tiles of the ceiling. Multi-colored leather-bound volumes of wizarding books were packed carefully into each shelf, with opposing snow-white bookends of hippogriffs that matched the top of the bookshelf pressed against the historic works. It was beautiful.
Hermione shifted in her spot.
The four poster, king sized bed was like a larger version of the one she slept in at Hogwarts, with a silk, forest green bed skirt that fell gracefully against the soft carpet. The inky black wood of the bed matched the color of the extravagant bookshelf. The four engraved rods supported showy stormy grey curtains that were drawn back by gold colored ropes. It was so dark in the room that they looked like floating nooses in the firelight.
Opposite the bed was a door with yet another engraved door handle that Hermione knew to be the bathroom.
Maybe it was night. Maybe it was noon. She tried for about half an hour to detach herself from her chaotic thoughts, but like poison infecting a blood stream, they continued to invade the hidden recesses of her mind, pushing at barriers, with no sign of stopping until they consumed every bit of her.
The first three days after she woke, Hermione found herself in a sort of debilitating shock. Like the dejected ghosts that once wandered the corridors of her former school, it was like she existed without really existing. All the anger she felt during the battle when she heard Voldemort give her to the Malfoys dissolved. Instead, when she awoke from her slumber, which was plagued by nightmares, apathy replaced the sorrow and the wrath. She couldn't think about Harry or Ron or anything that happened to her. She was in a daze. And originally, it seemed that the Malfoys were in no hurry to pull her out of that daze. Particularly Draco. Regardless, they both tried to speak to her. Their words were muffled and incoherent. Hermione chose not to hear them, and no to feel them. She barely met their eyes during the first few days. Hermione thought of trees and wild waterfalls, of magic and the various colors it produced, of dreams and wishes. Sometimes of nothing at all.
She wouldn't let Draco Malfoy, of all people, see the content of her nightmares written across her face. If he was going to hurt her like Voldemort promised he would, he would have to take her while she was dispassionate and distant, not when she was the Hermione he knew- fiery and testy. Actually, she was not quite sure if there was any of that girl left in her anymore. She barricaded thoughts of her past, present, and future. She wouldn't let herself break. She wouldn't let Draco Malfoy in.
Hermione had to protect herself somehow.
She spent those three days in the secure fortress of the bed or sitting silently at the Malfoy's dinner table. A delightful house-elf helped her support herself when she crawled out of bed, no matter what time of the day or night it was. When she vomited the contents of her stomach onto the floor beside the bed on the first day, it was the house-elf who brushed the sweaty hair off her forehead when she was finished. He tore pieces of toast, biscuits, or crepes into even smaller parts and fed her like an infant during meals. In retrospect, he seemed more human to her than the Malfoys, especially Draco.
It was Draco who watched her during those speechless meals; his grey eyes shielded under the cover of the blue darkness in the dining room. It seemed to infiltrate the rest of the manor as well – every room she entered was shrouded in dark blue shadow.
She was certain that he was going to rape her. However, Hermione spent a great deal of energy trying not to think about it. Perhaps it was easier to push all thoughts away than face the inevitable. A part of her was actually surprised he hadn't gone ahead and done what he needed to do while she was asleep. He seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed taking the easy way out of things. So, Hermione had made it even easier for him. Raping a girl in a trance was equivalent to raping a girl asleep. Either way, with her spirit already broken, there was nothing for her to lose.
But… he didn't rape her. Not on the first day, or the second. He sat with her while she ate, and she avoided his eyes. He was so unattached that Hermione began to think that he had forgotten about her. Almost.
It wasn't until she heard the hesitant tapping on the bedroom door on the third day that Hermione realized Malfoy was not going to let her rot inside between the four walls of the guest bedroom of the manor as she had begun to hope.
When he uneasily pulled the door handle open that day and entered the room, Hermione was currently wrapped in a blanket on the floor.
Unwanted thoughts of Ron's laugh, which once annoyed her, echoed in her ear unexpectedly. In order to shield herself from the unwelcome melody, Hermione grabbed a blanket and curled up on the bedroom floor. She brought the dark blue fabric of the blanket over her ears. When Draco came in, she was still crouched in this position, and she barley had time to adjust when he accidently kicked her in her side.
Though his face was wrinkled in annoyance and his eyes were averted to his right foot, the one that he kicked her with, she got her second good look at the man to whom her fate belonged since their spontaneous yet intense exchange during the battle.
She had forgotten how grey his eyes truly were. They were a luminous silver hue and had a dark stony rim of concentrated color that reminded Hermione of the ashen stones that made up the Hogwarts castle. They looked almost out of place compared to his icy features, as if he should have had blue eyes to match his pale skin and blond hair. His eyelashes were almost as light as his hair, and were unusually long for a male. His pointy nose looked much smaller up close and his pale lips looked slightly thinner then she expected they would be. His face was long and oval-shaped, he had Lucius' chin, and he had high, pronounced cheekbones. The low firelight reflected off of his hair, which appeared more ruffled than it did at Hogwarts, particularly at the back of his head, where the fine hairs stood erect and muffled, resembling a lopsided crown. In fact, he looked quite terrible indeed.
There were dark bags under his eyes, and worry lines were splattered across his face and brow. Draco was one of the tallest boys at Hogwarts, yet now he walked slightly hunched over; the difference was so subtle. If possible, his porcelain skin looked paler and his body looked slimmer. It was obvious to her that Draco was very stressed about something. Something was eating away at him.
But that didn't matter because in that moment she knew why he came into her room. She knew exactly what he was coming for. Her grace period was over.
Hermione felt worry seep through her veins, and her facial expression changed to match her mounting fear. She chided herself for wasting time observing Malfoy's facial features while he was planning to force himself on her.
Her heartbeat sped up as Malfoy began saying something inaudible in his nasally baritone voice. For some reason, the Slytherin sounded nervous. He then crouched forward so that their faces were close. She felt bile rise in her throat.
From this angle, she could see a slight scar tracing from the edge of his lip and ending just below his left cheekbone. It was indiscernible to the human eye unless one was near enough to his face. It folded as he spoke, bending to the right and constricting every time he opened his mouth.
She didn't want to be this close to another person. Not this close to him.
She thought she could handle him forcing her if she blocked out all of her emotions like she had done the past few days, but she was wrong.
Seeing him like this, in such proximity, made this real.
There was only so much harm a nightmare or hypothetical Draco could do to her. The living, breathing form of the wizard was much more of a threat. When he was this close, she could see where his worry lines began and ended, she could feel the cool bursts of air slip stealthily from between his lips and curl against her dirt-covered nose, and she could smell faded vanilla emanating from his body. He was much bigger than she. Her exhausted and malnourished body would be no match for his long, capable limbs. And on top of that, she didn't have her wand. There was no way she could compete with the real monster.
"Yeah, and maybe you can start by going for a bath-"
Hermione felt her body react to his words instantly. She had to get away from him. Her dormant Gryffindor spirit snapped alive and her legs pulled her weak body upright. Her hands began shaking as she took quick steps backwards. Her head started to throb because it was the quickest movement she had made since the Battle of Hogwarts, and her body was not physically ready for such a dramatic change of pace. As she backed away from him, her eyes focused on his legs, as to not make eye contact out of fear, searching for any movement indicating he'd follow her. When the back of her legs tapped against the bed frame, she inched to the right until she reached an open space and continued to increase the distance between her and the wizard facing her.
She was so engrossed in her own terror that she initially didn't notice the confused look on Draco's face or the fact that he did not start cornering her as she assumed he would.
He said something inaudible to her, which was met by silence.
"Oh Granger, don't be silly, if I hadn't tried anything yet, why would I start now?"
She felt her insides harden. She wished fleetingly that she didn't understand what he meant. But she did.
Saying it aloud made the situation tangible. By Draco verbally acknowledging the reality of what Voldemort assigned him to do to her, she realized that there was no turning back now. Even if he promised he would not touch her, the fact that they both understood what their relationship was supposed to be represented a massive turn of events. There would be no time to grieve for Harry or Ron, or anything else she lost. If she wanted to remain alive, she would have to deal with Draco Malfoy. And if he wanted to stay alive, he would have to deal with her.
Now it made sense why he seemed to be sparing her humiliation. She would have to play along to survive.
So when he asked her hesitantly to accompany him for a tour of the manor's grounds, she silently surrendered. Maybe if she did what he asked long enough, he would leave her alone. Even so, she was still half-emerged in her post-war trance to critically weigh her options.
That is how she found herself now, beginning to feel the need to critically weigh her options, yet not fully back to herself yet, wrapped in the unfamiliar sheets and Narcissa's old clothing, more confused than ever.
What was Draco planning?
What was going to happen to her?
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Draco rotated the vial between his thumb and his middle finger for the twenty-fifth time. The pink liquid rushed from one end of the potion container to the next, leaving a trail of heart shaped bubbles in its wake. Instead of a lid, a miniature porcelain cream colored swan stood proudly with its wings extended. Osculum Diaboli.
According to Draco's sixth-year potion book, the Swedes developed a lust potion that was outlawed by the International Wizarding Potion Committee in 1898 after an Irish wizard was found keeping fourteen witches, four of whom he was related to, and a Spanish wizard trapped in his basement, injecting all of them with ample amounts of the potion on a regular basis in order to feed his insatiable sexual appetite. How Lucius got his greasy hands on such a rare and illegal brew was amazing. Draco didn't even want to know.
He twisted the vial as an unwanted image of Granger's ghostly face invaded his concentration.
"Fuck," he said aloud into his empty bedroom.
The awkwardness he felt during their walk was well on the way to dissolving. The old Draco was coming back.
Since that day, she kept to herself, only coming out to eat, sometimes so late at night that he went full days without seeing her. He did the math. Day one, the Battle of Hogwarts. On days two and three, Granger slept while he moped. From days four through six, Granger woke up, ate, showered, and walked through the garden with him. And on days seven and eight, Granger ignored everyone. That made just about seven days since he was assigned to her.
He wished his concept of time passing did not revolve around her. He needed to stop thinking about her.
Unfortunately, the 'Granger situation' was not one that operated on a simple 'out of sight, out of mind' basis. She was plaguing his thoughts. He tried to tell himself it was because he needed her around to impress her with his practiced kindness in order to get her to lie for him to the Dark Lord, but he knew there was another reason. One he did not feel comfortable admitting to himself. After their tour, her presence started becoming… familiar to say the least.
The problem was that there was no deadline for when Voldemort was going to kill her; thus, no deadline for when he was supposed to gain her trust. But there was always the potion...
NO.
He immediately stopped rotating the vial and set it firmly on his desk.
That was out of the question.
He would rather vomit slugs like Weasley in second year, or fuck a rabid banshee than ever consider… No.
He folded his hands and set them on this desk inches away from the vial.
He was going to have to do something, and fast, to get Granger out of her trance, because he was not sure how much time they had left. He needed to stop himself before he got desperate and started acting irrational.
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He was walking out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom a week later when it happened.
He was absent-mindedly (and a bit ironically) thinking about his birthday, which was only a couple of weeks away, and planning ways to get away from the manor. Draco even considered asking his mother if there was any way he could start looking for some sort of employment. He felt that he was becoming touched, being locked up in the manor with Granger constantly on his mind.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't see her standing in the darkness of the hallway, under a portrait of his great-great-great grandfather. He didn't see her eyes watching him, waiting for his next move from where she was standing. He didn't hear her bedroom door open or the creak of the ancient manor floors as she tapped her bare feet against the cold hardwood.
He was almost at his door when he heard a muffled sound that sounded like someone clearing his or her throat. At first, he thought it was one of the house-elves or the talking portraits; however, one can never be too sure, so, he reached into the pockets of his sleep trousers and wrapped his hand tightly around his wand before turning to face the source of the noise. For a brief second, he thought it was a ghost, or perhaps a thief, and it wasn't until he saw the crown of tangled brown hair piled on top of the intruder's head that he realized that it was just Granger. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Merlin Granger! You scared the shit out of me -"
"I said I wanted to go now."
Her voice sounded coarse and unleveled, exactly like someone who hadn't spoken for a week.
"What," Draco started, narrowing his eyes in hopes of forcing them to adjust to the dark. He had no idea how to begin processing what Granger just said. "What d-"
"I said – I want to leave," Granger repeated, in the same jagged voice, stopping briefly as though something within her prevented her from finishing the sentence smoothly.
She took a step closer to him. The moon, which was shining from the large window down the hallway, illuminated her face. She looked much older than eighteen to him.
Her face was fixed in an almost practiced look of determination, with her lips pursed tightly together and her eyebrows raised. Unfortunately for her, her eyes told a different story.
They looked like eyes of a person who had seen too much of the world. They looked tired.
No, her demeanor could not fool him. He knew those eyes too well.
Before he could come up with a response, Granger continued.
"This is preposterous, all of it," she stopped suddenly and broke out into a short bout of coughing, bringing a hand over her mouth and placing the other firmly over her chest. When she was finished, she made a sweeping gesture in the space between them with the hand that was closest to her mouth, and she continued, though her eyes were welling up with tears from the strain. "We both know this is absurd. I'm ready to go."
Draco was confused. What did she want him to do? Why did she choose now of all times to start jabbering away? How come as soon as Granger decided to open her mouth, she had to create a façade of control and strength to match? Why was she like this?
He tried to plan what he was going to say to make himself appear more in control than he really was. He had to think rationally about this because it could easily turn into a screaming row. He needed to think of his mother's plan, and calming Granger down would certainly work in his favor in the future.
His pride was rapidly becoming a figment of his imagination.
He sighed.
"I know that you're probably upset-"
"Oh, upset doesn't even begin to cover it Draco Malfoy," she interjected sharply, placing her hands on her hips.
Draco was taken aback yet again.
What the fuck?
The mudblood went from barely acknowledging the outside world one day to having a proper attitude the next.
She was not being reasonable.
"I think you need some rest or something-"
"Oh I've gotten plenty of rest don't you think? No. I cannot stay here a day longer. I'm done. You and I both know that this," she paused and waggled both of her index fingers between the space separating them to indicate she was addressing both "Is absolutely impossible and demented. I have to go."
Nice Draco. Be nice.
"Its not that simple, Granger. I wish it was," he said, pulling his hand out of his wand pocket and lowering his eyes.
"Bullshit Malfoy! Bullshit!"
The unexpected rise in volume caused him to jump so suddenly that his back knocked against his doorframe. He almost felt cornered by the small witch in front of him.
He was in such a state of shock that he didn't have enough time to respond to her outburst before another one followed.
"You don't want this! I don't want this! Lets call it off! Let me get out of this place! I don't want anything from you!"
Her eyes were filled with rage, and she started panting dramatically.
He wished he had enough humor left to laugh at how silly she looked in that moment. A part of him knew her anger was justified and another part of him felt like being a prat.
The plan. The plan. The plan.
"Yeah, sorry about that, but I don't think you can just leave. I know this isn't ideal for the both of us, but at least you're alive-"
"Don't talk to me about life! I'd rather die than ever let you hurt me!"
"Merlin Granger! How many times do I have to tell you I won't try anything! "
Shit. No Draco, calm down.
She scuffed.
"Right! What you people wouldn't do to save your own lives! You would do anything Voldemort asks-"
"Don't you dare say that name aloud-"
"What? Scared he will show up and off us both? What does it matter anyway; he's already won!"
"Exactly why you should treat his name with a little more respect!"
"Respect it how? By being afraid like you people? That acting like it doesn't exist will make it go away? Like what you and your mum did to me? Like you did with Dumbledore on the astronomy tow-"
Draco felt his palms grow sweaty with rage and he held them firmly by his sides.
Yes, yes prat-Draco it is then.
He was going to let her have it.
"YOU know nothing about that. If I were you I would keep my mouth shut about things I didn't understand dirty little mud-"
"Oh let me guess!" she let out a terse laugh. "MUDBLOOD! Seven years and a war later, and you haven't come up with any new material. I'm not really surprised. I always knew there wasn't much going on up there." She pointed toward his forehead.
"You're one to talk! You spend the last week moping around here like some petrified lunatic. I thought that you went mental!"
"Um, well, let me see," she said mockingly, extending her hand to list off her excuses. "My friends are dead, we lost the war, my sodding wand was destroyed, and I'm stuck here with two of the most superficial nitwits in the Wizarding world for Merlin knows how long! I'm not you, Draco Malfoy. I have emotions. A person cannot just ignore trauma! It's not human! But I'm back to myself now and I'm ready to get out of here-"
"Oh don't play games with me mudblood, you of all people can't get over what happened last week that quickly. Now you're all put-together all of a sudden huh? You can't fool me, I know that expression in your eyes too well." He hadn't meant to say the last bit aloud, but in his anger, it tumbled out without passing his censor. Regardless, he felt a small surge of victory as Granger briefly lowered her eyes.
But she was not one to give up so easily.
"If you aren't going to try anything, then why am I still here? There would be no point in keeping me around! It doesn't make any logical sense! And why have you been so… accommodating to me? I'm not exactly in a position of power in this situation-"
"That's exactly why you should stop squeezing your stubby nose into my business-"
"Another curious question," she sarcastically placed her hand other her chin as to mock someone deep in thought. "Why didn't you say anything when Voldemort paired us up? You could have told him killing me on the spot would be a better punishment. Of course, that would require some bullocks on your and mummy's parts, but if you hate me as much as you did at Hogwarts, that wouldn't be a problem. Or you could have lied and said we were mates so that he would give me away to someone else. Why didn't you speak up, Malfoy? Now you are stuck and have to do something. If you aren't planning on hurting me then you should have no problem letting me go. But you are planning something. I can see it written across your pointy face! I want to let you know whatever it is won't work. He will find out if you don't do what he says."
"Shut up, Granger! I'm not planning anything! But it's not like I can do anything about our arrangement! I did not choose you! And yes, you didn't choose me! But the Dark Lord made up his mind and I can't exactly go back on my word! What am I supposed to do? How does that look if you just leave? You'll probably go running to put the Order back together, and then I look like a moron-"
"Please do not pretend this is about your pride! You are worried about saving your arse above all else! And what I do when I leave here is none of your concern-"
"Well, well, well. I was right! You would go straight to the fucking Order-"
"WHO ELSE DO I HAVE, MALFOY?"
She looked furious. Pupils dilated, hands firmly at her sides, and breathing heavily.
He obviously touched a nerve.
"No matter, they're all dead anyway," he tried to sound nonchalant and flippant, but it came off tired and weak.
The room became silent apart from the sound of Granger's erratic breathing.
She looked down briefly as if she was lost in some thought before she continued.
"While that might be true, but what is it? What are you planning? Imperius? Polyjuice potion? What is it Malfoy? Whatever it is, Voldemort is smarter than you might think. There are ways of finding out what happened in this manor even if you do not tell him the truth. So you have to make a decision. I know you hate me and can't touch me. So let me go, and when Voldemort finds me on my own, he will kill me on my own. That way, I'm out of your hair-"
"That's the problem Granger! You think this is all about you! He will kill me too if you disappear!"
"So the alternative is what? You and me, master and whore-"
Her words made Draco feel sick.
"Don't you talk about it like that!"
"Like what, Malfoy? You and I both know what he wants us to do! There is no getting around it! I know you don't want me! And even if you did, you would have to take what you wanted by force because there is no way-"
"Oh, and I thought the Dark Lord was the pervert! I will let you in on a little secret," he leaned in closer and narrowed his eyes at her, "I will never lower myself to so much as touching you. You are the scum at the bottom of the Wizarding world. If the Dark Lord would sweep in tonight to kill you, I wouldn't stop him. You should be honored that he gave you to me. Not only did he give you the chance to serve a higher caliber of wizard, he gave you a chance to live longer. You should be kissing the ground that I walk on. Some of your dead friends would have loved to be in your position."
He didn't realize how much he questioned the truthfulness of these words until after he uttered them.
"Your argument is invalid based on the point that I mentioned earlier about rather being dead," she retorted in a snippy tone, folding her arms over her chest.
"Whatever Granger, you can't leave-"
"We'll see about that won't we?" she challenged.
"Don't be an idiot! This isn't Hogwarts! This game is bigger than you and me."
"I would give you the same advice."
Draco paused before speaking.
"Merlin, I almost forgot how much I hate you. I wish you would just go back into your fucking trance you stupid bitch." As the words came out, Draco had to fight to keep his face in a tight, indifferent expression.
Granger narrowed her eyes.
"The feeling is mutual."
"Well I am getting tired of your bullshit, so I am off to bed. Sod off. And don't try anything frisky tonight either. At Malfoy Manor, someone is always watching."
Draco then turned to face his bedroom, pulling open the door and letting it slam behind him, right in Granger's face.
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Hey all!
A massive thanks is in order for this chapter. First and foremost, to my beta 'arosesinnocence' for not only beta-ing this chapter, but going back and beta-ing the first three as well. Seriously guys, this happened in REAL life, she simply is amazing. So I recommend everyone go back and read the first three revised chapters. Not only do they make waaayyyy more sense, they are more cohesive and I believe you will enjoy them better and actually understand whats happening (I'm so serious).
Also, thanks to 'Tom Felton me up' (omg what a username) for your thoughtful and lovely review (thanks so much!), 'twelvex' for your reviews and 'Cattigirl' for your enthusiasm (I love it!). Also everyone who has reviewed so far!
Please feel free to go back and review the first three revised chapters. You guys are awesome!