Moments in Time

Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling & C.S. Lewis

V: Finding a Purpose

or

"The trick to being smart is knowing when to play dumb."

Dear Merlin, the sun bright this morning!

The bright rays peeked in through the wide-open window, casting a white light on her hair that made it seem shades lighter than it naturally was. Hermione groaned as she lifted her head up from her pillow, her hair falling down her back is a mass of scrunched curls. She knew it resembled a bird's nest, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Running a hand through the tangled mess, she brought up her other hand to wipe the sleep dust from her eyes. Her toes curled around the soft carpet beneath her feet and she sighed at the luxury.

She then frowned.

It was late morning.

Why was she still in bed? Sally usually woke her at the crack of dawn to make breakfast. Molly Weasley's pancake recipe was well loved by the Kader family and they demanded to have it for breakfast on most days.

The sun's vibrant rays sent a glossy gold sheen through the room, it seemed ethereal ... unnatural.

The alarm bells in Hermione's head began to ring as she noted, for the first time since waking up, that she was in her old bedroom.

Not the one that she shared with Sally in Narnia, but the one back home with her parents in London.

How was this possible?

Hope set alight within her, had all that been but a dream?

Was she really back home?

Her parents?

Excitement filled her as she scrambled out, pulling off the last bit of her duvet that had been covering her, and running down the staircase and into the family room.

Her eyes were wild, filled with hope and anticipation.

And then it dimmed.

Reality hit her like a tonne of bricks. Dejection coloured her expression. The room was furnished, but bare. It did not show the signs of a lived in home, it felt cold and vacant. Tears collected in her eyes as she walked closer to the mantelpiece, and she couldn't stem the flow of them as she stared back at the photos. The irony was not lost on her. Where those frames had once been filled with loving photographs of a family, was now displaying a sole figure. Her.

The day that she had obliviated her parents, she had watched as her face disappeared from their lives, being erased from their memories. Now, here she stood, willing to give anything to have them back, to experience their love again, to see their faces (which were slowly becoming a blurry memory, the more time she spent in Narnia) it at least a photograph, but it was not there. It was cruel. A cruel, cruel punishment.

Choking back a sob, her fingers lingered over a metal frame that once housed a photo that she had been particularly fond of, her father and her at London Zoo on her eleventh birthday - just after she'd found out that she was a witch. Staring back at the photo of a young Hermione - excited by life - seemed alien to her. It had been a long while since she'd experienced that particular thrill. The war had changed her in ways that she hadn't initially realised, or perhaps, in the depths of her mind she had, but was adamant to admit it.

Her eyes roamed over the room again, why was she here? Was she dreaming? A spark ignited in her brain and she walked over to the wooden bookcase beside the fireplace. Plucking a random book from the shelf, she scanned the pages. She scrunched her face, as the words seemed to morph on the page, they were distorted as though they had been spelled with a confundus charm. She looked away from the page and back again. She gasped and dropped the book as the page now displayed the image of a majestic lion.

She was dreaming.

'When you dream, you cannot read words', her mind recalled from a book. Having realised the situation, the room cleared, she watched as the picture frames and furniture that held too many memories of nights in front of the fire and TV dinners disappeared until she was left with a barren room.

She knew that she had entered a lucid dream.

She had read something about this before. Only briefly, but it had fascinated her so much. The thought of being able to realise that you were dreaming and henceforth taking charge of your dream; bending everything to your own will. She wondered what she could accomplish.

Gathering her courage, she closed her eyes and thought of Aslan.

She was no longer in her childhood home anymore. She was in a meadow - a beautiful one at that. Long blades of emerald-green grass tickled the palms of her hands as she held them out; like her bedroom, this place was cast in an ethereal golden glow making it seem impossible - unreal. Everything was perfect, the perfect colour, perfect smell and even the air!

She smiled almost childishly as she took in the scenery, it was like it came out of a storybook. The smile froze on her face, though, when she spotted a large object sitting in the dead centre of the perimeter. The shape of it resembled the veil at the Ministry's Department of Mysteries. Her heart stopped and then restarted at a thundering pace. Was it fear or anticipation? She couldn't quite pick out a single emotion running through her mind. But as she drew closer to the object, she realised how relieved she was over the fact that it was just a mirror and not the veil that had carried away Sirius's body.

Frowning, she stepped nearer to the mirror. Her head cocked to the side as a reflection of her stared back - her hair was no longer a nest, but in beautiful glossy curls that she had never been quite able to accomplish. Frowning, she reached her hand into her hair and found that it was dry and still tangled.

Upon closer inspection, she found that her eyes crinkled less and her lashes were thick, her brows were less bushy and more tamed, she was slightly taller, and her stomach was flatter and just a tad more toned.

This mirror was not a reflection.

It was a portrayal of the perfect version of her.

Hermione gasped.

She was no longer alone.

There, standing beside her were her parents, and just behind, Ron, Harry and - and the Weasleys - Molly, Arthur, Fred, George ... Remus! And even Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. They'd won the war! Voldemort was dead at Dumbledore's feet. They had succeeded. They were happy. They were alive …

She spun around – grinning from ear to ear, wanting to celebrate with her family and friend … only to find that she was still alone.

Breathing shallowly, she turned back towards the mirror.

There they were again.

Her trembling hand reached towards the mirror, silent tears leaked out as the images of her family and friends smiled sympathetically at her. Ron squeezed her hand. Ginny gave her a pat on the back. Fred and George were pulling faces in the background, trying to make her smile, they succeeded, only slightly, but as ever, they took any victory they could get and hi-fived each other triumphantly. Her mother reached out and gently ran her hand through her hair. Oh, how she wished...

No.

This was a lie.

A harsh, brutal trickery.

They were not here.

They had lost the war.

They had lost so much in the war.

Fred.

Ron.

Harry.

Neville.

Lavender.

Padma.

Dumbledore.

They died.

She died.

It was a trap.

Furious, she pulled her hand away from the mirror and clenched her fists. Knuckles turned white and nails dug into palms. She took a step away from the mirror, watching as the images disappeared like wisps of smoke until it was just an image of her perfect self again.

She knew what this mirror was. It was the Mirror of Erised. Harry and Ron had told her stories about it from their adventures during their first year at Hogwarts.

She stared at the inscription on the mirror.

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

"I show not your face but your hearts desire," she said as she read the inscription for what it really stood for. She thought it was sadistic, to show something that you would never be able to achieve. And though that temptation to step closer, just for another moment, so that she could see her family again, was there, she didn't allow herself. It would be merciless to put herself through it. She supposed that she and Harry shared one more thing in common now - the desire to have their family again.

She turned away, heart heavy and leaden with guilt and regret, she straightened her posture and lifted her chin. It would not do to wither away in front of a mirror that showed impossible desires. She was dreaming. Nothing that is achieved in the dream world will return with her to reality.

When she opened her eyes, her heart stilled, for in front of her, just under a hundred yards away stood a majestic lion.

Her eyes widened. The lion, with gleaming burnt yellow fur and wise golden eyes with an imposing presence stared right into her soul. She knew she should be afraid, for it was easy to tell that he was no tame lion, and yet she knew he was good - that he meant her no harm. With the courage of a Gryffindor, she stepped forward, one step at a time until she stood right before him, her eyes staring right back into his.

"Dear heart." He greeted. She let his voice bask her in warmth that she'd never known before.

"Aslan?" She asked, her voice small, like a child's. He did not reply, but offered his mane to her, and Hermione instinctively reached out and pet him, as though he was a common house cat. It seemed ridiculous really.

"I've been looking for you." She spoke, breaking the calm quiet that had settled around them. He purred, letting her know that he knew.

"What causes you to seek me, child?" He questioned as Hermione continued to stroke his silky fur.

"I was hoping that you would give me some answers."

"Answers to what questions?" The way he spoke was reminiscent to Professor Dumbledore, his voice held a world of knowledge. But Professor Dumbledore had a habit of not sharing much; she hoped this wasn't the case with Aslan.

"I don't - I don't know what my purpose is," she admitted the deep, dark thought that had been on her mind since she'd arrived in Narnia.

"Your purpose?" He questioned, but she knew that he knew more.

"Yes! Back in Hogwarts, my purpose was to help Harry. Help him on his quest to defeat Voldemort, I knew it and he knew it and I failed. We both failed. I just, I don't know what my purpose is in Narnia? Why was I brought here? There is no impending war, the Pevensies have helped Caspian and there certainly is no White Witch. So why am I here? Why can't I be with my family?"

"Such inquisitiveness," he stated.

She frowned, that was not an answer.

"Intuitiveness is certainly one of your strengths, do not lose it Child, as you are right. You were brought here for a purpose." Hermione looked at him expectantly, her hand stilled in his fur as she awaited his answer.

"Your duty is to protect the Kings and Queens of Narnia."

Hermione retracted her hand as she stared at the lion in bemusement.

"Protect them?" She echoed. "How could I possibly protect them? They're Kings and Queens! They have a whole regiment at their disposal! From what I've read, they appear to be perfectly capable of protecting themselves without the help anyway. What good am I?"

"Do not disparage your importance." He had said it in the same even tone, but Hermione could not help but feel like she had been suitably chastised.

"Sorry," she mumbled, but she couldn't help but still feel confused, "how am I supposed to help them?" She inquired again, changing her words. "I don't even have my magic anymore."

"Your magic will never leave you for it is the essence of you."

"But how can I perform it without my wand?"

"You have a wand."

"No, I'm afraid you are mistaken, I - I lost my wand."

"I am never mistaken Child." The warning in his tone was quite clear.

Hermione frowned as she thought back to the day when she and Sally had searched the woods for her wand. Then, she remembered. Her eyes light up in realisation and Aslan smiled. She closed her eyes and thought of the carved wood that they had found in the woods and when she opened her eyes, it was there - in her hand.

She twirled the piece of wood in her hand, for the first time inspection the carvings on it. At the base of the wood, was the carved face of a lion, one that closely resembled Aslan, beneath him, leading to the very tip of the wand were intricately carved caricatures of myth and legends, fawns, dwarves, dryads, mermaids and centaurs. Of course, most of them were no longer myths to Hermione as they were inhabitants if Narnia.

"This is yours," she said as she held the wand out towards him, just knowing that he was the one who had left it in the woods for her.

The Lion's eyes gleamed brightly for a moment before they disappeared beneath his lids. Hermione watched in awe as he breathed over her hand. Tendrils of golden smoke engulfed her as they disappeared into her wand. And, as if by magic, the wand thrummed to life. She gasped as she felt her magic leaking through her fingertips and into the wand. They say that the wand chooses the witch, but the power she felt beneath her fingers was one that she had never felt before with her vine wood. This was made for her.

"Lumos," she whispered and immediately clenched her eyes shut as the meadow shine with light as bright as the sun. "Nox!" She exclaimed quickly.

The light put out, but like a tonne of bricks, reality also suddenly came crashing back down.

"This is a dream."

Her childlike glee crumbled. None of this was real. Aslan was no longer next to her. Her wand was still throbbing with magic, but it was a lie. "Wake up Hermione! Wake up!" She shouted, grieved and desperate.

Suddenly, she was no longer in a meadow.

And there was no longer a ground beneath her feet.

It was pitch black, and she was falling.

She screamed.

"Really Edmund? Do you not sleep?"

Edmund startled at the voice. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not heard Lucy entering his chambers.

"Is knocking considered a disinclination now?" He questioned, ignoring her own. He placed the book in his hands back onto his desk.

"Why? Is there a reason that I should be knocking?" Lucy teased, her lips tilted into a half smile. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that immediately made him wary, he responded by furrowing his brows at her, in both confusion and disapproval.

"Oh, don't play dumb. I saw you looking at her the other day and don't think that I haven't noticed your more recurrent visits to the pub either."

"Looking at who? And I do not visit the tavern just for a drink, you'd be surprised at how loose-lipped some people turn out to be after a drink or two."

"So you just frequent the bar for gossip?" The dubiety in her tone was evident.

"Why else would I go?"

"Well, apart from getting sloshed with Edward," Edmund glared at her, but she continued, unfazed; "I remember a certain brunette who you just couldn't keep your eyes off - you may have fooled her but I saw you – andmy sources tell me that she works at there now." That (infuriating) cheeky smirk was back.

"Who, Hermione?" Edmund asked, with incredulity, his voice raising several pitches above his usual baritone.

Lucy was not fooled, nor was Dagger. The jaguar made a sound, somewhere in the background, that sounded like a snort and Edmund had known Dagger for long enough to discern exactly what this noise meant. Edmund cast his protector a betrayed glance.

"You couldn't be more obvious if you tried," Lucy commented, as she floated over to his bed and perched against the comforter.

The siblings shared a tense moment of glaring challengingly at each other.

"Why are you here Lucy?" Edmund questioned. He broke his gaze away from her and rubbed his forehead; his daily quota for Lucy's madness had reached its limit, any more and he would surely crack.

"Do you like her or not?"

Edmund sighed with besetment.

"She's a strange one, I'm just keeping an eye on her." Lucy gaped at him.

"Don't tell me that's your chat up line to the girls!" She cried, looking half amused and half aghast. Edmund glowered at her. "You're not normally like this." He raised an eyebrow. "You're not the one to take a fancy to someone without knowing them. And certainly not like Peter who prefers women who warm his bed at night - with no commitment ... so why her?"

Sometimes, Lucy was just far too astute for her own good.

"Just drop it Lucy. I promise you that if there is anything that you need to know, I will tell you." Edmund acquiesced, and as an afterthought, he added, "and don't let Peter hear you say that either. I don't know how you found out."

"I have eyes and ears everywhere, brother mine." Edmund grunted; he knew that there was more truth to that than he would like to admit. Lucy had a way with people, and whilst he used his words to trap people into a corner for information, Lucy just smiled and catered with an overabundance of kindness. His sister was a deadly force, for she, as someone so unassuming, disarmed opponents in a manner they would least suspect.

"It's a strange night," She said. Edmund cast her a bemused look, the shadow cast on her face told him that she didn't come into his room just to be a bother. He straightened in his chair.

"What do you mean?"

"Something doesn't feel ... right." Edmund rolled his eyes, Lucy always had a flair for being dramatic, and it was a quality that she and Peter shared.

"Okay, I think that probably is because you're up at a time of night you are not used to." Edmund mocked, his seriousness ebbing away.

"Charming Ed," she said as she stuck her tongue out at him. He snorted. "I would have gone to Peter if I knew that you were going to be such a sourpuss but you're the closest."

"We need to get you a different wing." Edmund deadpanned.

"I think you'd start to feel lonely if I wasn't nearby." Edmund agreed with her, but you'd have to run him through with a sword before he ever admitted that to Lucy. She would never let it go if she knew. But he had a feeling, as he spied her smile that she knew already. Lucy had a knack for that. Knowing things that she's not supposed to.

"Oh, are those the accounts?" She asked as she walked over to him and because she was the youngest (and someone who practically got away with everything) she plopped down into her brother's lap. Lucy ignored his groan and complaints about how heavy she was and focused on the pages with interest.

"Yeah, it is," Edmund, sighed tiredly, his hand ran over his face again and into his tousled hair.

"I know that I don't know much about numbers, but I'm pretty sure that it cannot possibly be ones and zeros on the page. That doesn't even make sense! Where does it start and where does it end?" Lucy voiced the same debate Edmund had been asking himself.

"You're telling me." He mumbled; there was a great deal of torment in his voice. Edmund had no doubt been trying to de-encrypt these pages all week, and was apparently getting nowhere with it.

"Whe-?"

"Shh!" Edmund suddenly said. Dagger was also abrupt in his movements; the jaguar was on his feet, looking alert and ready to pounce.

"What?" Lucy whispered, and then she heard it. It wasn't obvious, you really had to strain to hear the noise, but it was a plea for help.

"Somebody, help me, please!" The voice cried in the distance.

"It's coming from the courtyard," Dagger said, his ears were more sensitive so he was able to identify which part of the castle it was travelling from.

Edmund hastened to his feet, Lucy watched as he haphazardly fastened his chainmail back on along with his sword.

"Stay here," he ordered Lucy with warning that Lucy knew better than to contest with. Edmund nodded at Dagger as an unspoken command to guard his sister.

The wooden door shut with a loud bang.

Lucy started speaking her prayers to Aslan, pleading for the soul whose cries for help grew louder and louder.

Hermione woke up to the sound of her screams echoing the room. She winced at the ear-piercingly deafening noise. Her hands clapped over her ears as she willed for the noise to decease, her magic, for some reason, recoiled at the sound, curling up into ball like a scared cat. She could feel her magic wanting to push out, to push away the source of the noise and that was when she realised it was not her screaming.

Her eyes snapped open, and she peered into the room, wondering what was causing the noise when suddenly, the door slammed open and the Kader brothers stumbled in with their sword poised for attack. Oliver stared wildly around the room, taking in Hermione's shaken expression before turning to the source.

It was Sally.

She was screaming like a banshee.

"Sally! Wake up!" Peter commanded, wincing in pain as she screamed louder when he moved closer.

Hermione scrambled out of her bed and moved closer to them, choosing to stand at the foot of Sally's bed, as any closer caused physical pain. Her magic curdled inside her, as though it was frightened, settling into a queasy mush at the pit of her stomach. It made her feel sick.

Tobias and Henry crashed through the room, slightly late to the party (but the only ones who had been smart enough to bring a couple of lanterns with them). Finally, some light shed into the pitch-black room.

"She is awake." Hermione breathed as she stared into Sally's unseeing eyes, her mouth still open in a never-ending scream. 'How is she breathing?'

"Someone wake her up!" Edward demanded, sounding just as disturbed and hysteric as the rest of them felt. Were it not for the dire situation, it would have been a comical sight seeing all of them standing around a bed with hands over their ears like children.

"No, don't!" Hermione went to prevent Derrick from doing more harm than good as he put a hand on Sally's shoulder and shook her wildly.

And suddenly, the screaming stopped.

Everything breathed a sigh of relief, unclamping their ears.

"Sally?" Hermione asked in a quiet voice, as not to startle the young girl.

They all jumped several feet in the air as Sally gasped loudly, taking in a large, deep, shuddering breath before she started to shake, collapsing in tears. Worried faces stared at the youngest, not knowing what to do, still disorientated and perplexed. They needn't have worried though as Sally spoke without them prompting.

"I saw-" she whispered, her voice bled with such horror and anguish that the frowns on their faces deepened.

"What did you see Sal?" Peter asked kindly, stroking her hair gently.

"Death. I saw death."

Hermione promptly threw up into the wastebasket.

Needless to say, none of them found that sleep that night - aside from Sally.

Derrick had somehow coerced her back to bed, and Edward stayed with her until he was sure that her night terrors would not be returning. He finally joined the group sitting in front of the open-hearth drinking cups of cocoa that Hermione had brewed to remove the acidic taste of vomit from her mouth.

Edward tiredly ran a hand over his face, weary from the events of the night like they all were.

"Thanks," he whispered to Hermione as she kindly handed him a mug full of the steaming beverage - one of her specialties (she refused to tell them the secret ingredient that she added to it to make it so irresistibly good). Hermione smiled, curling up on the couch next to him, placing her feet in Oliver's lap through a motion of familiarity that she had found amongst the Kader's.

"This happened before, hasn't it?" She questioned though it came out more like a statement.

They were curiously reticent. Hermione let a moment pass, opening her mouth to speak again when Peter beat her to it.

"Twice before," He confirmed.

Hermione's heart thudded, once had been quite an experience for her. She was still slightly shaken from it.

"When?"

"Curiosity killed the cat." Tobias said smartly from his seat, it was unusual to see him so serious. The brothers stared at him with confusion; the phrase was alien to them, before they chalked it off as him being quirky.

Hermione smirked but shrugged at him, unapologetic, before she turned her inquisitive eyes back to Peter.

Peter sighed, "there were two occurrences when we've heard Sally scream like that. The first time was when she was born and our mother ... passed away." Hermione winced. "Of course, everyone chalked that up to the babe having a connection with her mother…and knowing when that connection had been severed. No one thought much of it."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, not quite awkward but not pleasant either.

"And the second was just before our father passed away," Oliver said, his arm coming to rest on Hermione's shin.

Suddenly, Hermione felt intensely guilty for having asked. The occupants of the room were in a state of melancholy, each falling into their dark thoughts. Hermione finally had the peace of mind to think of her dream.

Aslan.

Her magic.

Her magic that had quite literally blanched at Sally's scream. Her magic had wanted to retaliate - to fight back as though Sally was a threat. Her magic had been threatened by Sally's scream. By a singular scream. But that scream was so loud, so piercing, and so unnatural, it couldn't have just been a night terror. Hermione recalled Sally's wide-open eyes; it was as though she had been in a trance. She was missing something. She knew that she had all the clues right in front of her. What was she missing? 'Death. I saw death.'

"Of course!" She muttered out loud, not believing that she hadn't caught on sooner.

Lost in her thoughts, she remained oblivious to the Kader men staring at her like she had completely lost the plot. But Hermione was too far absorbed in her thoughts to be aware.

A slight shift of the arm that Oliver had placed on her shin brought her back to reality. She realised, quite belatedly, that they were all gaping at her.

"Sorry," she said meekly. She was met with bemused gazes and arched eyebrows.

"A Lion for your thoughts?"

"No, no ... I just, - need some rest. Night!" Hermione rushed off upstairs, eager to find the wand that she had tucked away and her bag where she knew she had packed away the book of Fantastic Beasts and where to find them. The six men stared completely baffled at the staircase.

"Gals are weird," Henry muttered.

"Here, here." The brothers echoed.

Edmund ran, as fast as he could, towards the courtyard from where Dagger believed the shouts were coming from. Caught up in his momentum, he failed to see Peter and Caspian arriving from the North and East chambers respectively. The three Kings collided in their haste and landed unceremoniously on their arses. The men looked over each other, their postures relaxed slightly when they realised that neither one were in danger.

"You heard it too?" Edmund asked rhetorically.

"Susan?" Peter questioned Caspian (who shared the same wing).

"She's safe in her room, wasn't too pleased when I knocked to wake her up."

Edmund snorted, not believing that that was Susan's reaction to seeing Caspian. He was not naive enough to believe that Susan and Caspian were above midnight trysts. Especially when they shared the same wing with no one else near their vicinity.

"Lucy was with me, I left her with Dagger," Edmund said before Peter asked.

"Well, we better go and see." Peter said, as he theatrically pulled out his sword before making his way. Edmund and Caspian shared a look of fond exasperation as they, with less grandeur, pulled out their own swords.

"Don't suppose it was just one of the guards messing about, do you?" Caspian whispered as they neared the courtyard.

"If it were, they're in for a real treat during training tomorrow," Edmund said, gritting his teeth.

"I'm certain that it isn't," Peter said gravely as they found themselves on the edge of a crowd.

The Kings pushed through the mass of palace guards, dignitaries and Lords who had created a circle around whatever was in the middle. People quickly began to realise that their Kings had arrived so they stepped out of the way to let them pass, but were evidently too shocked to remember to bow down to them. Which Peter, Caspian and Edmund appreciated, as now was not the time to be exchanging pleasantries.

Though nothing could have prepared them for the horrific sight they found.

It was Count Edgware who they had heard begging, and he certainly won't be able to do so anymore. In the middle of the courtyard, lay the man's unmoving body. Blood was pooling around him, his throat had been slashed and there was a dagger sticking out of his vocal cord for added effect.

"There's a note stuck to it." Edmund rasped; his voice tinged with the queasiness he was feeling.

Peter bravely stepped forward, cringing he pulled the dagger out of the man's throat. The squelching sound it made had some foreign dignitaries dry heaving somewhere in the crowd. Those who were faint-hearted looked away. Peter picked up the parchment that was soaked in blood, only just able to read out the words printed on it.

"You have been warned." Peter read, his voice carried over the courtyard, echoing in the silent chamber.

Everyone held their breaths. A fool could see that it was a clear threat.

Caspian moved forward and looked into the dead man's eyes with compassion, what a terrible end to his life. Count Edgware had been a gentle family man; he had a wife and two daughters. Leaning down, Caspian offered him the only respect he could and closed his eyelids.

"Rest in peace. May Aslan carry your soul to a better place," Caspian prayed. Everyone bowed their heads in a moment of respect, some muttering prayers of their own.

"The castle is in lockdown," Peter ordered, breaking the silence. "No one is to leave. This was a cold-blooded murder and the culprit will be caught and punished." Fury dripped from his voice. Edmund shivered.

The High King was angry, and that in itself sent fear down the spines of all those present.

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A.N./ Thank you once again, to my loyal reviewers. You guys are the best, and this story would not be surviving without you as I would not have the encouragement to continue writing without your support.

So, thanks, once again to: Royal Lemur, twztdwildcat and Comic Critic. [Your reward: (.;) ]

I hope you guys are excited about the next chapter!