Since term started on such an exciting note, one that hardly weakened thanks to her busy schedule, Hermione's birthday managing to sneak up on her wasn't much of a surprise. She blinked her eyes open on the morning of the nineteenth, noticed the date, and grinned against her pillow.

It had been a rough start of term, but she had at least this one guaranteed good day, didn't she?

She got up, dressed, and grabbed what she would need for their double potions period after breakfast before making her way down to the common room. Harry immediately engulfed her in a stronger-that-usual hug, his bright grin infectious.

"Happy Birthday, 'Mione."

They walked to the Great Hall together, only vaguely aware that Ronald wasn't following them like he usually did. Hermione guessed that he'd catch up at some point, but for now, she'd enjoy the quiet. Part of her hoped he slept through breakfast so she didn't have to watch or hear, him eat. She'd even consider it a gift.

Harry and Hermione hadn't even finished piling breakfast items onto their plates when the mail came. A small fleet of owls landed around Hermione, and Harry helped her give bits of toast to each bird that left her mail. He grinned at her morning haul.

"Start opening," he told her. "I'll dish you out some eggs. Sausage?"

She picked up one of the boxes. "Please."

She looked for her parents' gift first, finding the small lilac box quickly. Inside was a purple velvet pouch of galleons and some of the new dental product samples they'd gotten at their convention. There were also instructions to give them her honest opinion on said samples. She imagined they were weighing which to implement at the practice and was touched that they'd gone so far as to mail her such things. She'd been picky about toothpaste as a child, leading to the unofficial tradition of using her as their 'in-house quality assurance specialist', as her father liked to say. It made her smile that they were trying to keep her involved in their muggle dental practice while she was away at her magical boarding school. Tom would probably find it funny.

She frowned at the thought of the fifth year boy who would be sleeping until later in the day. She wasn't even sure of his birthday, as they hadn't needed to exchange such information. Their companionship revolved almost exclusively around sharing knowledge and Tom trying to find the limits of what she was magically capable of learning. Every time she passed one of his little challenges, the game only got more entertaining for him.

She got to learn well ahead of the curriculum, of course, and Tom's philosophical views towards magic were far more interesting to her than the 'light' focused methods they taught at Hogwarts, but thinking about him sat oddly in her chest all the same.

Tom didn't seem like much of a birthday person to her. He considered most normal social niceties odd or a waste of energy. Besides, they weren't friends. Tom Riddle did not have friends. He had followers and a protogeé.

It'd probably be best not to mention anything to him at all. She wouldn't annoy him with something so trivial. What would she even gain from doing so? Gushing over her day to someone who could very well lose respect for her since she'd been so excited about something utterly mundane in his eyes?

She shook her head to clear it. She'd keep quiet about it when Tom woke. Hopefully, she'd have the strength of will to not be so bloody obvious about the occasion when she met him in the room that evening.

Hermione shrunk her parents' gifts before tucking them away in her robe pocket and reaching for another box, this time in shiny pewter wrapping. She shook it gently and heard several satisfying rattles. Books, she was certain. She suspected a weightlessness charm was at play since none of the owls had seemed worn down.

A note from Sirius sat inside.

Happy Birthday, kiddo!

Fourteen, eh? But the mind and soul of a witch twice my age.

I have it on good authority that you're nearly out of things to read purely for fun, so I sent you some of the books from your room. Owl me anything you want returned to your shelves. Kreacher will likely be delighted to do any favor for you, including refusing to let me shelve the books. And if you want something in particular, you know you need only ask.

You'll find my actual present under the books and Kreacher's gifts for you. (It's smelled like chocolate in this house for two days and I've had exactly none of it until this morning when the elf finally saw fit to give me extras from whatever he put together for you.) It's charmed excessively, so most of your classmates will simply see a Gryffindor-colored Quidditch jersey, but your closest companions will see your true colors… You're not one for sports, but since Reg's old jersey suited you so well, I figured it was only right that you had one of your own.

Have a great day, love.

~Sirius

P.S. Keeping an eye on our Harry for me? Next time you write, let me know how he's fairing. Is he truly doing as alright as he says? I know you'll probably keep his secrets for him if he has any (like I'd expect his best mate to do), but I also think you'd give me a heads up if he really needed something. Don't worry about writing today of course, it's your day, but sending a second letter would've been awfully suspicious, don't you think?

Sirius's letter made a blend of sadness and warmth bloom in her chest and she was glad that Harry was focused on trying to organize her gifts into a manageable pile while he ate instead of trying to read over her shoulder. She had been worrying about Harry since their dreadful boggarts, but he insisted that he was fine. It had smarted at the time, but he was over it.

She didn't believe him.

He'd been sleeping poorly since they got back, more so since their first DADA lesson. She'd bet the pouch of galleons in her robe pocket that he'd been having nightmares.

She'd write Sirius later.

Digging into the box, she found the green and silver jersey he'd mentioned, grinning at the white-lettered GRANGER printed across the back. The two little boxes from Kreacher had tags reading Unshrink Me! and were full of all manner of desserts. Some of which were just for her, some of which were For Miss 'Mione to Share. She was beyond pleased to note that there were just enough additional servings in the share box for all the friends she actually wanted to share with.

One of the other small presents on the table was signed from Lucius and Narcissa, who gifted her a startlingly heavy pouch of galleons. As well as the explicit instructions to enjoy her first Hogsmeade trip to its fullest.

A wide, flat box signed with an elegantly scripted A gave her pause. She couldn't think of an 'A' that would send her a birthday present. Opening it to find a selection of chocolates didn't help her solve the mystery, but she did get a few Oohs from her nearby housemates.

"How fancy!" Fay Dubar gushed from a few seats down. "That's a really expensive brand, Hermione. I think it's Parisian? Dad gets Mum a box of truffles every year for Valentine's. They're her favorite!"

"I didn't even realize," said Hermione. "A wizarding chocolatier?"

"Mhm!" Fay's nod was as enthusiastic as her smile. "One of the best, too! Lucky you!"

Hermione offered her dorm mate a small grin. "Guess so."

She still had no idea who it was from but set the box aside carefully all the same. She certainly wasn't going to complain about mystery expensive chocolates.

Another puzzlingly signed gift - F this time - was in the pile, near a package that was unsigned altogether. The unknown F gifted her with the softest pair of light grey socks she'd ever owned, a very pretty silver shawl, and gloves to match. An odd assortment, she thought, but she liked them all the same. They'd certainly be useful during winter.

The unmarked package contained an old, thick volume bound in dark green leather. The markings on the book made no sense to her, but their intricate, unreadable design piqued her interest. There was really only one person this gift could be from. Present-day Tom.

Her lip twitched upwards slightly, if only for a moment. One of him knew it was her birthday and saw fit to acknowledge it. That was more than enough to render her content with the whole ordeal and she was glad to push it from her mind entirely.

She shrunk and tucked all her birthday gifts into her satchel for safekeeping, minding the time until they had to leave for potions. Her mood was still high long after they made their way down to the dungeons and she could've sworn Professor Snape's brief, hard stare in her direction had been purposeful.

Her should-be-but-currently-not-head-of-house had subtly acknowledged her birthday. The world was a humorously odd place sometimes.

Paired with Harry, the rest of the double period went by quickly, as did their lunch hour. They met their Slytherin friends in the library for the free block, where her friends surprised her with more treats that they'd hidden in their bags. Once they were certain that Madame Pince wasn't anywhere near their secluded studying nook, Draco pulled a thin box out of his bag and slid it across the table to Hermione.

She stared at the box for a moment before lifting her gaze. Her friends wore matching self-satisfied smirks. She rolled her eyes.

"Incorrigible," she muttered, carefully untying the silver ribbon and lifting the lid.

A delicate chain lay inside, with links big enough for the charms lining it, if only just. Hermione could tell that they'd each picked out charms separately just by inspecting the shapes she saw, but asked them to admit who had chosen what as she gave each charm a closer look.

The small smile tugging at her lips made her friends even happier to oblige her curiosity.

Draco was responsible for the snake and dragon-shaped charms, and was too pleased with the tiny emerald eyes they possessed to be bothered by the cliche. Harry's smile was warm and knowing as he took credit for the sorting hat charm. Tracey was beaming as she pointed out her teapot and tea bag charm. Theo flicked his gaze from the book he was reading to the small look-a-like of Hogwarts: A History and raised a teasing brow when she caught his eye.

"Oh," Draco said suddenly, reaching into his bag. "I almost forgot. Mum sent this after she found out what we were getting you."

He slid a white box - roughly the size of 3 novels stacked atop one another - across the table. Hermione untied the silver bow, a bit shaken by how much of a fuss was being made over her birthday, but she tried to enjoy the attention all the same. She didn't like being doted on quite this much, but it was nice to know how many people cared about celebrating with her.

Hermione froze when she saw the charms in the box, too stunned to react. She felt Harry lay a hand on her back.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" he asked.

She hesitantly reached inside the box instead of answering. Two of the charms held far more social significance than their small, inconspicuous forms would imply. She immediately thought of the day she'd spoken to Tom the elder in the Malfoys' library.

I was informally, then more officially, adopted by two pureblood families by the time I graduated.

The Malfoy and Black family crests, in charm form, glinted in the box. They were small, like the rest of the charms, but felt heavier than the others. The flat paw print miniature charm alongside the Black crest eased the pressure in her chest, albeit barely.

"I'm fine," she managed to say. "Just a bit surprised."

Draco's pale brows twitched upwards, reminding her that he was slightly more informed than the rest of their companions. "You shouldn't be," he said, his teasing tone contradicting the unspoken words between them. "I mean, Sirius has told Mum he considers you family, especially after this summer. My family is very fond of you as well."

Because of Riddle clung to his words like fog. She smiled anyway. "Do you know who these other ones are from?"

Three other charms sat amongst an obnoxious sea of silver tissue paper, bound together on a thin keyring: a silver crown, an Eiffel Tower, and a mint green box wrapped in a silver bow. Draco confirmed that the A and F initials stood for his grandfather Abraxas and honorary great-uncle Flynn.

Hermione wondered if she'd meet them at schoolboys or if they simply knew of her via Tom and sent the gifts out of politeness.

As she went to remove the charms from the paper, her knuckles brushed against something hidden underneath it all. After securing the new charms to the bracelet alongside the others, she moved the tissue paper to find a small, dark green pocket-sized notebook that appeared far less used than her well-worn copy of Tom's diary. A sticky note was attached to the front and a fourth charm rested on top of it.

She snorted at the dove charm, a frillback by the looks of it. Tom. She wondered if the cheeky prick thought himself funny.

When I couldn't talk to you, I wrote you letters.

The message on the note, its tone far from the teasing undertones of the charm, gave her pause. One short, vague sentence that told her everything and nothing at all about the second book. She opened it to a random page, only to find it, and every page after it, blank. But the bindings had clearly been opened and touched many times - so why would he give her a mostly — or entirely — empty notebook?

As long as they both had their diaries, wouldn't they always be able to reach each other? And even if they couldn't get into contact quickly, what would be important enough for him to have written down in the past, while also being insignificant enough to not give her until the present?

Content to save the mystery for later, she tucked the mysterious journal into her bag for safekeeping and smiled up at her friends.

"You're the best," she told them earnestly. "I love all the charms. Thank you. Truly."

Theo rolled his eyes behind his book, but she could tell he was smiling. "Happy birthday," he said dryly.

The others echoed the sentiment and Hermione savored the ache in her cheeks from smiling. It had been weeks since she'd felt as light as she did at that moment.

She was still riding her birthday high when she joined Tom in the Room of Requirement that evening.

It wasn't uncommon for Tom to sometimes bring his breakfast or dinner to the room when they met. And he was often courteous enough to bring enough to share when he did so. She'd eaten light at dinner when he'd written with the promise of much better fare than what her own Great Hall had been offering, and her stomach rumbled when the scent of bacon and eggs greeted her in the doorway.

"That smells amazing," she said. Her bag was gently tossed onto the sofa across from Tom's as she dropped to the floor. It was easier to eat sitting at the coffee table, in her opinion, despite the perfectly comfortable seating behind her.

Tom made a quiet noise of acknowledgment, but most of his attention was divided between reading the book resting in one hand and getting a perfectly balanced bite of his breakfast with the other. She paused in removing the stasis charms from her bowl of what appeared to be some sort of breakfast casserole, watching in amusement as he failed to keep one of each ingredient on his spoon without losing another. He succeeded in acquiring a piece of bacon at the expense of losing a precariously balanced chunk of potato, and she almost laughed when he tore his eyes from the book to glower at his food.

"Entertained, Dove?" he asked dryly, glancing in her direction for a split second before managing to finally get a perfect spoonful of eggs, bacon, sausage, and cheesy potatoes. He chewed the bite slowly, giving himself time to fight for another such spoonful, she assumed.

"A bit," she admitted, biting her lip against a grin. "Eating might be the only thing you don't do efficiently."

He hummed noncommittally, glancing at her again and giving her a quick once over. "You're unexpectedly cheerful today," he noted.

Hermione took a quick bite of her breakfast for dinner, trying to come up with something to say that didn't betray the mundane source of her good cheer. "I had a good day," she eventually said, relying on the casserole to keep her from having to elaborate further.

Tom raised an amused brow and she knew she wouldn't get off that easy. His book was set aside, forgotten, and she mentally cursed him for paying extra attention to her the one day she didn't want him to. "Is that so? Did you outsmart a seventh-year Ravenclaw? Get more housepoints than usual for being smarter than the masses?"

She grumbled at his teasing and cast her eyes down to her bowl. The deep blue of his irises was glittering something akin to mischief and it was making it hard to concentrate on the conversation.

"No," she muttered. "For one, people don't like being corrected and two, I don't particularly enjoy such situations."

"I don't enjoy it when you attempt to hide things from me, but here we are," he said. The words were light, spoken as casually as Tom ever got, but she knew him too well to misinterpret the soft rebuke as anything other than a warning. "You've been moping around for weeks, Dove, but you're almost your normal self again today. What changed?"

Hermione shrugged and readied another bite of her food. "Nothing important enough to bore you with," she answered. "Today didn't suck. I haven't had a decent day in a while, I guess."

She felt his glare even as she absently moved bits of potato around her bowl and chewed another bite on autopilot. When he stayed silent, his ire looming across the table, she made the mistake of sparing him a glance. She immediately broke eye contact with a flinch and returned her gaze downward.

He bore a vicious resemblance to her boggart at the moment. It was hard enough to cling to her good cheer from the day without that uncomfortable mental image back at the forefront of her thoughts.

"Hermione."

Her cheeks tingled with frustration as she let out a short, harsh sigh. "It's not-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'important' I'm going to reconsider my opinion on your intelligence," Tom said darkly. "If I decide to inquire about something then it is important by default. But fine. If you're so hellbent on not talking about your unusually good day, I'll endeavor to be less concerned in the future."

She frowned at him, swallowing the waspish remark she was originally half-tempted to say given the frostiness of his words. "Don't be like that," she said, taking the wiser course given his odd mood, or so she hoped. "I don't want to talk about it because it's going to bore you. I think I know you well enough by now to know what you find interesting and what you don't."

She paused, failing to read whatever emotion was storming behind his eyes. "It's not like we tell each other everything anyway," she continued. "But if you must know: I got some things in the post this morning, Ronald minded his own business instead of being an almighty prat all day, and I was able to spend my free period with my friends from both houses. It was a good day."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You're in an unusually good mood…because you got mail," he clarified slowly.

She held his gaze challengingly, hoping her half-truth was true enough to get him off her back.

Tom shook his head as if she'd just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, but some of his irritation fell away with a sigh. "Finish eating so we can practice the ritual for a while," he said.

Despite the lingering tension between them, Hermione stayed quiet and finished eating quickly. She wasn't in a hurry to be in one another's personal space after their verbal sparring match, but maybe if they got on with their normal routine, Tom would relax some more.

When both of their bowls were pushed aside, she joined him on his sofa and tried to steel herself against a long half-hour —minimum— of chanting. Tom shuffled some of his things around before sitting across from her and taking her proffered left hand. Hermione's focus drifted elsewhere as they began the painfully boring exercise. She hadn't even heard the beginning of his unsettling stream of hisses before she let her thoughts wander and let the now-familiar Irish —Gaelic? Celtic?— words tumble forth over and over again.

It might be nice to be friends with Tom properly. Normal friends. Actual friends, instead of just being another one of his useful companions like Abraxas Malfoy and Flynn Avery seemed to be. What would it be like to be someone Tom liked purely because he enjoyed their company? Could he even like other people without his own ulterior motives coming into play?

Hermione had never seen or heard of him having real friends since he dismissed or outright loathed most people simply for existing.

She resisted the urge to sigh, thinking that if she did then the last remnants of her birthday cheer would escape through her lips. Her free hand played with the frillback dove charm on her ankle as she thought about the equally unsettling adult version of the boy before her.

She wasn't sure which Tom was the less confusing one anymore, but at least his adult self greeted her with a smile. He was a frustrating, overbearing prat, but he always seemed happy to see her...

A shock ran up her arm, causing her to yelp in surprise and glare at Tom, but he still had his eyes closed in concentration.

"What was that for?" she snapped.

His eyes flicked open just long enough to give her an odd look before he closed them again.

"Divide my power. Divide my blood. Divide my power. Divide my-"

"That's barbaric!" she gasped, disgusted and appalled. "Is that what I've been saying every time we do this?"

His eyes opened again, but this time they were blazing with an emotion she didn't recognize. "Hermione..." he said slowly, his voice sounding slightly funny, but she couldn't place the accent.

"What?" she asked, giving him a concerned stare.

A slow, unsettling smile curled his lips. "You can understand me."

She blinked. She could, couldn't she? "Did it work, then?"

He looked positively predatory. "I knew it," he said. "I knew you could do it, Dove! Well done!"

She flushed slightly. "I haven't done anything..."

But Tom wasn't paying attention to her anymore. He was removing the leather cord from their hands while his eyes retained that strange glint. If it was anyone else she'd tell him he was frightening her, but there were some things you didn't admit aloud to people like Tom. Fear was one of them, though he probably knew just how unsettling he was without her having to admit it.

"What else can I teach you, I wonder?" he muttered to himself, his voice back to normal, as he put the cord away and stopped speaking Parseltongue.

She watched as he dug through his belongings, finally finding one of his journals and a quill, and proceeded to write furiously upon the blank pages. He snapped the books shut almost as quickly as he'd opened them and startled her when he stood and yanked her up with him.

Suddenly she was crushed against him, her face buried against the soft fabric of his uniform shirt while his arms coiled tightly – almost painfully – around her.

"What would you like, Dove?" he murmured above her, his voice resonating through his chest against her cheek. "What shall your reward be for a job well done?"

Her face flushed as she carefully wound her arms around him as well in an attempt to make their position feel less awkward. It didn't work. "I haven't done anything," she said quietly.

He squeezed her a little tighter for a moment. "You have. Your magic was able to accept – strong enough to accept – a rare and powerful trait from mine," he said, his voice dulcet and hypnotic in his excitement. "That makes you worthy of the gift, Hermione. It makes you a cut above the rest, the purebloods, the half-bloods, all of them. It makes you like me."

She swallowed hard. "I still didn't do it consciously…" she muttered, deciding to contemplate his arrogance later.

"That doesn't matter," he argued, pulling back just enough to stare at her with those wickedly bright blue eyes, eyes that currently reminded her of her witch-light flames. "You're a Parselmouth now. That's – It's," He let out a frustrated sigh, struggling for words. Hermione found the sight of him so animated, so…not in control, as fascinating as it was terrifying. "There are no words," he said at last, with a blazing conviction. "This is above words, Dove. Can't you see that?"

She couldn't, not really, but she understood that it was significant to him. "I suppose?" she managed. "I'm glad you're pleased?"

Tom shook his head, seemingly trying to rid himself of whatever puzzlement her lack of excitement was causing. His irises were swirling with excitement and magic when he focused on her again. "Nevermind that now," he said. "You haven't answered me."

She almost forgot the question entirely, having gotten entirely distracted by the myriad of colors dancing in his eyes. "Um…"

No words would come to her, so she blushed and hid her face against his shirt instead of answering.

She could feel the confusion in his posture. "A hug?" he asked. "This is all you want? I always hug you when we see each other now. How is this a reward?"

Hermione could only shrug. "I don't really need anything special."

Tom scoffed in disbelief. "Dove, this isn't about what you need. It's a reward for a job well done, you've earned it. Pick something you want that I can give you."

She swallowed a lump of discomfort in her throat. "I did."

Tom's minute, frustrated fidgeting ceased at the quietly spoken words. Something so small and too honest had thrown him so hard she could almost hear the gears grinding in his brain and started to pull away. He gripped her upper arms, halting her half step away from him as she mumbled excuses about how he didn't have to and a reward really wasn't necessary anyhow.

"Enough," he said. It took no effort on his part to pull her back against him and rest his chin atop her head like he always did.

His hold was firm. She sensed no impatience from him despite her own shyness and slowly leaned back into the embrace, trying not to think too hard about how long they'd been touching.

When enough time had passed that she decided to stop thinking and just enjoy the moment of almost normal friendship between them, she felt the hand against her back start to toy with the ends of her hair. It was something Harry and her mother had done before and though the gesture was small, it filled her with warmth.

That was her 'reward', as far as she was concerned. A special moment at the end of a special day. It was just a shame she couldn't convey how much it meant to her to Tom. He wouldn't understand.

The sing of success, of pride, was still belting a glorious operetta in his veins when they parted ways that morning. Hermione was off to bed and Tom to his sole class of the day — Charms. The double period would give him plenty of time to think, to plan, now that he knew Hermione was truly as capable as himself.

He could teach her anything he'd learned on his own. Perhaps she'd have greater strengths in areas he didn't care for, or their combined abilities would make them unstoppable with their abilities combined.

Abraxas and Flynn were both surprised to note his unusually high spirits when he joined them in Charms. Before either could ask, he said, "Wendy passed a test I set. It was more of an experiment, really, but she succeeded and in less time than anticipated."

"That's wonderful," Abraxas said. "She has my congratulations."

"And mine," said Flynn. "Perhaps we should get her a gift of some kind at Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Briefly, the reward she'd asked for flashed back through his mind. He was fairly certain that the hugging ritual was working, or at least that she was getting some benefit from it. Surely she wouldn't have been content with the prolonged physical affection as her reward otherwise? And he couldn't deny the moment had been pleasant, simply basking in their success together.

He still thought she deserved some meaningful material token for her efforts, however.

"If anything stands out, yes," Tom said. "We'll have to shop around. She doesn't wear any jewelry to my knowledge…"

"Hairpins?" Flynn asked. "Or scarves, perhaps?"

Tom glanced around at the braids, updos, teased bangs, curled ends, and various other magical and muggle hairstyles around them on his female classmates. Hermione's time was different. Her hair, she rarely styled. It only really bothered him because of how small it made her look. She was meant to look as polished and elite as he knew her to be. She just didn't know how.

Maybe he could find her something that wouldn't be too out of place in her time to tame her wild mess of curls with at last.

"Her hair is overwhelming in its natural state," Tom said carefully. "Perhaps something to help her style it more easily would be wise."

Abraxas blinked away his surprise and tried not to make eye contact with Flynn. The mere idea of Tom going out of his way to help any girl with her hair because he wanted to, not simply being polite if someone dared to ask, was beyond him. But thankfully, Abraxas' mother had insisted he know enough about women's grooming to aid his future wife if necessary. He could be of use.

"I could write Mother," he offered. "With a description of her hair and its texture, I'm sure she could find some sort of conditioning oil or cream to go along with whatever ribbons or trinkets we can find to help pretty her up."

Something flickered across Tom's face for a moment, but Abraxas couldn't make out whether or not he'd misspoken somehow.

"It may be worth a letter," Tom said. That was something most of the fairer sex cared about, being pretty. Hermione only seemed to care about being capable, from what Tom could tell. But surely part of her wanted the means to doll herself up? A little self-care made anyone feel better, didn't it?

Had he considered the approach to curing her mystery discontent from the wrong angles? Physical affection was helping, but could she be worrying about the things they generally saw as less important that classmates usually deemed noteworthy? Tom was certain she'd told him about all of her friends. Had she downplayed her affection for one of them? Did she have a sweetheart he didn't know about? Had they chosen another, perhaps?

The longer he thought about it, the less convinced he became. Fickle crushes were beyond her. If Hermione had an attachment to someone, it'd be as steadfast as her friendships and just as strong. A brief fit of vanity was a far more likely cause. Being studious, she had less time to waste on her appearance and valued her education above her image. She simply hadn't learned the shortcuts to do both like he had.

Now that was a problem he could solve with relative ease. Tom decided he would scan her memories to get a better sense of how the girls in her time styled their hair as Professor Aethelmont entered the room to begin class. If he could find something from his time that wasn't too dated to be classic in hers, perhaps that would help return some of the light to her ever-curious eyes.

So as you can see, I'm alive. The last 3 years have been pretty rough, and I basically lost all writing ability due to a massive block and life nonsense for the majority of it. However, most of that nonsense, and the block, ended about two months ago. So I've been writing my ass off.

I'm not promising an update schedule right now, it really depends on how I feel and how much of this story I can get typed out. I'm focusing on getting a chapter backlog going again, that way if I don't touch this for a while, I can update if I get the urge. And since I've almost completely caught up to where the original version of Diary left off, I'm now at the point where I'm plotting out events that have been in my head, but never on paper. The planning and organization this fic requires is both maddening and OCD satisfying.

That said, I missed you guys. No Diary isn't abandoned, clearly. I'd let you guys know if that were ever the case.

Don't forget about my Tumblr - that's the best way to find out where I'm at with The Diary and my asks are always open. My tumblr and my username on here are the same. Also I have a post over there right now with some no-context snippets of scenes from chapters that aren't released yet, either search the #fanfics tag on my blog or go to the Fic Stuff page.

Until next time, lovelies~

LMK